I really hope the Lost Yankee story came out OK and to your liking and wasn't too corny or sappy or maudlin but it was way after midnight when I wrote a lot of it and I have no real clue how it reads. By that same unit of measurement ... please forgive any typos or misspellings or whatever you run across. My eyes became blearier than normal along about 9 yesterday morning. With that disclaimor, I hope you enjoyed it and that it was OK.
The Record
Macky Donovan hurried off the subway train stop at his Flatbush Avenue exit and walked quickly toward his and his mother's apartment.
He walked in the door and found the caregiver standing over her dabbing her forehead with a wet towel.
He shouldn't have gone. He knew it. He just shouldn't have gone.
"She's waitin' for you, Mr. D."
Macky walked over to where his mother lie.
She looked up at him.
"Did you get it?"
"Get what, mama?"
"The record? Did you get the record, son? I was pulling for you." It had been almost 40 years since his mama had been able to speak. And her memory had some gaps in it, but it was great to hear the sound of her voice again, weak as it was.
"What record, mama?"
"That hitting record you were trying for?"
He looked down into her face, holding her hand.
"Oh no, mama. No, I didn't. I left that for someone much better than I ever was."
the end.
The Cap
Amid the screaming crowd walked an old man and a little boy up the first base concourse and toward the security office. The noise was deafening. The old man held the little boy's hand so the two wouldn't be separated.
They found the security office and opened the door. Just as they did, a mechanism the old man had clipped to his belt vibrated once, twice, three times. He reached down and flicked it off but when it went off it seemed to make the man more anxious, Tory noticed.
"This is it, young man. It's been a pleasure talking ball with you. But we've got to turn you over to your mama."
"Thanks, Mister. Hey Mister, you never told me your name."
"Oh, my name's not important. Just call me Doc."
"Doc? Why? Are you a doctor."
"Well, no, but my friends used to call me Doc back in the 70s. I guess maybe because my initials are M.D. Funny guys, huh?"
The old man turned toward the cop behind the security desk. It was Sgt. Klewsowski.
"Officer, I believe I found someone you may be looking for. And, oh, here's a certain something the Hall of Fame may be looking for before too long, too, so you might wanna put that under lock and key for now, not let too many people know where it is."
Klew looked at the boy and the ball, and yelled for Ms. Cooper.
Tory's mom ran in the room and threw her arms around her son, ecstatic too see him.
"Where have you been, young man?"
"I had to come see Derek get the record mom. I just had to."
Ms. Cooper cried as she embraced him again.
"Hey mom, I want you to meet someone."
Tory looked around for the old man in the office, but he was gone.
"Doc? Where are you? Doc?"
He was gone. Just gone.
Tory walked slowly over to a table that sat at the end of the couch in the security office. On it, was a fresh bag of peanuts and the old man's weathered Yankee cap. Tory picked it up and turned it over. On the under side of the bill was scrawled in fading ink the number "5."
"Wow!" It was all Tory could think of to say.
Last Chance
Baseball fans, 60-thousand people are still jammed in Yankee Stadium to watch Derek Jeter try to set the alltime consecutive hit record, ladies and gentlemen, and I gotta tell you, people are getting a little anxious.
Jeter has walked, grounded out and in the fifth inning hit a sharp grounder to Teixiera who made a diving stab to snag what would have certainly been a triple.
Jeter takes low inside Ball 1 from Texas reliever John Wasdin.
JIm, Jeter's hitting .600 off Wasdin so if he's going to get a hit tonight, it could very well be against this pitcher.
The old man propped Tory up on his knee so he could see directly through the knothole, which was about 10 inches across and five inches up and down.
Wasdin's sets delivers ... Jeter takes a mammoth cut ... and ...he gets hold of it. It's rising, flying, sailing, back ... back ... is it fair? YES! Jeter homers to hit in his 57th straight game and sets the alltime record for hits in consecutive games.
The old man heard a thud behind him and saw the baseball roll up against a pipe not far from his feet. He kept holding Tory up so he could see the trot and the melee afterwards. He knew the ball wouldn't lay there long.
Tory's face was as awe struck as when he first sat down and surveyed Yankee Stadium earlier in the evening. He couldn't believe what he was watching. He screamed, held his arms high above his head and cheered for his favorite player of all time as Jeter rounded the bases as holder of the most sacred record ever. Tory knew this would be the only time he ever saw anything quite like this.
