Bobby used most of his profits to buy a couple of radio stations in Boston, one AM and one FM outlet. I thought he’d gone off the deep end on that one because in those days most small stations lost money every year. I told him I wanted no part of it. But he hired new announcers and DJs, changed the formats around, and built two winners. Some of you know that he even started the first sports talk show in Boston on his AM station and did it himself for a while. It was Bobby’s idea to have listeners call in and say what they liked or didn’t like about all the local teams and players. Every caller felt that he could manage or coach the team better than whoever had the job.
A few years after he bought the stations, Bobby insisted on selling me a piece of what he owned at the same price it would have cost me if I’d gone in with him originally. He said he wanted me to learn all about how they worked and keep an eye on them for him during my off seasons. Later on, when he figured the time was right, he negotiated a deal with Boston Broadcasting and they took over both stations for about four times what he paid.
After that, Bobby got interested in real estate. He bought a decrepit shopping mall out in one of the suburbs, turned it around in no time with a couple of new anchor stores and some great ideas, and got rid of it right away for one hell of a price. I was against that one too, but he took me along for the ride.
Then, once he really got a feel for what real estate was all about, and just before prices for land started jumping every day in the late seventies, Bobby bought the old racetrack out in Eastboro. It had been shut down for almost four years. Two hundred and sixty acres of land came with it. First, he fixed the place up, put in a new dining room along with some great food concessions in the grandstand, and got the track operating again.
When the crowds began filling up the place on a regular basis, a business group came to Bobby out of the blue. They wanted to build a new tennis stadium right next to the track because the location was halfway between Boston and Providence. They figured they could fill it for a sanctioned big-time tournament every year, and have a great indoor/outdoor facility with club memberships the rest of the time. He thought it was a sensational idea, so he gave them a piece of land in return for a percentage of the profits.
They got it done, and it worked out beautifully with the Greater New England Tennis Open. That’s when Bobby had an architect draw up plans for a condo development on the property, along with a hotel, some office space, a movie theatre, and a few restaurants. The kind of money he was talking about raising for the project scared the hell out of me, but he put together a group of investors, including a little bit from yours truly, and the rest is history. In no time, Eastboro Park was getting awards for design and elegant living from all over the country.
Five years after it first opened, when everyone else figured that prices for condos would never stop going up, Bobby convinced the investor group to sell out to Madison General Life Insurance. The timing was absolutely perfect. He caught the market right at the peak. He became a multi-millionaire and I had more money in the bank than I knew what to do with.
So here we are today. Neither of us could have ever dreamed this would happen, not when we were playing baseball in Franklin Field on Sunday mornings. For Bobby, owning this baseball team isn’t another investment, it’s a dream come true. And for me, it’s my chance to finally get back to the big leagues in style. Everyone knows there’s no better job in baseball than being manager of the Boston Red Sox. So like I said before, I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for that line of crap I gave Pete about Bobby Sadovitz a long time ago. That’s the truth.
Well, here come my coaches on the field. It’s time to get this show on the road. I’ve been waiting for the first day of spring training all winter and I’m raring to go. Now before you ask me who that fat guy is over there, wearing number 99 with the big double chin and the white “B” on his spikes, I’ll tell you. He’s just a dear old friend of mine who’s going to be our unofficial bunting instructor.
A CORNER FOR LOVE
“One percent of ballplayers are leaders of men. The other ninety-nine percent are followers of women.”
—John McGraw
LOOKING BACK, PAULA McDonough realized that the biggest decision of her life began taking shape on a Sunday afternoon in July when she was six years old and held tightly to her father’s hand as he led her up the short ramp to the grandstand on the third base side of the field. That’s when she got her first look at the open expanse of Fenway Park, home of the Boston Red Sox. She thought of it often in later years, especially while hiking the mountain trails around the University of Vermont with Pete. The endless variations of green in the trees and shrubs along the path reminded her of how the lush Fenway grass, glittering in the sunshine, crept close to the high outfield wall, and of the “Green Monster,” more subdued in color, that stretched from the left field foul line to the center field bleachers. And she recalled how the color of the playing field and the surrounding perimeters of the park were complemented by thousands and thousands of semi-gloss green seats.
She had grown up in West Roxbury, the younger daughter of a construction worker and a nurse, who worked at whichever hospital would limit her schedule to the six hours a day her children were in school. Maureen, her older sister, was born with music in her soul, and never even flirted with the idea of participating in sports. Paul and Joan McDonough knew ahead of time that their second child would have to be their last. The immediate disappointment of not having a son—”He’ll be a junior, of course,” Paul had said, and his wife agreed—gave rise to the name with which Paula was christened. It also guaranteed her father’s determination to see her develop whatever athletic ability she had, along with a love for baseball, the only game that mattered to him.
