The Joy of America: Bill Mazeroski's Home Run.

                                                                        


Fifty years ago today, at precisely this time, 3:36 in the afternoon, the individual pictured above hit a home run in the game of baseball.  It was the seventh and final game in the World Series and it won the game, and the world championship, for his team, the Pittsburgh "Pirates."  

But that's not all it did. It created the most joyful moment in the history of the city of Pittsburgh in the most joyful country on earth, America. That home run beat the New York "Yankees," the most famous and decorated team in the sport, perhaps in all of sports, a team with infinitely more talent than that Pittsburgh team. 

The man who hit that home run grew up not far from Pittsburgh, in rural West Virginia.  He had what was, for the time, a typical Western Pennsylvania, blue-collar surname, Mazeroski, William "Bill" Mazeroski, for Americans give nicknames to everybody and everything.  It is part of our way of showing affection, and lack of affect.  "Maz" (we give multiple nicknames) is one of the great---defensive--players in the history of the sport, which is America's pastime. That Bill Mazeroski, Maz, hit the home run--perhaps the most famous and dramatic home run in the history of the sport, was a miracle.

One can see, on the face of the fan running behind Maz, the joy that that home run brought. And not only to that man, but to the entire city of Pittsburgh, and to the region.  And for all time. The portion of the outfield wall that the ball cleared has been preserved, while the stadium has long since been demolished. And today in Pittsburgh they celebrate the anniversary of that moment, as they have all this summer.

I lived in that region, about a two hour drive from Pittsburgh, in a coal mining town so small that it doesn't exist by that name anymore (which annoys me).  I was only five years old on October 13, 1960 but I have memories of that day, and of that summer as the "Bucs" (nickname) relentlessly, and incongruously, stayed near the top of the standings and then won it all at 3:36 on that October afternoon.

My memories of that day are glorious ones,* not for myself, for I was too young to attend the game, but for my older brother Don, then 15 years old, and for my Dad, who as a weekly newspaper owner was somehow able to call in some favor or favors and acquire two tickets.


When Don left for school that morning, Dad had not gotten the tickets, and Don was disconsolate.  


Then, in mid-morning Dad got them.  


He called the school.  


He spoke to the principal. 


Dad told the principal, "Send Donny Harris home."  


That was all, "Send Donny Harris home."  The principal got on the loudspeaker: "Donny Harris, report to the principal's office."  That is almost never a good sign (it had never been a good sign for Don in the past or for the remainder of his academic "career.").  But Don knew what it meant.  I don't know if he even went to the principal's office or just bolted out of the high school.  He made it home before Dad did.  He probably made it home before Dad hung up the phone with the principal. 

I remember Don's delirious excitement and joy when he got home.  It actually reminds me of the look on Song Binbin's face when she pinned Chairman...Dear God, I can't believe I let that woman intrude here. I remember when Dad pulled up in his car, the look on his face, knowing what he had just done for his son.  I remember Don bursting out of the front door when he saw Dad pull up. 


That's all I remember. I don't remember watching the game on TV.  I have to think I must have, but I have no memory of it, or of the home run. The memories I do have are quite enough and among the very best in my life.  

For with one brief physical motion, the swing of a glorified stick, Bill Mazeroski brought more great memories and more joy to more people than most people do in a lifetime.


*See also post here January 26, 2003.