Shortly after my father died in 1972, the fatal heart attack coming as he watched a Mets game on television, I married and began to raise a family of my own, finding myself reenacting many of the rituals I had shared with my father. I took my oldest son, Richard, to spring training, and watched with an almost jealous pride as the generous Jim Rice let him feed balls into the pitching machine while the All-Star slugger took batting practice. I taught my two youngest sons, Michael and Joe, how to keep score, bought season tickets, and took them to dozens of games every year.
Sometimes, sitting in the park with my boys, I imagine myself back at Ebbets Field, a young girl once more in the presence of my father, watching the players of my youth on the grassy fields below—Jackie Robinson, Duke Snider, Roy Campanella, Gil Hodges. There is magic in these moments, for when I open my eyes and see my sons in the place where my father once sat, I feel an invisible bond among our three generations, an anchor of loyalty and love linking my sons to the grandfather whose face they have never seen but whose person they have come to know through this most timeless of sports.
When the 1986 Red Sox went to the World Series against the Mets my boys were certain the Sox would win. That certainty was a gift of youth that I could no longer share. Cruel experience had taught me that no expectation of triumph was unsullied by the possibility of defeat. Still, in the tenth inning of the sixth game, with the Red Sox ahead and only one out away from victory, I overcame my caution. My husband and I brought out the victory champagne. But even before we could open the bottle, an easy grounder went through the first baseman’s legs, the game was lost, and the hopes of a world championship were smashed. As I sat in front of the television set in tears after the Sox lost the final game, my two youngest boys rushed to console me. “Don’t worry, Mom, they’ll win next season.”
When I began to raise a family of my own, I found myself reenacting many of the rituals I had shared with my father. I took my oldest son, Richard, shown here in his little league uniform, to spring training. I taught my two youngest sons, Joey and Michael, how to keep score and took them to dozens of games every year.
That’s right,” I said, forcing a smile, “there’s always another season.” I did not remind them that the Red Sox had not won a World Series for seventy years. There would be time enough for them to learn a harsher truth, I thought. But not yet. Not till they’re older. Then, as they continued their concerned assurances, I realized that my mature wisdom was a deception. They were right. They were absolutely right. There would be another season. There would be another chance.
WYNCOOP WALK at Coors Field in Denver contains a quadrant labeled “1995 Coors Field Inaugural Season.” In that quadrant can be found Brick Number 1334 purchased by my sisters and me. On the brick is graven “In memory of Michael Francis Aloysius Kearns.” From that spot, on a summer night, one can hear the cheers of Rockies fans, and the occasional satisfying crack of a bat as it propels a ball toward the Colorado sky.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE MOST VALUABLE SOURCE material for this memoir was a series of interviews with my sisters, childhood playmates, school friends, and teachers. Though we moved from Southard Avenue more than forty years ago, I was able to track down almost every person who lived on my block. Most of these people I hadn’t seen or talked to in more than three decades. Finding them again was the most satisfying part of writing this book.
Elaine Friedle and I had lost touch with one another several years after she moved to Albany. When I started my research two years ago I found her living in Germany, where she teaches English literature. After we exchanged more than a half-dozen long letters, we made arrangements to see each other at her brother’s house in Connecticut. It was an extraordinary evening, not only because Elaine has a photographic memory for our childhood, but because once we started talking, the years began to fall away. I could see once more the face of the young girl who had been my best friend, I could hear the familiar voice that had reached my bedroom window so many nights before we both fell asleep.
I found Eileen Rust living in New York City, where she runs an art gallery; Elaine Lubar Moskow married with children on the West Coast; Rose and Sid Lubar in Baldwin, New York; the Barthas and Joe Schmitt’s widow, Anna Mae, in Florida; Julia Rust and Max Kropf’s wife, Melitta, in Long Island; and the Greenes in California. Each of my old friends and neighbors had a particular store of recollections that remained uppermost in their minds. As we talked, we sparked each other’s memories; half-forgotten details slowly began to emerge.