The old man put the boy down, walked over to the ball, picked it up and pit it in his pants pocket.
By the time the security guards and a couple of beer-soaked men arrived, the old man and Tory had disappeared again into the stands.
5:30 -- Going Home
Knothole
Just after the NYPD cop walked by, the old man grabbed Tory by the shoulder and led him to the aisle. Together the two walked briskly toward the concourse and Tory wondered where the man was taking him.
The old man wasn't sure it was such a good idea and feared that moving would give the kid up and Tory would never get to see what he'd waited so long for and then the old man would look really bad, too.
Then, the old man remembered from the 70s a spot in the right field corner that had a peep hole in the fencing. He remembered thinking what a great place for a kid to watch a game when he'd skipped school. And so he and Tory headed there.
"Pull your cap down low, kid."
"Turn your shirt around real quick."
And he did that, too.
The old man walked in front of Tory as a couple of New York's finest strolled by, looking everywhere except where they need to look.
The man walked down a flight of stairs at the end of the grandstand and found the place where the hole in the old fence had been. Amazingly, it was still there.
---
Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please. Now batting for New York ...Shortstop, Derek Jeter ...
Bulletin
McGinnity had worked with Klewsowski at the 40th precinct back when Klew was the desk sergeant and everyone on B Patrol gave him a hard time about his last name. Get a Klew they all said. Except McGinnity. He always treated Sarge with respect. It was time to call in a favor.
"Klew? How the heck are ya Sarge."
Klewsowski knew the voice the second he heard it even though he hadn't heard it in five years. He wheeled around in his chair in the Yankee security office, got up and gave McGinnity a hug and a half.
"Timmy, my boy, how you been?"
"Good Sarge, real good. Got a couple kids now. Been married four years. I married a great girl. Good life, Sarge. Real good. Look, I got a little problem on my hands."
The two old friends talked out of earshot of Ms. Cooper for a couple of minutes and Klewsowski picked up the phone and punched in a couple numbers.
"Bob? Klew. We got us a missing little boy and I need your help."
---
The old man wouldn't take his eyes off Tory now. He considered it his duty to make sure the kid got to where he needed to be, but also fully understood the boy's love for the game and would try to make sure he got to see something he would likely not see again any time soon, if ever.
"What's your favorite Yankees team?" Tory asked him.
"I kinda liked the one from around the early 1970s."
"Why? They didn't win anything."
"No, we ... I mean they didn't, but it's about more than that. They had some good times and some good teams back then, I remember."
"You seem to know a lot about the team, Mister."
"Just a baseball fan, kid. Like you. But I will tell you this -- "
The old man was interrupted by the sound of Bob Sheppard.
---
"Your attention please. A missing young boy has been reported to the Yankees security. He is 9 years old. Sandy brown hair. Missing front tooth. Last seen wearing a Cooperstown t-shirt and a Yankee ball cap. If you see the boy, please alert the nearest New York City police officer. Now batting, first baseman Jason Giambi."
If that weren't bad enough, Tory thought, a huge picture of him flashed on the 4-story Diamond Vision screen behind him.
---
Tory pulled his Yankee cap down over his sandy brown hair and folded his arms quickly across his chest. Just as a New York City police officer walked up the aisle only five seats to his right.
---
3:30 a.m.: Another chapter. But I'm tired to think of what it's called right yet.
Jeter swings
We're back at Yankee Stadium, Rangers out in front of New York 1-0, Jim Kaat with you again, inning 5 in what still has a chance to be a historic night for this grand old game. Derek Jeter steps in. The Yankee shortstop walked his first time up tonight, and he looks at a call strike 1 from Kevin Millwood. Bobby, you can still get a sense from the 60,000 here that they are expecting something special tonight.
Jimbo, this one's still got history written all over it. It's interesting to note, too, that it was 35 years ago this month when Mackey Donovan stepped away from the game for good and I think what's interesting is you were describing him as somewhat to himself when you met him, and I don't think he's been seen or heard from since he walked away.
That's right, Bobby. Mackey was only 25 when he turned in his resignation letter to Lee McPhail that night, just a game shy of tying DiMaggio. It remains one of the biggest mysteries in the game.
