Stealing Home

Last night I went to see "42". The movie about Jackie Robinson breaking the color barrier in baseball. Major League Baseball has declared April 15th Jackie Robinson Day. 66 years after his debut. His number has been retired too. Nobody but Jackie, can wear that number again except on Jackie Robinson Day when EVERY player wears 42. Its' too heavy for a single player. The abuse, name calling, constant belittling, death threats, roaring boos, fastballs to the skull.....42 lived that. I watched the movie knowing I didn't have that kind of courage, strength or elegance to endure what he did. Not many of us do. He was chosen to blaze a trail that transcended baseball. With the weight of a society's scorn on his shoulders, he stole home.

Jackie was known for his quickness. Stealing 2nd or 3rd base is one thing, I mean, the pitcher likely has his back turned to the runner. The pitcher has to respond, rotate and release the ball which will buy the runner a few seconds. Home-plate is another situation. Everyone is looking at home-plate...to steal it, the player has to have good instincts. Jackie did it 11 times in his career.

My uncle and Jackie Robinson crossed paths in 1951 when they both played for the Brooklyn Dodgers.  I've always been proud of this. Feeling I was just one degree of separation from Jackie. In 1955 when Jackie was 36 and my uncle was 26 the Dodgers finally won the World Series The Brooklyn Bums did it! I have this picture and have always been happy to point out that my uncle is standing next to Jackie Robinson.

The 1955 Brooklyn Dodgers beat the Yankees to win the World Series. My uncle was back up catcher to Roy Campanella. Jackie played 3rd Base that year.

My uncles' 50th Anniversary card (1955 Brooklyn Dodgers)

Jackie Robinson's 50th Anniversary card (1955 Brooklyn Dodgers)

The allegorical imagery of Jackie taking the field, emerging from the darkness into the light. The courageous steps into truth. A shining example of bravery which then makes us all examine our belief's. It's Plato's Allegory of the Cave. We grow comfortable in the "cave" looking at shadows on the wall. Believing the shadows to be real, truth, our reality. As we venture (or maybe we are coaxed) out of the cave into the light, we see for the first time what is real. That light (TRUTH) can be painful, it can hurt our eyes at first making us yearn to return to the cave; the shadows, the comfort, the old beliefs. Change, rites of passage; painful yet necessary. One must turn toward the truth taking symbolic steps into the light in order to grow. Jackie took us all on that truth journey. One man's impact on us all.  "42"  is that kind of ride. Some people's lives were meant to be on the big screen so we can affirm their value.

Jackie's loneliness must have been immense. I am an only child whose father died before I could remember him. Loneliness has been my companion too. I have felt left out and misunderstood and with those feelings I join the ranks of the human race. I think when Elvis sang "Are You Lonesome Tonight" he was terribly lonely which is why that song is so powerful. Me and Elvis have nothing on Jackie. The lonely maverick changed society...he just happened to be a really good baseball player.

Once he retired from baseball he tirelessly worked and fund raised for civil rights issues and leaders. Equality was his destiny. He was certain of it. He showed us how to be better, walked us out of the cave using baseball as a catalyst. My 11 year old son has grown up with integration. When he saw the movie I noticed a reversal. He was as shocked at the treatment of Jackie as the whites were at seeing Jackie take the field in 1947.  Three generations later... it worked.

 His grave stone reads, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives". True.

That got me thinking about the impact I have in my small world and how grateful I am to the brave who have gone before me.

"Stealing Home: The Jackie Robinson Story" is a available on amazon.

Canary in a Coal Mine

If you are going to take valuable time to read my blog, I feel I owe it to you to be completely authentic. So here it goes....

The morning after I did the interview for the local newspaper about my blog I woke up in a state of unsettled, rattled nerves. Fear ate my breakfast and dogged me all day. I knew when the article hit the presses in my home town I would be showered with love and well wishes..and I was. Why was I so full of fear?

