Red played a significant role in my life. He provided an early example of courage in the face of hardship. Later he provided a connection with my mother.
Red had a Hall-of-Fame career as a second baseman and then as a coach and manager. At the time he became a hero, he was playing for the Milwaukee Braves. His career, however, came to a halt because of a bout of tuberculosis. But he came back.
I remember seeing the game in which he returned from his illness and came to bat as a pinch-hitter. He received a warm ovation from Philadelphia fans. As he came to the plate, I was impressed by Red’s courage and persistence, an early lesson in facing and overcoming hardship. My mother, who watched the game with me, also was impressed.
It turned out that Red stayed in my mother’s mind and heart. She was pleased and excited when I shared his autograph with her. Then in 1989 I was visiting my parents and wanted to ride up to Cooperstown to the Baseball Hall of Fame. My Mom hesitated in going until I told her “Mom, Red Schoendienst got elected to the Hall this year.” She changed her mind. I still see her standing in front of Red’s new plaque, whispering “Good for Red!” That trip with my parents became a memorable one, a trip my mother and I talked about 5 years later as she lay dying.
My mother had endured her own hardships in life including her mother dying when she was 6 and later losing my 2 sisters. So I suppose she recognized a fellow sufferer of pain in Red and appreciated someone who didn’t let the suffering break him.
The memory of Red Schoendienst coming in as a pinch-hitter stays with me as a beacon of hope, especially since I too suffer respiratory problems and know too the joy of clear breathing. He’s still alive, God bless him. I expect when his time comes to cross over, my Mom will be hoping to shake his hand.
Reflections: Did you have any childhood heroes or heroines? How did they impact your life?
Gosh Richard, your post comes the day after Mickey Rooney’s passing. He wasn’t a childhood hero of mine, but I certainly admired him and his masterful acting. My childhood heroes were cowboys—good guys in both white and black hats: Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Johnny Mack Brown, Lash Larue, and of course, Zorro. They instilled in me a sense of fighting for justice and what is right and fair. Unfortunately, they were all egoic macho men who used force and power- over, not power-with to achieve their goals. They also gave me a tremendous love for the Western US, and with their influence and a little Marty Robbins sprinkled in, I one day found myself living in El Paso. I no longer live there, but my years there were very important ones and were directly connected with childhood experiences and heroes. While today I can stand back and judge my cowboy heroes and “a bit much,” I think their tenacity and the way they always won over the bad guys instilled in me some much-needed courage and perseverance while living in a very dysfunctional and sometimes violent household.
My hero is my Dad. He communicated something to me in a dream the other night. He asked, “Did I ever deny you anything?”. I’m like, “No, why?”. Then I put that message together with the fact that he wants me to visit my home town (not my favorite place after having been driven out of it). He wants me to see my mother at least one more time. He wants that although she was very unkind to him most of the time. I think that is heroic.
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Reblogged this on Psyche and Spirit/Richard B. Patterson PhD and commented:
I wanted to repost this in memory of Red who crossed over at age 95.