AOP at Noon

 

AOP at Noon

This is the first installment of my attempt to capture our walk to Fenway Park.

A little background with what this (and future) posts are all about.

Without getting too deep into the weeds, in 1973 four fathers from South Portland Maine, decide to walk from said town to Fenway Park in Boston MA to raise money for the Jimmy Fund. The Jimmy Fund started in 1948 when the Variety Children's Charity of New England and the Boston Braves baseball team joined forces to help a 12-year-old cancer patient dubbed "Jimmy." I'll skip the background of how the dads landed on their plan. That's an entirely different story.

Here’s the original Jimmy – and a picture of our dads before their walk.

       


Those handsome devils – from left to right – are Norm Payette, Wilbur Wildes, Ge Erskine, and Dave McHugh. Those are our dads. 

Fast forward to 2019 – 46 years after the infamous walk to Fenway – four of the original walker’s kids decide they want to replicate the walk that their fathers did all those years before.

I could get into the details of how we made this happen, but I think you all will appreciate me not sharing those details with you once you suffer through all the minutiae I’m going to put you through as you read through our story. Cutting to the chase, I’ll just say after hundreds of hours of planning, their kids were ready to replicate the original walk. In addition to honoring our fathers, we also were doing this to raise, what we hoped would be, substantial money for this great organization. More on that later as well.

Time to introduce the main characters in this story. Let’s start with the walkers:

        Link                              Denise                  Pete                   Bob            Tom

·        Link Erskine – Ge’s son. Link was one of the fastest kids in the state of Maine in high school. Link stated early on that he wasn’t sure he could make it all the way due to some recent surgeries and other ailments directly related to being able to successfully walk around the block, never mind all the way to Boston. As you will see, he came through as a champ. I might refer to Link (his adult nickname) as Linky (his childhood nickname).

·        Denise Payette – Norm’s daughter. The smart money pre-walk was on Denise being the pacesetter. Denise wore weights around her ankles for the year before the walk, “to get ready”. I’ll probably refer to Denise as “Denise” throughout this story.

·        Peter Wildes – Wilbur’s son. This is me. I prepared by walking for a year leading up to our event. Averaged 40 miles a week early on, then kicked it up to 60 per week for the last month and a half. Still wasn’t sure if I was ready. I’ll refer to myself as me, I, or even the third person, Pete, in this.

·        Joe McHugh – Dave’s son. Joe also did a lot of pre-walk prep. His approach was a bit different than the others. Joe would bite off a solid 20-mile day during the week, which is approximately what we envisioned walking each day on our trek. Not a bad strategy. I’ll refer to Joe by name, or Handsome Joe, and maybe occasionally as Bob (more on that later) throughout.

We also had an additional walker:

·        Tom Hill – Tom is Joe’s brother in-law and Dave’s son in-law. Tom started out a year prior by volunteering to being our scout, but over time he became a key fund-raiser for us and ultimately, the fifth Beatle. Tom ended up walking every mile with us. I’ll be calling Tom, Tom in this story

One additional key player:

                            

John Cushing – John has been friends with the kids of the original four for over 44 years. Early on offered up (or was cajoled into) being our support driver. That role turned into being a combination Sherpa, pace car, Sacagawea, and main support structure for our walk. Basically, he was our savior, as you will be reading. Conveniently I will be referring to John as John.

Now that you’ve got the background and the key players, let’s dive in.

Tuesday July 6^th – First day of the walk.

Text from Pete at 4:01 AM

o   Anyone else can’t sleep?

o   Joe – 4:01 AM: This guy

o   Denise – 4:02 AM: This girl

o   Link – 4:03 AM: Up all night

That’s no way to be prepared for a 110-mile walk. What could you expect after 18 months of planning and 48 years of history hanging over our heads? This was the equivalent of trying to sleep the night before Christmas when you were ten years old…and the night before your wedding day….and the night before a cross country or an overseas trip that you had been planning for years... all rolled into one.