A very special friend had sent me the link to Brene Brown's TedX talk on vulnerability just weeks before. I had watched, wept and learned. Now my life was presenting a place for me to practice being vulnerable.The back story here is that I have done the work (retreats, workshops, therapy, 12 steps..etc) You name it, I've done it, read it and practiced it.....in pursuit of a place of peace with myself and my past. I have worked hard, fought hard and struggled. I have made colossal missteps followed by extraordinary accomplishments. Why was I in such a state of panic over a newspaper interview? I really thought I was done working and could coast through this blog, find some recordings of my father, watch them and go along with my life. How grown woman and stoic of me.

My fear is like the "canary in a coal mine". It always has been. I know when I am about to rip into some well hidden pain because fear comes flying up to the surface first. An indicator of a greater danger. The danger of vulnerability.Just like harmful gasses in the mines, fear is invisible and sneaks up on you. I was having a vulnerability hangover (Thank you Brene!) I had gone too deep in the coal mine. I had shown open heart right there on the front page of the newspaper.

Vulnerability = allowing myself to be really seen by revealing this part of my story. Asking for help and telling strangers about my lack and loss has left me in a place of paralyzing fear. Brene Brown tells me to have the courage to fully "embrace my vulnerability" and live with my whole heart. The fear is my indicator (Canary) that I have stepped into great openness.  The protective, never let them see you cry, side of me is NOT happy. Feeling completely emotionally naked, my protector has sent this nauseating fear to warn me to back out of the "coal mine". Run!


I thought I had worked through this. You know...the fire walking and all. And then a few things occurred to me.

1. I want everyone to think I am healed and totally fine. After all I am 45 years old. I've done all this work around grief. I mean really! Put on your big girl panties and move on.
2. And this is the big one.... What if I actually find a recording? The more I get the word out, the more people know about it, the more energy I create around it, the chances of finding a recording increase.

At that point the canary just killed over.

I have done enough of this emotional excavating in my life to know I was on to something and that "something" needed me to surrender to it, sit in it, and process it. So I did. Spending the better part of the past two months in solitude with this part of myself, I figured some things out. My only task here is remain open and listen. To take in the journey because IT has something to teach me and to let myself be really seen. So I wrote this post. Then I published it. Huge!

Let me be clear. Looking at all these pictures, letters, and stories has been like taking a razor to my insides. It has opened a fragile place in me. I want to look graceful and together. I want it all to unfold like I see it in my mind.

My father's birthday was March 7th. I visited his grave and took some canary yellow flowers. I felt the total peace of knowing or not, hearing or not and the relief of that. A softness washed over me and I cried big tears. In that time of retrospect, I also made a list of moments in my life I had been delivered/rescued. Coincidences, if you will, that showed me there is a power greater than myself working on my behalf. Call it Buddha, Jesus, angels of mercy, or the universe. My list is long. It proved to me that if I took the risk, showed my "whole heart" I would be guided and delivered. Sometimes the healing comes in NOT doing anything. Just allowing myself to be vulnerable.

In a strange twist, I now know the canary wasn't fear it was faith, but they both scare me in just about the same way.

Am I still afraid or anxious? Of course. I have been so caught up in promotion, research, page views, contacting sports writers and publishers that I lost sight of the real prize. The prize is the journey and my connections with others. Here is the clincher...I am not in charge anyway. There really is something bigger occurring here than finding a recording from the 1960's.

Its about going deep into the coal mine cause that's where the good stuff is.

Walker Stadium

It started with a handful of Lenoir baseball fans wanting to honor the two Walker brothers who had left the small town and made it big in baseball. The Kiwanis Club of Lenoir took up the campaign and organized it.  Beautiful letters poured in from Ron Santo, Ken Holtzman, Jack Lang (President of the Baseball Writers Association) and many more. This started in 1969. Ron Santo wrote in his letter "Verlon's great concern and passion for his fellow man is without equal. His help is not only educational ,but inspirational with his great wit and wisdom."