When Paula was fourteen, her father bought season tickets for all the Red Sox home games played on Saturday and Sunday, and renewed them each year. He had a special fondness for sitting almost up against the left field wall, in the last two seats of the second row of the grandstand. Only a foot away from the yellow foul pole, he could see every inch of Fenway Park from that corner. He loved being able to look down and offer his encouragement to the Sox left fielder.
They had seen Ted Williams play out the string in Boston, retiring at the end of the 1960 season. Paula would always remember the home run that he hit in the last at bat of his career on that dreary September afternoon. Her father had picked her up at school to join the meager crowd that bade “The Kid” adieu. They watched Carl Yastrzemski, his successor, mature as a player during the sixties. Yaz’s teams usually got off to a fast start, but had the local sportswriters penning the inevitable “Wait ’til next year” by the middle of July.
Her father often told Paula that being at Fenway Park meant a lot more to him than just watching a ball game. “Sometimes, when I sit here, I just tune out the noise of the crowd and what’s happening on the field, and think about who I am and where I’m going. For some reason, this is the best place in the world for me to come to grips with any decisions I’ve been trying to make.”
As the nine innings of any game moved along, he found moments to inquire about how she was doing. Paula began looking forward to those weekend afternoons when the Red Sox played at home and she could seek his advice or let him know about some new development in her life.
Paula couldn’t remember when she’d had the first meaningful discussion with her father about boys, only that it had been at the ballpark. He told her that they were an interesting and inescapable part of her growing up. “Some day your own Prince Charming is going to come along and make you very happy,” he said.
In her junior year of high school, Paula went out with Terry Galvin. They liked each other from the start and dated regularly after that. He was the All-American redheaded boy with freckles who played both baseball and hockey at school and had a talent for performing comedy routines. Time passed, and as graduation approached, Terry spoke of becoming a pediatric surgeon. Paul McDonough liked T
erry and was thrilled at seeing him escort his daughter to their senior prom. He wondered whether the strong attraction between the two of them would continue when they finished high school and went off to different colleges.
At the end of Paula’s freshman year at the University of Vermont, her father helped her find work in the office trailer on a construction site where he was employed. Although they drove to and from the job together each day, their serious conversations were still saved for the weekend afternoons they shared in the Fenway Park grandstand. It was at one of those games that Paula let him know about the social life she’d had at college that year.
“I mean, I went out whenever I wanted, usually with a bunch of kids, but I couldn’t really think of dating anyone seriously. Terry called a lot and wrote to me from Tulane, but he’s too far away to visit, even on the big campus weekends. So I spent most Saturday nights in the library.”
“How are things with him now that you’re both home?” he asked.
“They’re good, Dad,” she said. “We still have fun together, but I feel as if I shouldn’t see him as often as he wants me to. I think I ought to tell him that both of us have to be free to date other people at school.”
He wanted to ask her if she loved Terry, but she was still too much his baby for him to feel comfortable with either the question or the answer she might give him. So he said that he agreed with her and that he was sure Terry would understand.
In the first week of her sophomore year, Paula met Pete Donnelly, a transfer student from Temple University, who lived just outside Philadelphia. She was drawn to him immediately. He was tall, with the dark blond hair and features of his Scandinavian mother. Pete showed no interest in the regular campus sports, preferring mountain climbing, sailing and skiing. He was very good at all three. He was also a voracious reader who loved to discuss books when he sat with Paula in a downtown Burlington coffee shop or when they drove to a nearby hiking trail in his new 1964 Karmann Ghia. They dated frequently and Paula often spoke of him in her collect calls home.
During the second semester of that year, Paula realized that her feelings for Terry and Pete were equally strong. She decided to make some adjustments in her life that would let her continue both relationships without having to commit to either. She stayed at school during spring break, knowing that Terry was returning to Boston. But she let Pete believe she was going home and encouraged him to join his friends who were spending the week in Ft. Lauderdale.
On the third Saturday in May, three days after she finished her final exams and left Vermont, Paula went to the ball game with her father. She listened to him point out the new players on the team and predict that the Red Sox pitching staff would again get them nowhere that year.
“I’d like to think we could finish as high as fourth, but realistically this is an eighth place ball club,” he told her. “I really feel sorry for Pesky having to manage this bunch.” He tapped her on the knee with his program. “So how about letting your old man know why you stayed up at school during the break last month. It kind of upset your mother that you weren’t home for Easter.”
Paula explained the problem, only after getting him to promise that he wouldn’t discuss it with the rest of the family. She knew he’d feel honor bound not to come out and say that Paula told him this or that; but she didn’t want him to give in to speculating out loud, asking her mother if she thought there was any chance Paula might be coming home less often just to avoid Terry. She also told her father that she was leaving in June to waitress at a resort hotel in the Catskills.
“I’ll be back one week before classes start. We’ll get to a couple more games if the Sox are at home, but I haven’t given you the big news yet.”