We had planned for AOP (ass on pavement – a phrase we used throughout the walk) for a noon start. If we all fell back asleep then we could have got nearly a full night’s sleep in. That, unfortunately, did not happen.

                                

Instead, things like showering, packing, worrying if you were forgetting something, wondering what we were thinking to begin with to try and pull off this crazy scheme, and the reality of what we had been planning for over 18 months (not for the last time on this day) and owning up to a debt we all felt we had to repay after 48 years was finally upon us, and starting to sink in.

Side bar – one thing Pete had to do the first morning was his daily interview with a local radio station - WBLM. Link was doing the same with another local radio station - WPOR. WBLM is Rock, WPOR is Country – so we felt we had our bases covered.

                        

Some time before, this station , WBLM, was kind enough to put me on for a few minutes to talk about our walk. This was all part of my imagined grand scheme to saturate TV, radio, newspapers, and the internet with our story. I’ll be damned if near the end of this thing, we almost did that.

The week prior to our walk the morning show host Herb (Captain) Ivy, reached out to me again and asked if I’d like to call each each morning of our walk to give a live update. Me, instantly reverting to my teenage dream of actually being a radio dj, of course said yes. So, in my first interview, between counting how many pairs of underwear I needed to pack and figuring the proper ratio of jeans vs. shorts, I once again did my best Les Nessman impersonation to spread the word. Oh, and as would become my schtick for the week, I requested a song for the walkers. First request for day one – Truckin’ – The Grateful Dead.

                      

   


By now it was time to roll. Plan was to meet a Link’s house before we all went deep into Sunset Park to begin our walk at the same location our dads did in 1973 – the Little League field at Wilkinson Park.

So, with backpacks, luggage, sleeping bags, and our families in tow we met at Link’s at 11:00 AM. We had a tight schedule and felt by adding in the hour buffer before we had to beat feet might be wise.

Upon arrival at Link’s, Joe let each new arrival know that the walkers were in the process of being interviewed by someone at the Boston Herald. This was great, one of the biggest papers in the city of our destination wanted to interview us. Like I mentioned, total media saturation. They already interviewed Link, Joe was in process when I got there, so only Denise and I left to do. We had an hour, no problem, right?

Wrong.

Little did we know (until it was our turn to be interviewed) that out interviewer, Marie Szaniszlo – a wonderful woman- could quite possibly be the slowest interviewer in the history of interviewers. Let’s just say, if she interviewed each of us any slower, we’d be interviewing her….and writing the sorry in long hand….and in cursive…and then mailing it via the postal service to the newsroom…and forgetting to put a stamp on the mail so it would come back to us…except we would have forgotten to put a return address on the envelope so it would be lost in the mail, until somehow, miraculously we would have somehow come across it, then do the whole thing again, only this time remembering to put a stamp on the envelope. That kind of slow.

I just googled Marie, and this is her intro on LinkedIn….

Experienced, versatile media professional who's skilled in researching, interviewing, writing, and editing; who has a sixth sense for what makes a good story and how to tell it; and whose managers deploy her for the most challenging stories when they need a "hail Marie pass."

God love Marie.

It was now about 12:15, but we figured there might be a dozen people at the park waiting for us, so no big deal, right?

Again, wrong.

As we drove down to the end of the street to get to our starting point, what to our wondering eyes did appear? A crowd of easily a hundred friends, family, and probably just neighbors that wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

   

A bit overwhelming. Gratifying at the same time. All these people had taken time out of their busy days to come support us.

Surreal, might be the better adjective. Was that Dave McHugh, the last of the original walkers giving an interview to not one, but two television stations?

Why, yes indeed, it was!

Then Link…and Joe…and Denise…and Pete. The AOP at noon was now starting to get away from us.

        

After many interviews…. many more photos with family and friends…and after all the excuses to delay the start of this thing were exhausted, it was time to get started.

  Ever heard the expression herding cats? That was how the start of or walk began.  

                                  

That, my friends are the events leading up to the start of our once in a lifetime walk to Fenway.

Next up:

The Eastern Trail Giveth and the Eastern Trail Taketh Away.

