A few weeks ago, I bought an Uncle
Sam “I Want You” poster from 1940, with a recruiting station address in Philadelphia
(2nd and Chestnut Streets, 2nd floor of the Custom[s]
House). Lucky for me sellers on eBay
have been dropping their prices since the start of the Coronavirus.
You’d think a piece of paper
12-1/2 ” by 9” wouldn’t cost much, and you’d be wrong; James Montgomery Flagg’s
rendering of Uncle Same has long been an icon of American culture. But these are End Times (just kidding, I
think), and not all the old rules apply.
Something that started at five dollars under $400 ended up going for
well under half that.
Of course, there was a corner to
deal with; it looked as if someone had taken a lit match to paper. I gambled I could trim the affected area and match
the paper, more or less. That sent me
off on a scavenger hunt through the house.
Not only did I find a sheet of 1970s’ paper (from one of my
undergraduate classes, no less), but I also came across a bunch of White Sox ticket
stubs and a program. Talk about your
treasure trove stuffed in a back-porch drawer.
All but one of the stubs, along
with a season schedule, are from 1990, when a friend was kind enough to share
his “golden box,” a perfectly named season-tickets’ section, if there ever were;
the seats were three rows back of the Sox dugout at Comiskey Park. We took my parents to one of the games, and
my father started ragging on Ozzie Guillen in the on-deck circle, yelling, “Tuck
your shirt in!” so loud Guillen turned around to see who was shouting at
him. As I’ve said, going to a Sox game
with my father was a lot like going to church.
You dressed a certain way, you acted a certain way, and heaven help
anyone who didn’t.
What I didn’t expect to find was the
ticket stub from August 25, 1967, game two of a Friday doubleheader, White Sox
vs. Red Sox. The first game, a makeup for
a June rainout, had gone to Boston, 7-1, and things didn’t look all that good for
the White Sox in game two. They were
starting a rookie four weeks shy of his 27th birthday. I’d never heard of the guy, and at the time I
was what you’d call a rabid Sox fan.
If you’re going to be a journeyman
major-league pitcher with a career mark of 11-18, you might as well make an
impression in your first start, and right-hander Cisco Carlos certainly did
that, not giving up a hit until two out in the fifth inning. For his major-league debut, Carlos yielded 0
runs in 6.1 innings on four singles and a walk, this against a Boston lineup
that included the likes of Carl Yastrzemski; George Scott; Reggie Smith; and
Rico Petrocelli but not Tony Conigliaro.
The 22-year old star had taken a fastball to his left eye socket and
cheek just seven days earlier.
The 1967 White Sox being hitless
wonders (.225 team batting average), Carlos had been staked to a 1-0 lead that
reliever Bob Locker couldn’t quite hold.
The score was tied at one going into the bottom of the ninth. Ron Hansen led off with a single, after which
J.C. Martin bunted him to second base.
Pinch-hitter Smokey Burgess drew an intentional walk, and Ken Berry
singled in Hansen for the winning run.
That was White Sox baseball once upon a time.
I was so excited I marked Berry
with a three-run homer instead of a single.
In my defense, let me say Berry may have hit the ball off the top of the
wall in right, and, even if he didn’t, the crowd sure made it sound like a
homerun. According to the
baseballreference.com box score, there were 34,580 fans in attendance that
night. You need to understand that
34,000-plus fans at Comiskey Park sounded like 50,000-plus at a ballmall, if
they ever made one that big.
The win put the White Sox record at
70-55, a half a game out of first place.
I remember that Friday as sunny, with the field bathed in golden
sunlight those innings before dusk, but I can’t tell you if my father was happy
that his, our, team had won. I’d like to
think so, and that we went to a hot dog stand afterwards to celebrate as was
our post-game custom. Of course, he was
happy.
Just like I was to come across that ticket stub in a drawer.
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