I’d like to share some experiences about my trip with our son Justin, the last weekend of October, out to our family’s homeland in SoCal. We made the pilgrimage to Dodger Stadium to see Game 2 of this year’s Major League Baseball finals (fondly known as “The World Series”).
To provide some background and context: Meme & I had gone to Game 2 of the 1988 Series when I was a District Supervisory Ranger at Santa Monica Mountains. Game 1 had ended suddenly in the bottom of the 9th inning, with the Dodgers losing and down to their final strike. I was quietly saying “just a hit” (to tie), when a hobbled Kirk Gibson came to the plate and hit a historic game ending walk-off home run. Meme & I were catapulted from the couch in joyful celebration. Game 2 that we attended was a well-pitched Dodgers victory by Orel Hershiser. The Dodgers went on to defeat the favored Oakland A’s on the road in 5-games (4 games to 1). Justin had just turned 5 and didn’t go with us: our pair of tickets, procured in the lottery of that yesteryear, was for two tickets (Reserved level: $ 60 each). He’d remembered he didn’t get to go that year, and jumped at the chance this time around. Meme & I postponed a planned excursion to archaeological parks, monuments and sites in the 4-Corners area, in order for father-son bonding adventure (much shorter than our sojourn to Scotland years back).
Fast forward through many years of struggle to this year. The Dodgers are playing the mighty Yankees, opening in L. A. In the bottom of the first extra inning (10th) of Game 1, they are again behind and down to their final strike, with two outs, when a hobbled Freddie Freeman blasts the Dodgers to victory with a “Grand Slam” homerun scoring 4 runs. This time Meme & I didn’t experience lift-off from our couch, because that is in the living room and we were watching in the den. We did, however, explode from chair & loveseat not believing that lightning sometimes does strike twice.
Early the following morning I left our home outside Santa Fe enroute to a place I have had so many memorable events with Dad, high school & college chums, cousins, step-brother-in-law (it was there that Charlie first mentioned to me he wanted to be an airline pilot. I told him to think about Navy. He went to UW (Huskies!) on a Navy ROTC scholarship, flew P-3’s and is now a Captain for Alaska Airlines). Please, feel free to climb aboard with me as we back out of the garage and in the darkness point the 4Runner south towards Justin’s place in Albuquerque and the ABQ International Sunport. Hopefully you don’t mind listening to my “go to” channel on SiriusXM radio, # 24 = Margaritaville. Approaching Bernalillo that Oct. 26th morning pre-dawn we call Justin with status & update: no answer. We leave a message, calling again at Tramway with same result. Arriving at Justin’s we scurry about and make our gate with plenty of time, but no seats for waiting, except high-chair cocktail seats.
Waiting for our morning’s direct flight I noticed many Dodgers fans making similar plans: heading west. It makes sense, as the Albuquerque Dukes (and later Isotopes) had been the Dodgers’ AAA farm team. There still is a lot of support here for “Dem Bums”. As we see both legs of the flight are full to capacity (but, we have room for you, my imaginary friend). In Phoenix we lose much of our base, probably going on to other southland airports: we stay aboard for our Burbank (BUR) bound SWA 737 – going to the rear of the craft, as at BUR we still get to board/disembark front and back. For this early in the morning everyone seems wide-eyed-and-bushy-tailed. Must be the SWA hospitality (or the Starbucks they brought onboard).
A few minutes after arrival we’re stretching our legs with the walk-about to the rental car area, where our Budget “Fast Break” is available for rapid exit at the Avis desk (a head spinner I know). The agent asks if we’d like our mid-size in an EV variety. Three times he mentions we’re to bring it back “as is” and shouldn’t charge it. Sounds like a good plan: we hop on it, and hop on in & out their multi-level parking garage (an ode to concrete). Departing the airport we’re close to a primary neighborhood of childhood memories (our kennel on Lima St. near San Fernando Rd.). However, we were on a mission: Tommy’s Famous Burgers next to McCambridge Park was calling Justin (OK, me too). If you haven’t experienced their Chili Cheese Burgers, the next time you find yourself going L.A. way, it is worth a try (Remember, to get extra napkins – you’ll need ‘em).
Sufficiently fortified with cholesterol, we cruised, or floated, along to 6th St. and then Olive (the number of times I’ve done that is, well… a lot), then we proceeded down Olive Dr. to Forest Lawn Dr. & Memorial Park. Up on the hill (near the North Chapel) we visited the resting place of Fred & Margaret Young (4-5 rows down from our parking spot). Dad was such an invested Dodgers fan. I still remember when he met my senior prom date, Susan Long (she had lived on 6th St. and we inadvertently done a 60's "high school" driveby), voted “Most Likely to Succeed”, and a Valedictorian before her years at Wellesley College with classmates that included Hillary Rodham (Clinton). After our senior ceremony at the Starlight Bowl, Dad told Susan that he was really touched by her speech: so much so that he turned down the volume on his earpiece as he listened to Vin Scully and Jerry Doggett doing play-by-play of the Dodgers game. We knew he’d be with us as we rooted for the home team that evening.