Jeter looks at a call strike 2 and Millwood seems to be getting stronger as the game goes on, uncharacteristic for not only himself but pretty much the entire Rangers pitching staff as well.
Jim, you can see the "want-to" in Jeter's eyes every time he steps to the plate. He's been one of the most consistent players the game has ever seen, and surely he possesses a ticket punched for Cooperstown. Achieving this new consecutive hit streak record would only solidify the picture perfect career.
Jeter swings and hits a sharp line drive down the right side. TEIXIERA MAKES A DIVING GRAB. So characteristic of how he has robbed so many others in the game in his short career. So, Jeter misses in his second attempt. Will he set the record or will he come up short? We should know within the next hour ...
---
The old man looked down at Tory and back toward the New York cop that was patroling the bleachers in centerfield. He could tell by looking at the little boy he didn't have or want much in life, but he wanted to see Jeter set the record.
"I'll keep mum for now, kid ... but you gotta promise me you'll let me help ya get home after this thing is over."
"It's a deal, Mister. And by the way, you didn't win the peanuts ... but I still can."
Next Up
McGinnity took his hat from his head and scratched what hair remained.
"Criminy," he said, looking out at the 60,000 people jammed into Yankee Stadium. "We'll never find him without some help."
McGinnity knew it would be crowded, he just didn't know how much so. He and Tory's mother made their way to security headquarters.
---
"So, did you ever play baseball, Mister?"
"Oh, I threw it around a little when I was younger, yeah. So, what's your second favorite team, Tory Cooper?"
"Don't tell my Dad, but I like the Mets kinda."
"Where is your dad?"
"Ah, he lives on Long Island with his girlfriend. It's just my mom and me."
"I thought you said your mom was at home."
"She is."
"Then... are you ... how'd you get here, kid?"
"Like everybody else. Took the subway."
The old man looked at Tory and a look of fear closed over him.
"You mean? You're here ... alone?"
"Well, sorta."
"Well kid, we gotta ..."
"No Mister, please, please. I've been saving up for this and waiting for a long time. Just two more Jeter at bats. If he gets it in his next time up, I'll catch the first train home."
The old man chuckled.
"No kid, I can't let you do that. We gotta let your mama know you're OK."
The old man raised up an arm looking as if he was trying to signal a security guard and was interrupted by Bob Sheppard.
"Ladies and Gentleman. Shortstop, Derek Jeter."
---
1:30 a.m. Jeter swings
McGinnity
"Ms. Cooper any idea where you son mighta gone?" the cop with the thick Irish brogue asked.
"He's never done anything wrong in his life, officer. Never a lick of trouble. It's just baseball every day. Throwing the ball up against the side of the house. Hour after hour over and over. And pretending he's going to be the next Derek Jeter. The only thing he ever wanted -- "
"Wait a minute? You say he likes baseball? And Jeter?"
"Well, yes, but ..."
"Get in the car."
"What is this about?"
"Just get in the car and come with me, lady. I don't have a lot of time. We're not supposed to go looking after missing persons till they've been gone 24 hours, but I got a pretty strong feeling about something."
Office McGinnity flicked on the lights and sirens and headed west toward 161st in The Bronx. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he got there, but helping find a missing Yankee fan during his lunch break was something he'd never done before.
Tory's mom wiped away tears and cursed herself for not keeping a better eye on the boy.
"Where do you think he is?" she asked McGinnity.
"Lady, tonight's the biggest night in baseball in 60 years. If your boy is nuts about ball and Jeter, there's only one place he could be."
12:30 -- Sea of People
The Second
Welcome back to Yankee Stadium on what could be a record-setting evening. This is Jim Kaat on the Yankee Network, and stepping to the plate, shortstop Derek Jeter, and I don't need to tell now just what excitement he brings with him. Fifty-six straight games Derek has hit in safely and the next swing of the bat could bring baseball immortality, Bobby Murcer.
That's right Jim, and to think it could have been different were it not for a strange sequence of events several years ago.
