The Summer of 1970

A letter to SF Chronicle reporter Steve Tady, aka The Betting Fool:

The Fool Wrote:

A MAYS-ING MEMORY:

The year was 1970. I was getting close to reporting to sixth grade at Portola grammar school in Los Altos, but I went to a ton of Giants games that summer.

On July 18th, I saw Willie Mays poke a grounder to left past Montreal's Coco LaBoy for his 3,000th hit. Ron Hunt was hit by a pitch, Gaylord Perry twirled a masterful four-hitter and less than 30,000 witnessed it all.

The Giants' stock lineup for much of that summer was Bonds-Hunt-Mays-McCovey-Henderson-Hart/Gallagher-Dietz-Fuentes-Lanier. Perry and Marichal were backed by Frank Reberger, Ron Bryant and Skip Pitlock.

Happy birthday, Mr. Mays.

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Dear Fool,

My stars. I remember this game and this year. I was twelve and this was the first year I was old enough to follow the boxscore and the rest of the league. NBC’s “Game of the Week”, Saturdays at 11 am, had meaning. And how could you leave out Frank Johnson, Bobby Taylor and Russ Gibson?

This was the first game I attended on my own, the second game overall (my first was a trip for school crossing guards in ’68). Willie was set to get his 3,000th hit. I had my two younger brothers with me and we were going to have fun at the game like the grown folks. Boy, was I excited.

Except that I never saw the game. General admission tickets sold out and I didn’t have enough money for reserved. So we left. I remember hearing the cheer go up as Willie got his hit. I remember walking down Jamestown to get back on the 15 bus to go home as one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had as a kid. I remember my father asking me why I was home in the seventh inning with the Giants up 10 – nothing or something. I remember swearing that, as God was my witness I’d never miss another game like that as a kid.

So for the next couple of years, esp 1971, when the Giants won the division, I doubled the price of a seat when I asked my folks for a ticket to the game. Sometimes I ended up in general admission and wandered over to reserved (this before the ushers started speaking German and waving nightsticks at morally suspect migrating bleacher creatures). Sometimes I sat in reserved, out of the sun, and ate the sandwich I brought in to save a little money. But I always had enough for a seat.

Thanks for resurrecting the memory. Honestly, those early years of mine at the ‘Stick were great times, and recalling this game, as poor as it was, was a key part of it all. Thanks again. Sincerely.