The day we all grew up a little bit

 

The day we all grew up a little bit.

This is how I recall that day. Could have been 1973, or 74, or no later than 75. It was the era of our Dad’s original walk to Fenway to raise money for the Jimmy Fund.

   Some of these memories might not represent the best parenting decisions, but those were different times. Our Dads were solid guys…. upstanding citizens, and good family men. We (as kids) did not wear seatbelts…we sat in the beds of pick-up trucks…rode hundreds of miles backwards in station wagons…played outside unsupervised by our parents …ran loose in the streets, on ballfields, in the woods, and in dozens of backyards, on our own and free until the streetlights came on. Bicycles (with no helmets), skateboards, firecrackers and caps, jarts (yes, jarts - you kids can google it.), metal playgrounds – built on either asphalt or crushed rock - that would scorch you in the Summer time…it was, essentially the Wild West. And we loved it.

                       

So, picture this - 

·       Every year the Sunset Park Little League would take a bus full of Little Leaguers and coaches to a Red Sox game at Fenway Park.

o   Here is a real life photo of one of those teams, from that approximate era. I am sure a few of these kids were on this trip. I know one was for sure…and if he reads this, he should remember what is to follow in this story as well. If this picture doesn’t scream this is the 70’s, then nothing does.

·       We always sat in the left field blue wooden grandstand seats – probably section 32 or 33. The seats closest to the green Monster and the farthest from the field. Whichever one it was it was where the Red Sox drunkest (and most loyal) fans congregated. Lots of swearing and singing and colorful language was in the air in those sections. It was the most Boston”est” place in all of Boston. It was terribly thrilling for a ten- or eleven-year-old.

              

·       So, after a game that I do not remember who the Sox played, or if they won or lost, we piled in the bus for the long ride home. When you are 10 or 11, two hours is a awfully long time.

·       This is where I start remembering some of the details of the day a little clearer. Still, I cannot guarantee this is 100% accurate, but it is how I remember it.

o   First – the bus stops at the Golden Banana. If you have never heard of it, google (again with the google) the Golden Banana, it still exists. I’m sure it is a far seedier version than it was in the early 70’s…but then again, maybe not. Like I said before, different times. The Golden Banana was along a super exciting (once again, for a ten or eleven year old) stretch of Route 1 in Peabody and Saugus with famous landmarks such as the Giant cactus sign in front of the Hilltop Steakhouse restaurant, the leaning tower of “pizza” replica entrance to Prince Pizzeria , and the infamous orange dinosaur that was the showcase of the miniature golf course that you sped by on your entry into Boston. This gives you a bit of the flavor of the neighborhood.

 

o   This is where it gets a little fuzzy. Somehow, while the Dads went in to enjoy some of Boston’s Best Adult Entertainment, the kids were set free.

§  Now, we could have had a chaperone, but I am betting the chaperone was just the biggest 12-year-old on the bus.

o   The Dads must have given us some spending money because we somehow found the Bel-Aire Diner. Maybe a quarter mile down, as I’ve already mentioned, a very busy Route 1 in Saugus or Peabody MA. I do not remember any fatherly advice being dispensed, like, “We’ll meet back here in an hour” or “listen to so and so and do whatever he says” or “Don’t go across the highway”, but I am sure some must have been dispensed. This was decades before cell phones so there was no, “Give us a call if you need anything”.

 

            

o   Now picture tables full of preteen boys with some spending money at this diner. I am sure we did not have a ton of cash, but, being the early seventies, I am betting a hamburger, fries, chocolate milkshake, and a piece of pie probably would have run us about $3.00. If I did not say before, I will now, good times.

o   After our meal and feeling a little inspired by our freedom, we ambled out onto the street, I am picturing a side street that sort of runs alongside Route 1. Oh, by ambled, I mean in the opposite direction of the Golden Banana parking lot, where the bus back to Maine was parked and our Dads were being entertained. Quite an image…a pack of boys from the suburbs of Maine, all wearing their Service Oil, A & W, Haverty Buick, or Gill’s Pharmacy baseball caps (those might not be exact, but I got a few of them right).

o   I cannot swear to this but I’m picturing walking past things like junkyards with guard dogs tied up with metal chains, or piles of scrap metal behind chain link fences, or the loading docks of heavy equipment repair shops. Am I painting the picture for you?