Derek looks at ball one, and right you are Bobby. I remember that year well, I was a rookie, and even pitched to Mackey Donovan when I was with the Twins. Had the pleasure of meeting him after the game right in the middle of his streak. He was a nice man, kind of to himself and private but very pleasant. He loved baseball and had a great respect for those who came before him. Even had DiMaggio's No. 5 written on the inside bill of his cap. He respected the game so much, I think he walked away because of that respect. No one else could ever figure out why, so that's my guess and I'm sticking to it.
---
"So why do you think he did it, Mister? Why'd he walk away?"
"That's a question a lot of people have asked over the years, uhh ..."
"Tory. Tory Cooper."
"Well, Tory Cooper, it's hard to say why he did it, but he had his reasons, I do expect he did."
"Did you ever hear that Macky Donovan had the No. 5 written on the inside of his cap even though he was No. 36?"
"I think I read about that somewhere, yeah."
---
Jeter hits a chopper to MIchael Young at short, who tosses to Teixiera for the out, and if Jeter's gonna extend the streak it's gonna have to be later in the game, Bobby. I've got a feeling he's gonna do it, Jimmy.
---
"So let's put a bag of peanuts on it, Tory Cooper. What inning you think we'll see DJ put a new record in the books."
"I'm going for the seventh. What about you, Mister?"
"I'll take the fifth."
---
11:30 -- The Search
Lost
Tory's mom hung up with her sister at 9 o'clock. In a panic, she remembered she hadn't heard from him in two hours. She dialed Tommy's house. Tory said he'd be going there, she thought she remembered.
Tommy's mom picked up.
"No, haven't seen him all night."
She called Mr. McNamara.
"Haven't seen him or his ball," he assured.
She walked the block. Nothing.
She walked the next block. Nothing.
And the one two over. He was nowhere.
She picked up the phone and called the police.
"Calm down ma'am, Don't panic. Tell me the problem," the woman on the police emergency line said.
---
"Mister," Tory said. "You think Jeter will break the record tonight?"
"I think maybe that's entirely possible, young man. Do you think he'll do it?"
"I know he will," the boy said.
"Hey Mister ... you ever hear about that guy Macky Donovan, the old player who almost broke DiMaggio's record a long time ago?"
The old man didn't say anything.
"Mister? You OK?"
"I'm OK, kid. And yes, I remember reading something about him a few years back."
"Why do you think he did what he did. I mean, why do you think he took himself out of the game he would've tied the record in?" Tory asked. "You ever wonder why he did that?"
(INTERACTIVE: Suggestions on which way the story should head? Drop me a note and give me your input).
Evenin'
The man scootched across a family of three on his way to Seat 4, Row P in dead centerfield. Not bad, he thought. He'd seen better, but not bad. He expected nothing more.
Tory Cooper looked up at the old man.
"Evenin', son," the man said.
"Hello, mister."
"You a Yankee fan?" the old man asked.
"Yes sir."
"This here your mama?" the man asked, pointing to a woman sitting a couple seats down from Tory.
"Oh, no sir. My mama's at home."
The old man said nothing, thought nothing.
"You a Yankee fan?" Tory echoed the man's question.
"Oh, most certainly."
"You come to games often?" Tory asked.
"Hadn't been in a few years, no."
Tory told the man it was his first game ever and that he had saved up and traded in some cans for a ticket because he knew this would be Jeter's big game.
"Well sir, then you are a fan, I'd say."
"Yes sir. Mister, who was your favorite player ever?"
"Oh, that's not a hard one," the man said, a little bead of moisture forming in one of his eyes. "I was always kinda partial to Joe DiMaggio. How about you, young man."
"I'm a Jeter man," he said, the old man laughing.
"He is a throwback, isn't he."
Tory didn't say anything.
The old man took his Yankee cap off, the one he'd had for 40 years, and put it back on quickly, as if hiding something from the boy.
Both the old man and the young boy stood as the National anthem played. It would be a fateful night for them both.
9:30 -- Lost
Awe
A kid's jaw could not be any further opened than Tory Cooper's was right now. He'd seen Yankee Stadium on TV. He'd heard about it on the radio, seen pictures of it in the Post, driven by it on the New York Thruway. And he'd drawn picture after picture after picture in his mind.
