… in the sixth grade, an attractive unmarried parish member organized a boys’ choir for us Sunday school students at the North Church (Congregational)  in Cambridge, Massachusetts, The choir director, Miss Nancy Barnard, was an avid Red Sox fan, a season ticket holder. As an inducement, she promised that any boy who joined the choir would get to go to a Red Sox game at the end of the school year. I joined the choir, and because I was a monotone (as was so determined), I was relegated with other monotone boys to the back row. The first hymn that we performed was “Fairest Lord Jesus.”

We were duly taken, as promised, to a Red Sox game at the end of the school year and were in box seats right behind the Red Sox dugout. We got an autographed ball with team members’ signatures on it. (I stupidly took it out to play with a friend when I was a teenager and ruined it.) The choir director knew the players, and several came over before the game to talk with us. One was the tall pitcher Frank Sullivan. I was very excited.

“Frank,” I said, “did you get hurt the other day when you fell into the seats?” He seemed a little confused and hesitated.

“Oh,” he said, laughing, “that was the other Frank!”

I had seen a photo in the Boston Herald of third baseman Frank Malzone, one of my favorite players, diving into the seats in pursuit of a foul ball.

— posted by Roger W. Smith

   March 2024

Frank Sullivan