I originally wrote this back in January of 2015. It is posted below with a few revisions. My dad would have been 95 on July 15 of this year.

Stu Miller, former relief pitcher for the San Francisco Giants died yesterday at the age of 87.  Giant fans of a certain vintage, as well anyone familiar with the lore of Candlestick Park and its infamous winds will remember Miller.

I often gauged my age in relation to my heroes on the field.  It seemed for so long that these baseball heroes were older guys like my dad. Stu Miller and my dad were both born in 1927; the year that Babe Ruth hit his 60 home runs.  Occasionally a young player would come on the scene and I’d be reminded of someone I knew who was in college, but even that seemed pretty old for an elementary school kid.  When I reached college, I still marked time by comparing my age to the current players.  The grizzled veterans, who were approaching age 40, were either amazing that they could still play, or were obviously just hanging on too long.  The youngest players were now my age and their abilities stood in stark contrast to mine.  I was happy to have been able to play at Biola College.  We did not enjoy a lot of success but I did have the opportunity to play against several ballplayers that made it to the big leagues.  I would later point with pride to Paul Moskau (Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Chicago Cubs) and mention that I had gotten a double off of him when he pitched for Azusa Pacific.  I usually added that it had been a double down the right field line off a fastball. I was your classic contact hitter who managed to get the bat on the ball most of the time. On this occasion the pitcher generated most of the power and I ended up with one of my rare doubles.  

Hall of Famer Ozzie Smith played at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo and our paths crossed for one game at Biola.  As long as Ozzie Smith was acrobatically holding down his position as the shortstop of the St Louis Cardinals, then age must not matter all that much.  After all, I had played against him in college and if he was still playing, then by extension I was still young enough to play too, though more likely in a lively game of wiffle ball.

However, even Ozzie Smith retired, as did all the Giants of my boyhood.  Watching Willie Mays in his declining years is one my sadder recollections and yet I am so glad that he is still with us; along with Juan Marichal, Orlando Cepeda and Gaylord Perry.  (We sadly said goodbye to Willie McCovey in October of 2018).

And then I read just yesterday that Stu Miller had died.  You see, I can’t think of Stu Miller without thinking of my dad.  Miller who was an outstanding relief pitcher with the Giants in the early 60’s and was on the All Star team in 1961.  For all his exploits, he is mentioned most for supposedly being blown off the mound at Candlestick Park during the All Star game.  He was not actually blown off the mound, but the strong wind did cause him to lose his balance and he was called for a balk. And how does my dad figure in to all this besides being the same age as Miller?  Well, he went to that All Star game and he brought me home a program which I still have to this day.  

Dads never really know for sure what it is that will have a lasting impact on their kids. My dad was no different.  Yet he knew me well enough to know that holding on to that program and giving it to me would be a good thing.   For me it was the next best thing to being there at the game.  My dad did one better the following year when he took me to Game 1 of the 1962 World Series between the Giants and Yankees.  For a guy who didn’t passionately follow baseball, he cared enough about his young son to appreciate his love for baseball.  It was a great way to say I love you.  Thanks Dad and I’m glad the wind didn’t blow that program out of your hands!

If my 93-year-old mom’s life is any kind of foreshadowing of what my final years will look like, then I will still be watching baseball and following the San Francisco Giants.  Mom switched her allegiance some time ago from the Giants to the Seattle Mariners.  When questioned on this, she notes that she lives in the state of Washington and rooting for the Marines seems like the thing to do.  It’s where I’m from.

Although my mom grew up in Wenatchee, WA she spent a chunk of her adult life on the peninsula, close enough to San Francisco to experience more fog and wind than she cared for.  She left Wenatchee in 1953 and did not return until 2000.  The wife of a heavy construction nomad meant lots of moves along the way.  My dad retired in the mid 1980’s and my folks moved to the Portland area before finally moving back to Wenatchee in 2000.  They had returned to where they had first met.

Baseball came relatively late to my mom.  She did occasionally see the Wenatchee Chiefs play when she was growing up, but the San Francisco Giants were her first rooting interest.  She tells the story that I came home from first grade one day and it was all about baseball and baseball cards.  She was a good mom and joined me in my love for the game.  It was never a problem to have the game on the radio or on TV (although those opportunities were limited back in the 1960’s).  We would go to several games each year courtesy of season tickets that my dad got from his employer.  I think my mom enjoyed those times as much as I did.  With some prompting she recalls vaguely that she and my dad were` at Game 7 of the 1962 World Series that ended on a heart-breaking line drive off the bat of the Giants Willie McCovey.  On contact it looked like a two-run walk off single and World Championship for the Giants over the Yankees.  Alas it was just a line drive out gloved by Bobby Richardson.  Recovering from a tonsillectomy, I was home watching on our black and white TV and experienced the first of my Giant disappointments.  I have written this down so that as my memory fades my boys can remind me like I have done for my mom.  Some memories cannot be allowed to fade.

Now days mom lives here in Wenatchee at Highgate Senior Living.  My dad passed away back in 2011.  She rarely complains, but I know she is not thrilled with assisted living, but one of the joys of her day from April through October is baseball and particularly the Mariners.  If there is a game on, she is watching unless somehow the TV channel has been changed and then that’s another issue.  Technology is not her strong suit, and the remote is an unfriendly devise.

Since she is still quite mobile (with the aid of a walker) I took her to a Wenatchee AppleSox game.  The AppleSox play in the West Coast League comprised primarily of college age players hoping to gain some wood bat experience and take another step towards their ultimate dream of playing big league baseball.  This year, 33 WCL alumni were on big league opening day rosters.  The AppleSox have enjoyed an enthusiastic following and play at the local community college field.  I didn’t have to break the bank to buy the premium tickets that put us in seats that were salvaged from the Kingdome where the Mariners played for their first 33 plus years.  

It was in a pair of those nice seats only about 100 feet from home plate that my mom and I sat earlier this summer.  I thought that after watching all that baseball on TV she ought to go see a game in person or at least part of a game.  She last attended a Mariner game back in 2016.  Just as an aside, my niece Jennifer worked for the Mariners selling tickets, so she coordinated a bunch of us going to see the M’s play the Giants.  The Giants won that game.  My youngest son and I along with much of my extended family went home happy.  My wife, oldest son and of course my mom would have preferred a different outcome.

Back to the AppleSox game.  It was an enjoyable time.  The baseball was good and the ice cream we ate perhaps even better.  I love Blue Bunny ice cream!  The Sox ended up winning although we violated one of my childhood maxims by leaving the game early.  Some of those rules must now be applied more liberally.  We only stayed three innings with hopes for more next time.  (I’m a believer in the “leave them wanting more” strategy).  Probably my best memory was before the game even started.  A men’s acapella group was singing the National Anthem.  My mom joined right in.  Her voice has lost a little, but it was cool to hear her singing. Music like baseball gets into your head and brings back all kinds of memories long after other things have faded.

Perhaps the subconscious reason I took my mom to the AppleSox game is because I want my sons to take me out to a ballgame when I can no longer get there on my own.  I’ll probably want some cracker jacks and for sure ice cream.  Most of all  I will share with them a mutual admiration and attachment to the game.  The memories will include the Mariners “Refuse to Lose” 1995 miracle season, the Giants amazing run of three World Series Championships in five years, Wenatchee Youth Baseball and backyard wiffle ball games.  Perhaps I will sit there as quietly as my mom without much recall of the past, but at some deep level the game will work its magic and maybe I will be singing along too.