68th Annual Old-Timer's Day--and my nephew's first day at Yankee Stadium!

June 22, 2014

Just missed! Willie Randolph, just two weeks away from his 60th birthday, braces himself after narrowly
missing a hard hit ground ball. Former teammate and baseball legend Reggie Jackson looks on.

Some dates are easy to remember. May 17, for example. Ron Guidry struck 18 California Angels, David Wells pitched a perfect game against the Minnesota Twins, and Bruce and Jeanne Donohue had their first date. All four of these great people were proudly in attendance at the 68th annual Old Timer's day at Yankee Stadium.

Tino Martinez catches a fly ball in Right Field after taking over for Paul O'Neill.
Today, the Yankees could have used O'Neill and Tino at any position!

June 22nd is also easy to remember. It's the day Ted Lilly became the first Yankee southpaw since Ron Guidry to emerge victorious in a 1-0 shutout and the day my nephew Anthony entered this world. In 2002, Ted Lilly outpitched Jake Peavy of the San Diego Padres and gave Mariano Rivera a much-needed day-off. Anthony also gave my sister a much-needed relief from being pregnant. It's fitting that today marked his first trip to Yankee stadium.

Still Mick the Quick after all these years: 65 year-old Mickey Rivers shows the speed and the glove as he races down a line drive and makes an over-the shoulder basket catch in Center Field.

The old-timers certainly played better than the new timers, as the current Yankees saw themselves at the losing end of an 8-0 shutout. Tanaka pitched well enough to win, but Brian McCan't made a compelling case for bringing John Flaherty out of retirement, and the Yankee bullpen staged an epic collapse that would have been unthinkable if Jeff Nelson and Graeme Lloyd were able to play.

As we walked back to the parking garage, I asked my Anthony what he thought about the game.
"I like Mick the Quick" he said. "But the new Yankees, they stunk today. They needed Babe Ruth and  Mickey Mantle!"

Well said. It's nice to know he takes after his uncle.

Happy Father's Day 2014!

A Story about Dad (aka Bruce Bear Miner, Jr.)

"Wow, that is so cool!"

Yes, just putting on an olive green jacket with my last name emblazoned on the front, I was the envy of the neighborhood boys on Highview Avenue. I wasn't just another 6-year-old kid. Nay, I was Army Man.

First Lieutenant Bruce Miner, shown here in Chu Lai, 1970.

Some men were just made to be fathers. Not just good fathers, but great fathers.

Some men are just 24, but take a look, and there is so much more.

How and why those drab olive green button-downs with the name MINER stiched into the fabric came to be is emblematic of the man who is my father. Walter Cronkite had already gone on national television and declared Vietnam a lost cause when Bruce Bear Miner of Cheshire, Connecticut received his draft letter. 

Dad didn't burn his draft card, flee the country, or exhaust every potential deferment imaginable (unlike some politicians we know). Dad knew how the system worked: The Army has picked somebody, and if it's not you, it's somebody else from your town with your birthday. That person might not have as much education, and therefore, not qualify for Officer Candidate School. Dad was one step ahead of the draft board on that one. He accepted the call, took the job, and earned his Lieutenant Bars before his eventual deployment.

Many years later, when I was in high school, some of the guys on the cross country team thought it would be a gas if we all wore one of those olive green jerseys on competition day. It's always something wild. Sometimes it's flourescent tacky Hawaiian Shirts, sometimes its 10-gallon straw hats, this time, the boys and I decided to go military. 

Dad wasn't exactly thrilled at first when he heard the news that I was sharing his memorobilia with the boys, but he had and Mom were in the process of raising three teenagers simultaneously. Compared to other rigors of parenting that he and Mom had triumphed over and over again, this was really child's play. In fact, he even showed up at the competition on his lunch break!

I was telling the story to the guys about life in the 328th Radio Research Company (at least what very little I knew about it) when all of a sudden, Dad showed up, unannounced, to lend some moral support to the team. Since these were his jerseys, he was the star of the show know.

"Is it true?" asked my friend and teammate Bill Savvis. "Kevin says you weren't anywhere near Charlie."

"Oh, well, I was no hero." Dad answered that question as he had about a million times before. 

On Golden Pond with Jeanne, Alison, Julia, little Adrianna, and a very enthusiastic Anthony!

But he was too modest. To someone else in Cheshire who could have received that draft letter, he was a hero. From the day he was able to reach up to the top shelf and get a jar of peanut butter for us kids, he was a hero. When were on the raft on Belgrade Lake and we heard thunder, and my pre-pubescent body couldn't get me out of the water in time, well, obviously, Dad was a hero.

As he always had been. Like I said, he was born for it.

And yes, this story does have an epilogue. In 2009, his grandson Anthony was late for school and didn't have his coat. By chance, I was in Wethersfield that day, and I was searching through every closet in the house, desperately trying to find any warm article of clothing in the house that would be suitable for a seven year old boy.

"What do you think of this one, Anthony?" I would say.

"Uh, no," he would respond. I couldn't blame him. I had to think of something.

Then, there it was. A standard-issue Korean War jacket that the pencil-pushers at the Pentagon had allocated to soldiers in Vietnam. Because you know, it gets cold in the jungle, right?

"What do you think of this one, Antony?"

"Uh . . . maybe." 

Success!

Antony put on the jacket. The bottom zipper was about six inches from his toes. But we had a winner! Just one example of many of the great victory laps that Dad is now enjoying as Grandpa.

With gratitude,

~Kev

Uptown Rainbows and Midtown Madness.

Let's name this photo "Reason Why the Bronx is better than Manhattan, Number 135."

The sky tells its own story: Storm clouds move away, white puffy clouds move in, and what is left of a passing summer thunder shower leaves its lovely imprint in the form of a rainbow across the expansive Bronx sky.

For contrast, here is a photo from 2nd Avenue and 68th street, taken just two days earlier:

I mean seriously, who pays for skywriting over the middle of Manhattan? Obviously, we will never know!