“I may not be ready for it,” he said. “You just informed me that I’ve got to spend the whole summer out here with one of my brothers. Is the rest of it as bad?”
Paula laughed and took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve decided to spend my junior year in London. I’ll get to see another culture and I won’t have to cope with this Terry/Pete thing. Maybe being away from both of them will help me decide which one I like most.” She had intended to say “love,” but something about the way her father looked at her made her switch words at the last moment. “And don’t worry about the cost. It will be the same as being in Vermont and I’m saving money for air fare.”
“No more collect calls?” he asked, smiling and raising his eyebrows mischievously for her.
“Less often, I promise.”
“If you really mean that, we won’t let you go.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” Her eyes misted over.
A loud crack of the bat drew their attention. They stopped talking long enough to stand and watch the ball hit by one of the Baltimore Orioles rise on a long high arc toward center field and land about twelve rows deep in the bleachers. “Well, if we don’t lead the league in anything else, we’ll be number one in gopher balls given up,” he said.
Paul McDonough waited until the hitter circled the bases and was on his way back to the visitors’ dugout. “Let me tell you something, Paula,” he began, indicating by the wag of a forefinger that he was about to say something he considered important. “I sat in this ballpark in the summer of 1942, trying to make two decisions. The first was whether to join the Army, and the second was whether to ask your mother to marry me. We had two seats somewhere behind home plate when the game started, but the place was pretty empty so we moved over here, to be alone, sort of, and talk.
“I remember like it was yesterday, the Sox were six runs behind the Yankees when I made up my mind to enlist and to pop the question. Your mother said ‘Yes’ right away, even though she knew I wouldn’t be around very long. Over the next two innings the Sox rallied for seven runs to win the game.” He smiled and then chuckled. “Your mother figured they did it just for us. She always said they’d have lost if I didn’t propose. Somehow I’ve got the feeling that after you’re through running away from these guys, no matter how long it takes, you’ll be sitting right here yourself when you decide what to do.”
It took three years for Paula to learn that her father was right, that running from life didn’t help. She corresponded regularly with both Pete and Terry from England, and missed both of them very much. She spent some time at home with Terry the summer before her senior year, but was relieved that he had to devote a large part of every week to studying for the medical school boards. Back in Vermont, Paula resumed dating Pete, but forced herself to do it on a limited basis. There were times when each of her boyfriends began to talk about getting married after college, but she always found a way to change the subject before it got too serious.
Paula graduated with a degree in psychology and decided to try advertising as a career. Her search ended with a job in a small office in Boston. Pete had urged her to go to Philadelphia. He suggested that his father could help her get a position in a top agency there, but she told him that she wanted to be close to her family, at least for a while. Terry had been accepted at Tufts Medical School, just outside Boston, but she knew he’d be far too busy with his studies to see her more than occasionally. Paula felt the anguish of wanting to spend most of her time with both of them, yet afraid to be with either one very long.
The baseball season of 1966 was a dismal one in Boston. The team finished in ninth place, but Paula and her father still managed to take in a number of weekend games together. As they watched the Red Sox’s inept performances, there was no talk about Terry or Pete unless Paula brought it up herself, reaching out for his support.
A week before Thanksgiving, Paul McDonough fell off some wet scaffolding and seriously injured his back. The operation on his spine was successful, but he learned that it would be almost a full year before he’d be able to maneuver well enough to return to work. When the renewal application for his season tickets arrived in January, he told Paula that he was giving them up unless she wanted the seats herself.
“This ’67 team probably won’
t be any better than last year,” he said. “My guess is that we can get the same tickets the year after once I’m healed and ready to go back.” Paula agreed.
As it turned out, the Red Sox of that year played to the tune of the “Impossible Dream.” Paula, who was sharing an apartment in Boston, watched some of the games with her father in his den at home, but didn’t purchase any tickets herself. Terry called a few times during the summer, inviting her to go with him, but it was usually at the last minute, after she had already committed to doing something else.
With two games left to play in the incredible season, the Red Sox trailed the Minnesota Twins by one game in the race for the American League pennant. As if by fate, the schedule had the two teams playing each other in Saturday and Sunday games at Fenway Park.
Pete had made plans earlier to be in Boston that weekend and to spend Saturday with Paula. He called from the airport on Friday night, just after arriving.
“Hey, I can get tickets to the game tomorrow if you want to go.”
“Are you kidding? That’s fantastic!” she said. Later on, Paula fell asleep wondering if her father’s prediction was about to come true.
Their seats were in the fifth row of boxes behind the Red Sox dugout. Paula cheered from the start as the team took a 3–2 lead behind Jose Santiago. In the seventh inning she joined the screaming crowd in a long, standing ovation for Yastrzemski when he hit a three-run homer to put the game on ice. She and Pete kissed when the final out was made, but only to celebrate the Red Sox victory. Fenway Park had come up empty for her.
Painting the Corners Again Page 13