Getting over to I-5 South, our next stop was the Holiday Inn Express (HIE) in the Echo Park area near Dodger Stadium. We took a zigzag route, but got there over an hour before check-in. I hadn’t been in that neighborhood for a number of years, one-block from MacArthur Park (no cake left out in the rain – no precipitation, which is good for baseball). The vicinity had changed a lot since I was last there: many, MANY housing challenged people (more on that later). The room was under Justin’s name, and after waiting a bit I went to the desk and asked re: status for the room, and a key card for the rest room. I also showed my “Gold Card”, that is actually Platinum now, and the manager was immediately able to find a room ready for us on the 5th floor (nice view of the area around 6th & Alvarado).
Leaving the hotel at 3PM we (yep, you’re still with us) take Alavardo to Sunset to Vin Scully Ave entrance. This trip normally takes 9-minutes, but today it is Game 2 time, and sponsored by “Fog Hat” and their song “Slow Ride” so it is 1.5+ hours. While passing under US 101, I noted that it was empty of tents and caches. Justin, who is a New Mexico Public Defender by day, told me he had clients tell him they feel “trapped with nowhere to go” in tunnel’s and underpass. Oh, but the tailgating and neighborhoods closed to “Thru Traffic” is festive (tailgating is prohibited at Dodger Stadium (wink-wink, nod-nod). After paying your $70 parking fee (a pittance compared to tickets), you follow the vested arms wavers towards another entrance/exit. But before you’re caught in a magical mystery tour vortex you are directed to a “stop here” spot. Walking through the parking areas you’re reminded of the smell of a Grateful Dead concert, but you sense your fellow revelers are making more than… “make good money, $5 a day, make any more might move away…” Up long flights of stairs brings us to 2nd level Lode entrance: left field. Our tickets our around on opposite right field side, but we decide to take the inside experience of sights, smells and sounds. Crowded: even the men’s rest room has a long line out the door on the left field side, and concession stands – forget it for now. We walk-n-take-it-in, seeing a mix of Dodgers & Yankees fans (what is that “Reds” fan doing here?). Getting to our seats in Section 160, Row M, well before game time of 5:05 PM PDT, we’re cocooned by Dodgers fans, but some Yank-yellers as well. As we prepare to take a selfie photo of father-&-son a kindred fan asks us if he can take the photo for us, allowing a wider panorama. Here is the result.
The concession stands are “hardly a wait” here; in fact you have to speed read before deciding on a couple of cervezas* “Jalisco”, in a commemorative cup, a bag of peanuts, and two Premium (all-beef) Dodger Dogs. As we’re puttin’ on all the fixin’s we note there are few to no onions: reality in these times of agricultural recalls. Even though I had only 3-morsels of “O” it was still good, and the game: we (Los Dodgers) started strong and hung-on at the end. Early in the game our Boys-in-Blue took a lead on long balls, with round-trippers by Tommy Edman (2nd inning), and Teoscar Hernandez and “FREDDIE” (in the 3rd). Juan Soto with a solo shot in the top of the 3rd, made in a one-run game for half an inning. The bottom of the 7th was “hold your breath time” as Shohei Ohtani (NL MVP Finalist) suffered an injury while being thrown out trying to steal second base. As it turns out, no one scored again until the top of the 9th. Both teams had chances, but good pitching by Yoshinobu Yamamoto, just giving up that one run through 6.1 innings, set the stage for back-to-back Dodgers’ victories, mirroring again the start of the ’88 Series. But, as any long time Dodgers backer knows, when that reliever comes out of the bullpen it is like the proverbial “box of chocolates” – “you never know what you’re gonna get”: will it be a hurler in shutdown mode or same guy who has lost the plate somewhere in Narnia: walks 3 of 4.
Fortunately for the hometown faithful, we got pitchers that evening in Anthony Banda & Michael Kopech. They got through 7th & 8th unscathed. In the 9th, however, Blake Treinen and the Dodgers did not go unscored upon and Alex Vesia was called in for the final out with runners on base – it was a nail-biter for both sides. Many of us did not leave directly, taking in the post-game atmosphere (another photo). Of course we learned when we finally got to our EV-ride why so many fans notoriously leave early: it took us about an hour to get out of the parking lot. Once accomplished, it was smooth sailing through Elysian Park and back to HIE.
That night, with the cheers of our fellow fans ringing in our ears Justin was awakened (past midnight) by the smell of smoke. He decided to let this First Responder rest as he did a recon and size-up: it was from the housing challenged folks in the alley. I slept through it all. At B-fast the next morning we sat next to another D’s fan that had come in from the southwest. He said he lived south of Tucson, but had been born in Ruidoso. We talked baseball and fire behaviors seen around southern AZ & NM. Shortly thereafter, we left for BUR and our direct flight home to ABQ Sunport (via quick stop, stay onboard) in “Lost Wages”. We all got home without incident (thanks for coming along with us) and later Justin auditioned for a part in Vortex Theatre’s production of Hamlet (he was cast as one of the heavies), adding to things to think about.
*- Sorry I didn’t get you one, but Justin did later.
I took a borrowed copy of the non-fiction book
Nomads on our journey west (good read by the way: did you know that the great expansions of the "wander-about" tribes (Huns & Mongols) that brought such changes east & west 800-years apart was due to severe prolonged droughts in central Asia caused by... you got it: "climate change", or that when Marco Polo when venturing to China benefited from the Khans having established elaborate rest stations every 20-30 miles along the Silk Road routes: free trade was a basic tenent. Before heading to the airport Sunday morning the book had an unplanned close encounter with a cup of coffee. It happens when migratory.
