Teach
12-28-2013, 06:41 PM
It was like being in the presence of a famous movie star. People wanted to touch. To hold. To take pictures. Some saw it as something sacred; others viewed it as a religious artifact. Nearly all were in awe of this piece of hardware that’s called: The World Series Trophy.
I was working for the Boston Red Sox (you’d be surprised how many people take notice at the bank when you cash checks that say “Boston Red Sox”) as a Fenway Park tour guide. Sometimes, tour guides were asked to take on other duties. One of the duties I volunteered for was taking (escorting) the The World Series Trophy to various locations throughout New England. I actually went on two Trophy Tours. One was to cities and towns north of Boston, e.g., Gloucester, Hamilton, Ipswich, Rowley and Manchester-By-The Sea (on this tour, we received two or three police escorts). We even made a personal stop to visit a sick and dying man whose last wish was to see, firsthand and up close, the World Series Trophy. The man was so overjoyed; many of us were misty eyed.
The other tour I participated in was to an IParty store (party goods) in Hartford (actually Wethersfield) CT. On this trip we took the Red Sox van. I wish I had a dollar for every car that honked at our van en route. On the Hartford visit, we arrived at the Iparty store about 1 PM; there was already a mob of people waiting for us when we arrived. You would have thought we were in the presence of Miley Cyrus.
Well, we proceeded to bring the Trophy into the store; many people were already lined up to see it. They all wanted to take pictures with family, friends or loved ones. In fact, there were so many people that the line snaked around the store and out onto the sidewalk.
This gawking, marveling and picture-taking went on for about two hours. Finally, about 3 PM, we brought the Trophy back to the van and began heading back toward Boston. As we road east on Rt. #84, people in other cars were waving and cheering. You’d have thought that we were actual ballplayers.
When we arrived in Framingham (20 miles w. of Boston), we decided to stop at a restaurant for what might be labeled a late lunch or early dinner. I remember my security-guard partner saying to me, "Walt, we can leave the Trophy in the van. Let's just make sure we lock it." I replied , "No way! That van is like a magnet; its gonna attract a lot of attention. What if somebody breaks into the van and sreals the Trophy? Forget about losing our jobs, I for one don’t want my picture splashed all over the front page of every New England newspaper."
So I carried the sheathed Trophy into the restaurant. At that moment, I felt that I was a participant in the St. Anothy's parade in the North End of Boston. As I was walking into the restaurant, one person stopped me and asked, ”Is that a Jewish Torah?’" "No," I replied. Once inside we were seated in a booth. We placed the Trophy between us. We then ordered and engaged in small talk. As our waiter brought over our meal, he said, “Pardon me for being so inquisitive, but could you tell me what that is that’s between the two of you?” I said matter-of-factly, "It’s the World Series Trophy.” He then asked, “Can I have a look?” I then proceeded to unsheath the Trophy with its array of flagpole pennants.
Just then, you’d have thought we were sitting next to Kim Kardashian. Our waiter calls over to the other waiters, "Guys, come over here." Within seconds, four waiters came over to our table. Then the bartender arrives on the scene. Before you could say "Dustin Pedroia," the cooks from out back had come over to our table. Everybody had camera-phones. They were popping pictures left and right. Soon about a dozen patrons were surrounding our table. A few people are even coming in from off the street to see what the commotion’s all about. Oh, after about five or ten minutes, we get to finish our meal, About fifteen minutes later, we resheath the Trophy and carry it out the door and back to the van. About half-hour later we arrive back at Fenway Park.
After that incident, I decided not to volunteer for the Trophy Tours (I suppose the only one I would have accepted was one to New York City. Talk about rubbing salt on the wounds). As I think back, that visit to the restaurant gave me a first-hand appreciation of what it must be like to be a famous ballplayer and be seen eating in a public place.
