Two years ago, when I was planning to go to Reno for a convention of a social organization I belong to, our daughter, Michelle, noticed that it was going to be in Boston in 2014. She announced, “I am going.”
The convention was scheduled for July 2-6. As much as I like celebrating Independence Day here, celebrating it in Boston is a whole lot better.
We arrived in Boston early Monday afternoon, checked into the hotel and went to Boston Chowdah for lobster rolls and chowder. We walked around Copley Square and took pictures of churches and the Boston Public Library.
Tuesday we walked the Freedom Trail to see where independence got its start. In Charlestown, we saw the Bunker Hill Memorial. This 70-year-old man climbed 294 circular steps in an enclosed tower and earned bragging rights.
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One of the tours made available through the group was the Cubs game at Fenway. We ate only one Fenway Frank, but paid an extra $7 for a soda in a souvenir cup. Michelle wore her Giants T-shirt and I my A’s shirt. We represented the West Coast very well.
After the convention, three more days were devoted to more New England tourist stuff. The last day and a half we spent in southern Maine. I haven’t been to Biddeford, or Maine, in over six decades, so it was sort of a home-going. I didn’t remember anything I saw.
Right after the convention, we headed to New York and the little city of Cooperstown.
About a month before we left, I saw Dick Hagerty, a fellow member of the social organization and a community columnist, and told him we were going to “Brilliance in Beantown.” The trip to Cooperstown was brought up and he suggested wearing a Nuts T-shirt.
The day we spent in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown was much better than I expected. Going through the gallery where the plaques were displayed reminded me of players I had seen or read about.
The rest of the hall was just as amazing. There was memorabilia that was collected or loaned for display. The team sections were impressive. The section for the Negro Leagues showed that MLB missed a lot of players in their primes. There was a section for records. As an aside, it is a shame Pete Rose will never be in the hall when he holds a lot of MLB records. There was a section with team lockers.
Wearing my Nuts shirt got several people’s attention. One family had just moved to West Sacramento from Southern California where they made the rounds of California League teams, so they were familiar with our local team. Another family recognized the shirt immediately because their son had gone to Thurman Field with his team. A teenager asked about our team and when I told them it was a farm club of the Rockies, their son said he really liked Tulo – or Troy Tulowitzki, for the less familiar.
Thanks, Dick, for advising me to represent our local team. It paid dividends.