But Tory Cooper had never been there, inside, until tonight. He knew the subways like a pro. He'd grabbed a map the day he went with his 118 Coke cans to trade them in at the Affiliated on Prospect Avenue back in August. He knew what train to ride on, when to get on and exactly where to get off. He found his seat like a season ticket holder after spending nights studying the chart on the Internet.
Not bad for 9.
And now his eyes surveyed the field. There was Bernie in right. Johnny Damon in center. Matsui in left. A-Rod was there, so was Giambi at first. Posada was catching and the huge Randy Johnson was on the mound, just like the Post said he would be. And there at short... Derek Jeter.
Had he died and gone to heaven, Tory asked himself.
"Good evening. And welcome to Yankee Stadium," announcer Bob Sheppard's voice called out. It was a voice he had heard over and over in the background as his radio played during the hot summer nights.
Two blocks away, just as Sheppard began his pregame call and introduction of the starting lineups, an old man got off the C train at the 161st St. station and walked toward the Yankee Stadium bleachers.
8:30 -- The Meeting
Leaving
The man with the scraggly graying beard reached down and peacefully, slowly brushed the hair of the old woman as she lie motionless in bed, her home for most of the last 30 years. She could say nothing. See nothing. Hear little. But she drew breath and that was all the man cared about.
"Tomorrow's cleanin' up day. We'll get you fixed up real good. Nice warm bath. Hair done. New bath robe. You'll be like new, mama. You'll look good enough to go out on the town. Fine Broadway play. Dinner at the Tavern in the Park. Wooooo-ee, you'll be mighty fine lookin', mama. Mighty fine."
The man took a cool wet rag to the woman's forehead, made her comfortable like he did scores of times every week.
"Mama, I'm gonna go out for a while tonight. I got a woman friend comin' to look after you for a little while. But I'll be back. I promise, mama. Four hours, prob'ly sooner, I'll be back real soon."
The old woman didn't move, but blinked slowly, almost as if to assure him it'd be OK. Even though she was almost comatose, she knew enough to realize he didn't go out often and when he did it was most always for her. The two of them had lived in the small brownstone ever since the man's wife ran off with a dock worker with big muscles and a Red Sox tattoo which ironically was about the same time his mama took sick. He vowed then as he did now that he would take care of her as long as she needed it. She'd given him life. And he would give it back.
But tonight, just for awhile, he felt a need to get out.
Tory
September 30, 2005
Tory Cooper's mom never understood her son's fascination for throwing a baseball up against the side of their Brooklyn apartment day after day. He seemed to be mouthing something each and every time he would wind up and chunk the ball towrd his crudely drawn chalk circle in the side of the brick. He did it again and again, day after day after day.
It was late September when Tory was still at it, pretending to be a right-handed Randy Johnson, throwing ball after ball. Tory knew his favorite Yankee pitcher would be throwing on this night, but what's more, he knew his favorite player of all time would be setting The Record.
Tory combed through baseball record books like most kids poured over cheat codes for video games. He was smarter than most 9-year-old boys and he could tell you how many Yankees held which all-time records. And there were a lot. But the greatest record of all was Joe DiMaggio's streak of hitting in 56 straight games. And he knew the greatest player in his mind stood the best chance ever of breaking that record. Tonight!
What Tory's mama didn't know was that Tory had checked the Yankees calendar and figured that Derek Jeter would be breaking DiMaggio's record on September 30, so he had gone to his local Affiliated Food market and traded in 118 empty Coke cans for a bleacher seat when the streak was only a week old, way back in early August.
Tory's mom looked out and didn't see Tory and figured like hundreds of other times he had thrown the ball over the building into Mr. McNamara's backyard and had run after it. The phone rang and Tory's mom sat in the front window talking to her sister as she watched Tory run toward the neighbor's yard. He looked in and saw his mom and waved. "I'm going down to Tommy's!" he yelled and Tory's mom yelled back through the window, "OK."
Tory's mom and aunt would talk on the phone for almost two hours.
Five minutes later, Tory dug his subway card out of his back pocket and swiped it through the machine. Moments later he was on the C train to 161st Avenue. Twenty minutes later he'd walk up the steps of the platform and see The House That Ruth Built. In a half hour he'd be in his seat. Just him. He said a prayer and told God he would be a better kid tomorrow. He just wanted to see Jeter get the record tonight. He promised God and himself he'd make it up to his mother tomorrow. He promised.
