A Memory of Yogi Berra (1925-2015)

I had a conversation with the man.

       Yogi Berra epitomized ‘baseball star’ – a forever NY Yankee Great, Hall of Famer, and known by all to be a first rate, down to earth, solid gold human being.   Yes, we had a conversation and not about him or his career.

        It was in the winter of 2001, one of those fresh, clear cold winter nights we experience in New Jersey.  I had looked forward all day to my night at the Yogi Berra Museum and Learning Center.  I was attending the reception Yogi Berra hosted to celebrate publication of the book “Elston Howard and Me: The Story of the first Black Yankee” – authored by Elston’s widow, Arlene Howard with Ralph Wimbish.   Elston died in 1980 at the age of 51 due to a heart condition.

        Elston Howard, held several positions with the New York Yankees during his playing days with the team, 1955 – 1967.  I remember him for his outstanding play behind the plate for the Yankees.  I’m not alone in that assessment.  He was said to be in league with Yogi Berra and Roy Campanella as one of the all-time best catchers in the major leagues.

        Elston and Arlene Howard were great personal friends of Yogi and his wife, Carmen.  

        As the book neared publication, I was becoming a friend of Arlene, serving with her on the Board of Trustees at our church, Galilee United Methodist in Englewood, NJ.  Arlene was the President of the Board and I worked along side her as the Board Secretary.  From the moment I learned she hoped I would be able to attend the reception at Mr. Berra’s museum, I was ecstatic . . . not about Yogi Berra or the reception itself.

Larry Doby autographed this
  for me in 1982 at a
crowded mall in New Jersey 

Larry Doby was on my mind.   Larry Doby, the first black baseball player on an American League team was my first ‘heartthrob’.  I mean a heart-attack-threatening, fainting-spell-possible, scream-producing (but squelched) object of my affections since I was 11 years old.  He played centerfield for the Cleveland Indians and I was certain he was not too old for me – we would one day be together.  He married.  High school and college activities encouraged more grown up ambitions for me than pining for the power hitter on the Indians.   I married.  Still, talking with Larry Doby would remain a wispy romantic figment of my imagination.   And knowing Larry Doby lived in Montclair, NJ and was good friends of Yogi Berra, for certain there was a possibility of the two of us having a conversation at the reception for Arlene’s book. Wow!

        That night, introduced to Yogi Berra, I casually questioned if Larry Doby was expected.  Yogi said he was planning to be there but had not been feeling well.  He wouldn’t be coming.  I expressed my regrets and volunteered with a smile how enamored I had been – most likely, his greatest fan. We talked a bit more; then both of us suddenly saddened when Yogi mentioned Larry lost his wife earlier in the year.  It was a moment I’ll not forget. 

        Larry Doby, member of the Hall of Fame, died in 2003 at the age of 79.

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My condolences to the family and friends

of Yogi Berra who died,

at the age of 90, on September 22^nd.

His services were held today in Montclair.

May he rest in peace.

Pope Francis

He was here and I have notes.

Pencil and pad in hand, quick scribbles of words, phrases that resonated with me were preserved for pondering as my ordinary but important life continues.  (You are not to wince about my choice of words in the previous sentence.  I realize I am speaking to others who also realize all of our lives are important. )

The notes are selfishly recorded here.  My silent prayer is my senses maintain sensibility for many more years to come, i.e., I’ll not soon say, “Now why was I impressed by that ministry of Pope Francis?”  Because, at the time, the words I heard, the information, touched me.  I understood how I must use the advice imparted to become a good person; to help better any community I am part of with my attention and my actions.

An imperfect world

My notes –

             Pope Francis wants Church to be pastoral, not doctrinal.  

            Lending requirements keep alive poverty, exclusion, and dependence.   The distribution decisions of the World Monetary Fund may have been part of his concern.  Nevertheless, my thoughts questioned whether social justice for the less fortunate on our planet will remain only a dream.

            Every Christian has an intrinsic value.  (I’m a Christian so of course I revisited the word – ‘intrinsic’, yes, it means essential.)  I believe I believe every person has an intrinsic value.  Hmmm, thought provoking.

            The compromising of creation is when we see nothing but ourselves.  

            …idle chatter, which provides a cover for the elimination of justice -  (How many important issues in our free society are unresolved while we talk, talk, talk?)

            Pope Francis choose the term ‘universal fraternity’,   to me more widely inclusive than ‘brotherhood’.  I like.

            “If you fight among yourselves, you’ll be devoured by those outside.”   Oh yes.

            “Truth is above everything.”   Amen.

I have quotes around the last two of my scribbles, so I’m thinking I made an effort to gather those particular words of Pope Francis verbatim.  My apology if I failed.

A take-a-way note to self reads:  "Marva, try to be a prophet of construction."  I heard Pope Francis ask for us to do that.  And, because my outspoken nature has me agonizing over whether my words are destructive, I've challenged myself to be constructive.

Please pray for me as you pray for others. 

   

Work - A Labor of Love

Once a task is started joy abounds.    There is always something that needs to be done to have and to hold a healthy and comfortable environment.   I have the tools, the ability and the good health necessary. No way must I feel used or unfairly pressured with an obligation.  I am blessed.

Putting coffee on in the morning, a labor of love.

Love gathering previous days clutter, i.e., discarded shoes, socks, opened mail and papers from tabletops, chairs and floors.  It’s wonderful when the wireless phone and TV control surfaces in the process

It’s a great feeling transferring the cleaned dishes, pots, pans and cutlery from the dishwasher to closets, drawers and cupboards to rest until once again needed.  Coincidently beginning to refill that most appreciated housekeeping aid with the dirty dishes left scattered about, has me feeling blessed to be able.  I’m serious.

My presence should always make a difference, a good difference in the lives of those around me.

It’s Labor Day 2015.  There are no definitive ‘fun’ plans here to celebrate this last holiday of the summer.

I’ll get some outdoor time by organizing the bulky yard furniture that’s been scattered about since last used.  The best will be taking time to sit a bit, contentedly reading the morning paper under beautiful blue skies in the still comfortable sunshine.

Back inside, I’ll start boiling water in the pasta pot.  My plan is to bring joy to the face of my grandson when he comes from work.   The recent college graduate (a brand new management trainee) is scheduled to work until noon. He loves plain and simple pasta (with nothing more than flavorful seasoning and goo gobs of grated parmesan).  He’ll be pleased.

It’s a Happy Labor Day.