 

In August of 1971 Davenport Field was renamed Walker Stadium and dedicated in memory of my father and honoring my uncle. The New York Mets  and Chicago Cubs sent plaques. My mother stood with the men of the family, yet again, put on a pretty dress and a brave face and accepted a lovely award on behalf of her deceased husband. The stadium was a perfect  and fitting tribute. 

Me and Mom 1971

The plaque reads, "Think of me now and again, as I was in life, at some moment which is pleasant to remember".

The field was used by the local American Legion baseball team for many years. Lenoir Legion Post 29 successfully fostered the love of baseball in the area while turning out some great baseball players. Sometime around 1985 lights were put up and Walker Stadium became a" hot" Friday night ticket. It was the place to be! 

Before Legion baseball and before it was named Walker Stadium, there were some "semi pro" teams that played there. My father played for the Lenoir Chiefs. It was on this dirt, surrounded by those trees and rock bleachers that he cultivated his love for baseball. He honed his skills, showed off, talked trash, spit tobacco and laughed.

In the past 10 years Walker Stadium had become an overgrown, sad shadow of what it use to be. The lights were taken down and no teams played there. Grass had taken over the pitcher's mound and the dugout was pretty much falling in.  I took my boys there to see the monument and run around the field from time to time. Feeling forlorn and powerless to do ANYTHING about the condition of the field..I just accepted it.

What I am about to tell you next is nothing short of a miracle

One beautiful fall afternoon, with my mom and boys in the car, I decided to drive past Walker Stadium. I parked my car, got out and walked toward the front gate. I couldn't believe my eyes.

I saw an actual baseball diamond instead of grass. The grass around the stadium was manicured. The home team dugout was painted and completely redone. It was beautiful! Who was responsible for this? As we walked down the bleachers I noticed a man getting into a truck. 

Approaching him, I said "Can you tell me who has been cleaning this place up. It looks great!" 

He just smiled.

His name is Jeff Martin. He is unassuming and kind. He wants no credit, but reluctantly allowed me to mention him in my blog. I know he didn't do all the work himself. He wanted to make sure I mentioned that he had help. I also know it takes a dedicated person-like Jeff- to follow a project through. A visionary. Just like the Kiwanis Club President who organized the letter writing campaign to rename the stadium. 

We talked for a long time about baseball memories, Legion games, and people we knew. He played baseball at the field as a teenager and remembered his father bringing him to Chiefs games as a kid. Feeling connected to this place, he took on the burden of beautification. With his own time and money he tended the field.  A group of boys around the age of 13 and their parents gave weekends and afternoons to help Jeff breathe new life into the stadium. Next season a team will actually play on this field.  The group of 13-14 year old boys that helped Jeff with the work. They call themselves the Chiefs. How about that!

Mom looking at the progress.

Home team dugout-painted and refurbished.

For me it is a sign. You might not believe in things like that, but I do. I've been chasing the white rabbit through Wonderland all my life..... just like Alice. I will keep going through the sane and the nonsensical, looking for clues, puzzle pieces and a voice. Of course I've fallen down a few rabbit holes. Who hasn't? I keep striking out, making errors, and chasing the rabbit. 

Baseball is a game of statistics. A player is measured by how many times he hit the ball divided by how many chances he was given to hit the ball.

What are the chances I find what I'm looking for? Statistically how could my pursuit be measured?   What were the chances that this stadium would ever look like this again? Its a sign...I tell you...a sign.

Jeff-from the bottom of our hearts my mother and I thank you and your team.  I know you did it because you love baseball. It had nothing to do with the Walker family and that makes it perfect.

The Verlon Walker Leukemia Center

Cause of death listed on his certificate was "Chronic Granulocytic Leukemia" known now by the name Chronic Myeloid Leukemia. I have researched this type of leukemia all my adult life. I have followed survival rates and the drug treatments.  In 2000 a new drug therapy (Gleevac) was introduced that increased the survival rates of CML in a major way. A diagnosis is no longer a death sentence.  In 2009 Kareem Abdul Jabbar announced he had this type of  leukemia. Jabbar is now an advocate and spokesperson for the disease. Prior to the drug therapy, a patient could only hope for a bone marrow transplant, and when my father was diagnosed the options were slim.