6:30 p.m. The lineup
Darker
"He just walked in, laid it on the desk and left." Dick Howser couldn't believe he was having to address a player absence in the middle of a pennant chase.
"Just gone?" Genral manager Lee McPahil couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Just gone."
Howser shrugged his shoulders and spit a big brown wad of tobacco onto the floor next to a trash can that was never actually hit by either players or managers.
"I never seen anything like it."
"Well did he say anything?"
"Said he had some things to tend to with his mama, who's been in bad health. Said he was sorry. Said he'd see me 'round. That was about it."
McPhail asked Howser if he knew what was in the envelope before he had gone. Howser shrugged and spit again.
"I heard the door at the end of the hallway slam shut, the one out by the bleachers, when I figured out what he'd just done. I ran to get him but when I opened the door, nothin.' Nothin' but fog and dark. Lee, I never seen anything like it."
"Well did you try to call him?"
"Lee you know he don't have a phone. You know he's always been a little to himself all these years. He's a loner. Nice guy, awful nice, but a loner. A real loner.
There was a fast knock at the door.
It was Tom Browning, the director of media relations for the Yankees.
"Guys, the press is about ready to bust down my door. We gotta give 'em something or they'll never go away. They're ruthless! Ruthless, I tell ya!"
"All right, all right, give me five minutes, Tommy. I'll be there. Tell 'em to pipe down for a minute and they'll get their story." McPhail had talked the media down plenty of times during his career. Most any time Whitey Ford and Billy Martin and Mickey Mantle got together for a night out, McPhail knew he'd have some explaining to do to the press the next day. He even had to field the DiMaggio-Marilyn Monroe rumors and he often grew tired of explaining away the antics of his players, but he knew it was part of the job.
McPhail walked into the Yankees' media room and made something up as he went along. He no more knew what was going on than anyone else in New York.
"Gentlemen, last night at 7 o'clock, New York Yankee second baseman Macky Donovan tendered his resignation to the team. We regretfully accepted and we wish Macky well. We know his mother has been ailing for quite some time and we expect his decision was based largely on her health. The Yankees' front office will meet today to decide who to call up from Buffalo to take Macky's place. That is all we have at this time. There'll be no questions."
And with that, McPhail was gone as quickly as Macky Donovan a day earlier.
GONE
September 15, 1970.
Good evening baseball fans and welcome to an unusually cool evening at Yankee Stadium. This is Phil Rizzuto and it is electric at the old ballpark. Fans from near and far have jammed into the Bronx ballyard to perhaps witness history as 25-year-old Macky Donovan, the fleet-footed second baseman for the Yankees, stands on the brink of baseball immortality. One hit tonight would pull the Mighty Mack into a tie with Joe DiMaggio for the record they said would never be broken. Macky has collected hits in 55 straight games over the course of the last two months, a streak that began on July 2 and has been full of nail biters along the way. An unbelievable 30 of Macky's hits to extend the streak have come in the Brooklyn native's last at bat. Folks, watching this streak has been a feat to behold.
Ralph Houk, in his fourth full season as Yankee skipper, has delivered the lineup card to home plate umpire Ron Luciano and ... wait ... what's that? Houk is jogging back to the dugout, having what appears to be a heated discussion with hitting coach Dick Howser. Ralph makes his way back to home plate and ... it ... looks ...like he's changing the lineup card. We'll wait for a call from the dugout to find out what exactly might be transpiring downstairs. We'll return after this from Certs. Certs ... it's two, two, two mints in one.
The man tried to walk quietly down the cement hallway but with each step he took, the click, click, click of his cleats seemed to grow louder and louder, piercing his ears. He pushed open the door and found himself outside, an uncharacteristic breeze covering his face like a silken cloth, his athletic bag tugging heavily at his back. Five minutes later he disappeared into the Bronx night.
Ladies and gentlemen, we're back at Yankee Stadium. I'm Phil Rizzuto and astonishingly, we have just been told by the Yankees front office that the Mighty Mackey Donovan is not in the lineup tonight. Holy cow is all I can find to say, ladies and gentlemen. We will try to find out exactly what is going on here, but for now, it seems baseball's most hallowed record may stand for even longer.
4:30 p.m.: Darker
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