                                

o   Anyhow, being pre-teen baseball players, we somehow sniffed out a baseball field with a game in progress. So, like moths to a flame, we went and watched. Did we ever watch. This was Boston little league baseball. Fans in the stands, players in uniform, but I will not swear I remember any grass on the field. Picture the Bad News Bears movie set in Boston and not in Southern California.

                

o   Sizing up the crowd, I’d be willing to bet that some of the fans that we were sitting with in the grandstands at Fenway were now at this game as well, or maybe it was just a coincidence that we were surrounded by Sully’s, Timmy’s, Smitty's, Mickey’s, Billy’s, and Matty’s in both places. Maybe it was also a coincidence that a lot of the language we heard at Fenway was the same language we were hearing here…and maybe it is customary to drink in the stands at little league games in Boston. Who knows, but it was the best place to be if you were looking for some excitement on a Sunday in the early seventies.

o   This is where the details blur, but I swear this happened. There was some excitement on the field, I’m sure instigated with a perceived a bad call by the ump, and things started to get a little heated. Coaches arguing with the umps, the umps arguing with the other coaches, players arguing with the other players, bat boys hollering at the other bat boys, kids sitting unattended in station wagons arguing with other unattended kids in the backs of station wagons, groups of kids and adults in clusters on the infield in one loud dispute with anyone they could get in front of, all with that awesome Boston accent…”That was a wicked bad call”…”Are you numb, he was bookin’ it to first and was safe by a mile”...”You can’t bang a U-ie on second base, that ain’t right”…”Hey ump, is that a grinder in your cup?” and other hostile type expressions that my Maine ears had never had the pleasure of hearing being strung together out loud before.

o   This was not just on the field; the crowd was getting into it as well. At that point someone, and then everyone, decided they were not letting no six-foot-high cyclone fence around the field get in the way of where the action was. Before our little South Portland eyes could believe it, anyone over the age of five was out of the stands and on the field. I did not know it had a name at the time, but this was the first time I ever saw an honest to God donnybrook. Pushing, shoving, fists flying, pig piling, shirts getting pulled over the heads, bats getting thrown, coolers used as weapons, bloody scrum. It was a bona fide melee.

                                                    

o   This was some big stuff for a bunch of kids a mile away from any adult they knew and over 100 miles from home. If anyone had told them when they were climbing on the bus on that fine Sunday morning, that this was how they were going to end their day, they would not have believed you, but not one of them would have said no thanks and not stepped on that bus.

       

o   Sorry, there is no grand finale on this, that is the last I remember of the day. A little anti climatic I know.  I don't remember how the skirmish ended, if there was an ambulance involved, or if and how many police showed up. Wish I did. Somehow, we made it back to our fathers, or perhaps they found us. None of that is important. We had survived the Great Peabody Little League Battle Royale and lived to tell all our classmates the next day, and probably the rest of the week, if not the entire Summer. As well as creating a somewhat foggy memory that I still can't shake nearly fifty years later. Thanks for allowing me the opportunity to get it in writing so now it can live on in perpetuity....or at least until the internet is still a thing.

o   Now, doesn’t that make you miss, or wish you grew up in, the 70’s?

   

                  (I had that exact same yellow bike. Probably rode it the school the day after the bus trip).

C'mon, I was only ten years old

1974
This was my life....mostly in pictures.
(as best I can remember, so no fact checking needed)
This is how I rolled...my Mom's Dodge Challenger


I remember driving in this car when we heard on the radio (my Mom always had the radio on - but more on that later) that Mama Cass had died.(Disclaimer for those of you under 30...Mama Cass was a singer in the band the Mamas and the Papas...you should know about them, and if you don't, shame on you). We were driving in town Portland, I'm even going to say it was driving up Casco Street or Brown Street heading towards Congress Street....because stuff used to be on Casco and Brown Streets in 1974. After Mom got rid of this muscle car she went with a Plymouth Volare'. Oh, and it was a station wagon. tsk tsk tsk.