Upon my father's death the Cubs donated huge sums of money to Wesley Memorial Hospital (now called Northwestern Memorial Hospital). The money would establish  the Verlon "Rube" Walker Leukemia Center.  Rube was a nickname given to both my uncle & my dad early in their careers. The center still exists today.

My mom and Ernie Banks present a check to the board members of Wesley Memorial Hospital

The center initially consisted of a patient area with two isolated rooms, a research lab, and a donor room that housed a Celltrifuge machine.  My father would fly to Bethesda, Maryland to use a similar machine. Basically it harvests white blood cells from donors then circulates the red blood cells back to the donor separating only what the leukemia patient needs. White blood cells help the body fight infection and in most blood cancers there is either not enough white cells or too many sick white cells. A basic blood transfusion doesn't give a leukemia patient enough white blood cells, but the Celltifuge machine could.  Due to the Cubs generosity and my father's insistence prior to his death--- Chicago now had a Celltrifuge machine.

Ernie Banks, mom, Dr Wilson Hartz-director of the center

The proceeds of an inter league game played on June 24th 1971 at Wrigley Field between the White Sox's and the Cubs were donated to the center. It was the beginning of what would later become the  the Cubs Care organization.

Press Release for the Walker Leukemia Center

I remember attending banquets/ fundraising events for the center in Chicago. I would get to wear a beautiful dress and fancy shoes. The players and doctors would all attend.There would be dancing and cocktails and I was the "belle of the ball". Someone would call me to the stage and  introduce me as Verlon Walker's daughter. One year they gave out key chains with his picture on one side and on the other it said,"Think of me now and again at some moment in life which is pleasant to remember". I still have that keepsake. Looking at it reminds me of the dress I was wearing and the ballroom where they gave it out, but I don't have a  "moment in life" memory of my father.

Dave Kingman

Dave Kingman was the "king" of the Cubs in the late 70's. Somewhere in all these pictures I have one of me and Dave Kingman at a fundraising event for the center. I was 12 years old. All I remember about that was trying to get my hair to feather back like Farrah Fawcett. I had grown up and felt self conscious. The 3 year old "belle" had grown into an awkward middle schooler.  I didn't go to any more events.

Today I called Northwestern Hospital to request information about the Verlon "Rube" Walker Blood Center. I didn't tell them I was Verlon's daughter.

This is the year!

Every Cubs fan has uttered these word with incredible optimism and amnesia, "This is the year the Cubs will win". Following the heartbreaking 1969 season the team, the fans and the Wrigley's walked onto the field in 1970 with a renewed faith. I love this about the Cubs. I feel like my father's mild manner and humor was just the perfect match for this team. Cynics everywhere be damned! The Cubs WILL win.

They did win 12 of the first 16 games and by June  they were leading the National League East by 4 1/2 games. The frenzy of winning soon gave way to major defeat....AGAIN. The Cubs lost 12 straight games and the momentum shifted. Ernie Banks was hurt. The pitching staff was exhausted. There were problems in the outfield. The Cubs managed to claw their way back to 2nd in the division by September but no Cubs baseball would be played in October 1970. At least they finished ahead of the Mets!

NL East	W	L	Pct.	GB
Pittsburgh Pirates	89	73	.549	--
Chicago Cubs	84	78	.519	5
New York Mets	83	79	.512	6
St. Louis Cardinals	76	86	.469	13
Philadelphia Phillies	73	88	.453	15.5
Montreal Expos	73	89	.451

We spent the winter break after the 1969 season in Lenoir. My parents enjoyed being close to family for the holidays. The Walker boys were celebrities. My father was asked to speak to several groups (Kiwanah's Club, Rotary Club, Inmates at the Hudson Correctional Center, South Lenoir Methodist Church). He said yes to them all and was over the moon to have his name featured on The Holiday Inn markee. From what I have been told, he was quite the public speaker. I love that he spoke to the inmates. It reminds me of Johnny Cash playing at Folsom Prison. My father was acutely aware of how blessed he was.

