My dad hailed from Ford County Illinois. Unless you know the area, chances are you won’t know the farming hamlets of Paxton or Gibson City, both a solid drive south of Chicago. Dad migrated west to Arizona in his 20s, but maintained an emotional tie to Chicago’s sports teams.
Thus began one of my better childhood memories.
I was about 10 or thereabouts when dad took my younger brothers and I to a spring training baseball game. He sat us down – sodas and hot dogs in hand – and told us we were about to watch the Chicago Cubs and maybe – just maybe – this would be the year they win the World Series. Then he added this:
“Always remember you saw Ernie Banks play.”
Banks at the time was already a legendary player. A stellar shortstop who could hit for power and average. He became known as “Mr. Cub,” famous for his exuberance for the game itself and known for his quip: “Let’s play two.”
Now fast forward decades. My dad had moved on to whatever lies next. I was at the Las Vegas Country Club’s golf bag storage room saddling up for a quick nine holes before sunset. As I approached the first tee, there stood an old man, looking a bit lost, wearing a baseball cap that read: “Mr. Cub.”
No way, I thought. This can’t be. Is he even still alive? So I jumped out of my cart, channeling my inner 12-year-old boy self, and asked him. He took off his hat, looked at it, and said “yes, son, I guess I am.” I told him my “always remember” story and he invited me to tag along for a round.
It was a Field of Dreams day. One of the best shortstops of all time, not to mention a hero of my dad’s, teeing it up with me. No crowds. No other players. Just him and me.
He told me his knees were shot and he can’t play golf like he wants to anymore. So, how about we both play using only three clubs. “More fun,” he said.
He used a driver, 7 iron and putter. He knew what he was doing. This guy had a lifetime batting average of .274 and he’s still No. 23 on the all time home run list with 512 dingers. Even in his mid- to late-70s, Mr. Cub could hit fairways with a driver, then hit his 7-iron with precision, scooting it anywhere from 180 yards to 20 yards. He could also putt.
He freely chatted with me all the way around the back nine of the course. We didn’t keep score. And, since he didn’t know I was a journalist, I silently granted him immunity from the personal stories he told that day.
It was a beautiful time. The reputation of the joyful nature of Ernie Banks rang true to me on that day. On the 18th green as the sun set, we shook hands and he said: “Let’s play two.”
What a day. Thanks, dad.
ONE MORE THING
Sherman R. Frederick’s writing can be found at shermanfrederick.substack.com. He can be reached directly at shermfrederick@gmail.com.)
The summer of 1969 I saw every game the Cubs played, and attended quite a few also... sometimes in the bleachers with friends, other times in the first row box seats on the first base side (our next door neighbor was a head ticket seller at Wrigley) with my mom and the neighbor's wife. I think that was the year Oscar Gamble broke our hearts but it was also when Mr. CUB was playing first base. What a time that was!