My primary means of transportation in '74 was something like this...




That's right, A Schwinn Sting Ray....and yes, it was yellow. Somewhere there's an awesome picture of me straddling my bike in my driveway wearing a matching yellow wind breaker. Probably getting ready to ride down to "the Park", which would be the Sunset Park ballfields at the end of New York Ave in South Portland Maine. I might have been on my way to hit my infamous little league tryouts home run that I've referenced in the past...and probably will again sometime in the future.
For anyone that wants to reminisce with me, here it is...
http://pompatusofpete.blogspot.com/2011/10/strolling-kitties.html

Speaking of 1974 sports (which I just was), I think it was just the year before when my older brother broke it to me that the Harlem Globetrotters were not the world champions of basketball...so I decided to follow the Celtics. Coincidently that was the year that they won the NBA championship. Great team...John Havlicek, Dave Cowens, Paul Silas, and my favorite, Jo Jo White. Jo Jo White might have been overshadowed by some of the other stars (although he was an all star himself), I liked him because he seemed cool...and cool was everything to a ten year old.

Coincidentally , I think that's why Rico Petrocelli was my favorite Red Sox player..because he seemed cool. As an adult, I got to spend an entire day with Rico, basically just the two of us (don't recall if I've written about that one before, if not, I've got a feeling it will be coming), and you know what? He was cool.


1974.....
I was in fourth grade at Thornton Heights elementary school. Mr. Northrop was my teacher. Mr Northrop is now a friend of mine on Facebook.




...That's it in the background...couldn't find a decent older photo of it. The library was in the basement...there was no gym...it had a dirt baseball field..and I loved it. 1974 would have been the first time we had a basketball team at school. You see Thornton Heights only went up to fourth grade, and then you went to Skillin for two years, before moving on to junior high. Don't ask me why, that's just the way it was. The point of that prior sentence was so I could point out, our 4th grade basketball team was playing the 4th, 5th, and 6th grade teams of the other elementary schools in town, and the scrappers from the west side of the city held their own. Back in the day South Portland had nine or ten elementary schools. I still remember some of my teammates...Joe McHugh -great athlete, Scott Merrill- fastest kid I ever saw (demonstrated in later years by getting chased by the police through the woods at innumerable keg parties), Rick Russell - who broke his arm the next year at Skillin playing buck buck on the teeter totter during recess, Tom Lee - who lived across the street from the school and had the nicest Mom, John McQuinn - strongest kid that ever attended 4th grade(anywhere...ever), Elliot Chamberlain - who now builds "great neighborhoods" here in Maine, Peter Flynn and Tod Douglass - unfortunately neither of which are still with us, and me. My coach (Joe McHugh's Dad...who you can still see ushering at Sea Dogs games in the Summer) gave me the moniker "The Gentle Giant". Not exactly what a 4th grade kid wants to be called, but unfortunately, it was pretty accurate...and my Mom liked it


1974.....1974

1974 was around the time I started getting interested in music. Like I said earlier, my Mom always had the radio on...I had older brothers and an older sister that were listening to the best music of the time. Unfortunately we were listening to it on something like this..


But hey, it was portable.

That music takes me back to times when we'd play outside until the lights came on....to when we'd go sledding up to "the Pits" in the Winter...when we'd build forts out in the woods....when we used to ride in the back of station wagons....eating lunch at A&W....playing Indian Ball down at the Park...having slot car races...banging my knuckles playing with clackers (remember those?)


So close your eyes (or don't) and maybe this will bring you back to 1974 (posting this was actually the whole point of writing about 1974...and it only took me about a thousand words to get here)

Oh, and by the way, Mikey from those Life cereal commercials did not die from eating pop rocks after drinking a Coke...at least, I don't think he did.