In a written copy of his speech I found this quote, " People often blame circumstances for what they are and what they are doing. I don't go along with that. Circumstances are made and its up to each of us to get some good from all circumstances." I think about this so much, knowing he had battled leukemia when he wrote this.

Spring Training 1970. Here is the gang.

We returned to Lenoir in the winter of 1970 to be with family. My father was named Pitching Coach for the 1971 season. This was a huge honor and something for which he had worked hard. He had survived the failed College of Coaches, Lou Klein, Bob Kennedy, and Leo Durocher.  Finally, it was his turn to shine and do something with the Cubs pitching. It was a wonderful winter break and Christmas. "1971 was going to be the year!"

In late January my father got sick. It was determined that his Leukemia was out of remission and he began vigorous treatment at Northwestern Hospital in Chicago. He didn't want his players to know he was sick, but when he showed up visibly slimmer, they all knew something was wrong. It wasn't common knowledge that he had battled leukemia in the past so many were shocked at the news.

Fergie Jenkins and Verlon Walker at a Cubs Benefit ,January 1971

Fergie Jenkins was the star pitcher for the Cubs. My father is "checking out" his arm for as it was announced he would be Pitching Coach for the 1971 season.

Verlon Walker, with his foot in a bucket

I can't find anyone who can explain to me why his foot is in the bucket and I can't identify the player sitting with him. To me, the picture shows his determination to be at Spring Training and his pure love for the game.

Sometimes things happen in life that you aren't prepared for and aren't equipped to handle. On March 24th 1971 my father died. He was 42 years old. There was so much left undone. My mother was devastated. Eight days later I turned 3. This wasn't the year.

April 7th 1971, opening day at Wrigley Field, the announcer said "Ladies and Gentlemen  will you please join us in a moment of silence to honor Cub's Pitching Coach Verlon Walker who died on March 24th"

 For all the fans in the stadium and those watching on TV the season began again, with all the Cubs optimism and potential. This is going to be the year! But for one silent minute they all paused and honored my father.

Opening Day-Moment of Silence

Ambassodor

He was Lenoir, North Carolina's unofficial ambassador. So proud of his small town, he couldn't help but brag. When his players would tease him about being from such a small town, he would use his wit to fire back with comments about the "greatness" of Lenoir. Ernie Banks once asked my dad why the mayor of Lenoir wasn't attending some official conference in Washington DC. My dad responded by saying" he is way too busy to be bothered by such dealings. There are important things going on in Lenoir".

Lenoir the Best City-by Ernie Banks

Ernie wrote about him in the Chicago Tribune (June 21, 1969). In the article he talks about my dad's ability to ease tension with his sense of humor and bolster confidence with his "analysis of any player in the majors--what he can and cannot do, how fast he is, how well he throws." Mr. Cub complimented my dad on his knowledge of the game!, Ernie goes on to say that he is going to HAVE to visit Lenoir, North Carolina after all he has heard about it. I don't know if Ernie ever made it to Lenoir. It is this quality in my dad that I wish I had experienced first hand. The wise cracks, the ease of a tense situation, a word of assurance that all would be fine. A comfort with who he was and where he came from. A joke and smile that could deliver me from my awkward insecurities.When I first found this article that Ernie wrote, I was so impressed by the kind words portraying my father as a "rock" in the dugout and locker room.The flash and excitement of a Hall of Fame player writing about my father. Well, doesn't that almost make me famous? See how the ego gets involved. I admit sifting through these old pictures, baseballs and publications can be exciting, but it doesn't really tell me much about my dad and its even a bit of a distraction.