Today, I no longer work for the Boston Red Sox (my mother's ill-health and eventual passing were the major reason for my departure). Yet, I still savor the host of memories I have of the Red Sox organization, its personnel, and Fenway Park. Not the least of my fond memories is the day: I Carried the World Series Trophy.
I was working for the Boston Red Sox (you’d be surprised how many people take notice at the bank when you cash checks that say “Boston Red Sox”) as a Fenway Park tour guide. Sometimes, tour guides were asked to take on other duties. One of the duties I volunteered for was taking (escorting) the The World Series Trophy to various locations throughout New England. I actually went on two Trophy Tours. One was to cities and towns north of Boston, e.g., Gloucester, Hamilton, Ipswich, Rowley and Manchester-By-The Sea (on this tour, we received two or three police escorts). We even made a personal stop to visit a sick and dying man whose last wish was to see, firsthand and up close, the World Series Trophy. The man was so overjoyed; many of us were misty eyed.
The other tour I participated in was to an IParty store (party goods) in Hartford (actually Wethersfield) CT. On this trip we took the Red Sox van. I wish I had a dollar for every car that honked at our van en route. On the Hartford visit, we arrived at the Iparty store about 1 PM; there was already a mob of people waiting for us when we arrived. You would have thought we were in the presence of Miley Cyrus.
Well, we proceeded to bring the Trophy into the store; many people were already lined up to see it. They all wanted to take pictures with family, friends or loved ones. In fact, there were so many people that the line snaked around the store and out onto the sidewalk.
This gawking, marveling and picture-taking went on for about two hours. Finally, about 3 PM, we brought the Trophy back to the van and began heading back toward Boston. As we road east on Rt. #84, people in other cars were waving and cheering. You’d have thought that we were actual ballplayers.
When we arrived in Framingham (20 miles w. of Boston), we decided to stop at a restaurant for what might be labeled a late lunch or early dinner. I remember my security-guard partner saying to me, "Walt, we can leave the Trophy in the van. Let's just make sure we lock it." I replied , "No way! That van is like a magnet; its gonna attract a lot of attention. What if somebody breaks into the van and sreals the Trophy? Forget about losing our jobs, I for one don’t want my picture splashed all over the front page of every New England newspaper."
So I carried the sheathed Trophy into the restaurant. At that moment, I felt that I was a participant in the St. Anothy's parade in the North End of Boston. As I was walking into the restaurant, one person stopped me and asked, ”Is that a Jewish Torah?’" "No," I replied. Once inside we were seated in a booth. We placed the Trophy between us. We then ordered and engaged in small talk. As our waiter brought over our meal, he said, “Pardon me for being so inquisitive, but could you tell me what that is that’s between the two of you?” I said matter-of-factly, "It’s the World Series Trophy.” He then asked, “Can I have a look?” I then proceeded to unsheath the Trophy with its array of flagpole pennants.
Just then, you’d have thought we were sitting next to Kim Kardashian. Our waiter calls over to the other waiters, "Guys, come over here." Within seconds, four waiters came over to our table. Then the bartender arrives on the scene. Before you could say "Dustin Pedroia," the cooks from out back had come over to our table. Everybody had camera-phones. They were popping pictures left and right. Soon about a dozen patrons were surrounding our table. A few people are even coming in from off the street to see what the commotion’s all about. Oh, after about five or ten minutes, we get to finish our meal, About fifteen minutes later, we resheath the Trophy and carry it out the door and back to the van. About half-hour later we arrive back at Fenway Park.
After that incident, I decided not to volunteer for the Trophy Tours (I suppose the only one I would have accepted was one to New York City. Talk about rubbing salt on the wounds). As I think back, that visit to the restaurant gave me a first-hand appreciation of what it must be like to be a famous ballplayer and be seen eating in a public place.
Today, I no longer work for the Boston Red Sox (my mother's ill-health and eventual passing were the major reason for my departure). Yet, I still savor the host of memories I have of the Red Sox organization, its personnel, and Fenway Park. Not the least of my fond memories is the day: I Carried the World Series Trophy.