On The Fly

There was a spot in the old right-field bleachers of Connie Mack Stadium where the view was perfect and, if you were lucky, you could snag a hard-hit foul ball if you had a proper glove. This spot was exactly 329 feet from home plate – I know this because the sign saying so was just in front of this spot. This was where me and my junior high school friends, Louie and Steve, would spend our summer nights when we could raise the $1.25 admission and 35 cent carfare. All of the seats in Connie Mack Stadium were made of wooden slats and bulged from decades of over-painting. The ones in our section were colored Pepto-Bismol pink under the soot coating. For the dollar and a quarter cost of occupying one of these seats, the Phillies management wasn’t about to equip the ushers with rags to wipe them down. That service went to those who paid three or four bucks for the gray or red seats. At fifteen, as I was then, a little soot on my pants was a badge of honor, anyway. Steve had s

Photo by Russ Shor London is an old town -- it goes back to the Roman days -- but one of its most famous addresses didn’t exist until 20 years ago: 221 B Baker Street. The guy who lived there never existed at all, but he got sacks of mail at that address for nearly a century. If you guessed the Sherlock Holmes’ “residence” -- you get a feather for your travel cap. The very proper townhouse with the black door and brass plaque is exactly what Holmes’ creator described in his tales penned between 1887 and 1927 -- but the house, built in 1815, actually sits between 237 Baker Street and 241 Baker. The actual address of 221 belonged to a bank, Abbey Society, for decades. And for all of those years, the Abbey Society employed a full time secretary to answer the volume of mail addressed to Sherlock Holmes, asking his assistance in solving mysteries. (Alas, his foil Dr. Watson never received much mail). By the Centennial of the first Sherlock Holmes tale (1887),

Gerald Davies Right “Are the Tigers playing in Detroit?” A question I’ve asked many times preparing to visit Motown. However, this time I found that question printed in a tattered, yellowing,  newspaper clipping from the Detroit Free Press dated Saturday, September 25, 1948 carefully tucked away in a scrapbook. The ball-club was and two young boys realized a dream, I can only imagine what that was like . . . While going through a box of old files from Lori’s late father I came across an article titled Youth’s First City Visit . A piece co-authored by 15 year old Gerald Davies from the farming community of Marlette, Michigan about his experiences visiting Detroit. The photo journal and article was a promotion sponsored by The Detroit Free Press as a student exchange. Gerald (Jerry) Davies from Marlette MI would meet his namesake Jerry Davies from Detroit, together they would visit and work on the farm, take a trip to the city, and attend a big-league ball game.  The weeken