Ernie Banks stands with my mom

 Of course Ernie Banks was going to say nice things. He and my father were friends.I don't know Ernie, so it seems remote to me. All those cards and telegrams sent upon my father's death filled with beautifully crafted phrases about his strength and character from P.K. Wrigley and the rest of the Cubs organization are so touching. Of course they were going to say nice things about him to his widow and daughter. I do believe Mr Wrigley  meant what he said  in those notes, but I don't know him. The Wrigley's flew my father all over the United States on a private jet getting him the best treatment for his type of Leukemia. I know my father met with P.K. after he was named a coach and asked to be considered as Manager. To which Mr Wrigley said, "I have you right where I want you. If I make you the Manager, I will have to fire you one day and I don't want to do that". The Cubs stuff is like the whipped cream on top of the cake--yummy, exciting, even sexy.  Like all journey's I have found that this one has brought me right back to where I began. The people in Lenoir who knew my father before he was a Cub. The Cake in this scenario--the substance. What has honestly impressed me are the people I run into now, 40 years after my father's death, that go out of their way to tell me a story. They look me in the eyes, reach out their hand and tell me in their own voice something he said or did. A prank, good deed, remark attributed to him. They still remember "it"  in sparkling detail. That is a legacy better than the Hall of Fame and there is just something about the spoken word.

Throughout my life, I have been blessed with these hometown stories. Seriously, people would stop me at the market and say, "Aren't you Verlon Walker's daughter? Gosh, you look just like your mama! I have a story for you. One time I was fishing at Lake James and ran out of gas and your daddy came motoring by and gave me a beer and towed me back to shore". It is what I yearn for. It seems so real and present.  I have taken each and every story into my heart, stored them away and woven them into a person that I might understand and really know. The people of Lenoir have given me that. The baseball pictures and articles added to it for sure. Thank God for the baseball stuff because that is were I will find a recording of his voice.

Baseball took him away from Lenoir. When he was away he spoke beautifully about it as an ambassador. Leukemia took him way from me. The people of Lenoir have spoken beautifully about him as if they were his ambassador.

Lenoir News Topic  1969

I contacted the Radio Station in Lenoir, WJRI, and told the morning show host, Rocky Brooks, about my blog and my quest for audio & video archives. He invited me to do an in-studio interview. I was so excited and extremely nervous. I wanted to make it through the interview without crying, falling or getting my words jumbled. Just hoping to make my family proud. I got to be an ambassador! It was such a powerful experience for me. I know my dad would have loved that.

My dad with a cigarette- Lenoir 1956

Merle Haggard and Junior Johnson

I was driving down a busy road yesterday and noticed a little girl holding her father's hand as they walked down the sidewalk. My first thought was of my own children and the feel of their soft small hand pressed into mine, the tickle of their fingers on the back of my hand. Then I thought about all the hands I have held in my life and the one I don't remember holding.

Holding Hands

Years ago, in an attempt to get to know my father, I started watching baseball. I thought if I understood the game I might understand him. I followed the Cubs through the wins and losses. It was my attempt to create him so he would feel familiar to me. I found out he liked Merle Haggard, so I listened to Merle Haggard. I found out he liked  Junior Johnson, the race car driver, so I read his biography. Through my research of Haggard and Johnson I found out that Ronald Reagan pardoned both of them, so I can only assume he would like Ronald Reagan.

My First Birthday

Mom kept a box of items for me. A pair of his reading glasses, a ring, an engraved lighter. I've looked through the glasses that he looked through and tried on the ring that he wore so proudly in search of a  moment of closeness.

Knowing a person takes time and effort. Its the mundane moments strung together watching and listening, walking hand in hand ,celebrating holidays and milestones, growing up and growing old. I didn't have that time so I'm piecing him together like a puzzle of a man everyone else knew. Last night I found a deck of cards in a box of my dad's things. I sat at my dining table and I taught my son to play poker with that deck of cards. Maybe his hands had touched those cards once, shuffled them. I thought of that as I looked at my son's hands holding his 5 cards and it made me smile.

His voice is an important part of the puzzle for me because its another layer of knowing him. I feel so grateful that I have all these pictures, things, and stories that have given me comfort through the years. I won't ever hold his hand again, but writing this blog and this quest has helped heal my heart.