In addition to my childhood playmates, I interviewed about a dozen school friends and teachers who generously shared with me their own recollections, along with diaries, letters, yearbooks, pictures and reading lists. I am grateful to Robert Geise, Ken Jenkins, Susan Gilman Krieger, Judy Lehman Ruderman, Valerie Ger Ostrower, Jill and Lillian Fine, Howard Rabinowitz, Robert Fastov, Marjorie Rosen, Marsha Gillespie, and Marjorie Garber.
My thanks also to the staff at South Side High School, especially Dorothy Zaiser, who was always available to help with her time and knowledge of South Side and Rockville Centre history; the staff at the Rockville Centre Public Library, including Rhoda Friedland, Ruth Levien, and Gretchen Browne; the staff at the Nassau County Museum, the Long Island Studies Institute, Dr. Barbara Kelly and Dr. Mildred De Riggi; the Schimmenti family; Diane Hackett, owner of the present Bryn Mawr Delicatessen; and Eugene Murray, mayor of Rockville Centre. For information on St. Agnes and recollections of growing up Catholic, I am grateful to Reverend Monsignor Robert Mulligan, Rector, St. Agnes (deceased); the Sisters of St. Dominic, Amityville, New York; Elissa Metz; Marilyn O’Brien; Margaret Williams; Pam Shannon; Nancy Dowd; and Grace Skrypczap. I thank Mary Stuart, who played Joanne Barron on Search for Tomorrow and shared her experiences as a pioneer in early television. For information on the urban renewal project, I owe thanks to Barbara and Jim Bernstein, Toni Ehrlein, Rockville Centre Historical Society, Doris Moore, and Reverend Morgan Days. For sharing remembrances of the Dodgers, I thank Neil Krieger and Barry Moskow. For general research on the fifties, I turned to my longtime research assistant, Linda Vandegrift. For the original idea of writing a memoir about my years as a Brooklyn Dodger fan, I thank Wendy Wolf.
At Simon & Schuster, where I feel I have found a warm and welcoming home, I owe thanks to my publisher, Carolyn Reidy, whose enthusiastic response to the book spurred me on when I wasn’t at all sure I was going to finish on time; to Liz Stein, who once again shepherded the book through its various stages with good cheer and consummate skill; to Lydia Buechler and Terry Zaroff, who copyedited the manuscript with flawless skill; to my publicists Victoria Meyer and Kerri Kennedy; to Wendell Minor, who painted the elegant cover; and, of course, to my longtime editor and good friend, Alice Mayhew, whose continual support, confidence, good judgment, and editing prowess proved critical once again. It is now more than twenty years that we have worked together and I look forward to twenty more. This is my first book with Binky Urban as my literary agent, and what an absolute pleasure it has been to have her at my side in a relationship I deeply treasure.
For additional readings of the manuscript, I thank Clark Booth, James Shokoff, and Janna and David Smith. To my good friend, Michael Rothschild, who read and critiqued every chapter, I am more thankful than he can ever know.
I am especially grateful to two of my old friends, Nancy Adler Baumel and Barbara Marks, who helped me with every single phase of the research: searching through archives at the Rockville Centre Public Library and other archival repositories for historical data and pertinent photographs, reading old newspapers, making contacts, conducting interviews with local sources, checking facts, reading and editing draft pages. This memoir owes a great deal to their cheerful and tireless efforts. Nancy’s son, Richard Baumel, was also of great help in researching the 1951 and 1955 Dodger seasons.
To my sisters, Charlotte and Jeanne, who provided countless hours of interviews and a lifetime of love and support, I dedicate this
book.
Finally, my deepest thanks to my husband, Richard Goodwin, my best friend and companion, who worked with me at every stage of this work, as he has done with all my previous works, listening to my stories, suggesting themes, editing my words, critiquing my drafts. As a child, I had dreamed of sharing a marriage like that of Carl and Edna Probst, the husband and wife team who ran the corner delicatessen, working side by side all day with no separation of the work place and the living place. With my husband who, like me, writes at home, I have found just such a marriage, except, of course, that we deal in words rather than cold cuts and potato salad.
PHOTO CREDITS
Courtesy of the author, Charlotte Kearns Ovando, and Jeanne Kearns: page 12, 19, 28 both, 33 all, 53 bottom, 85, 100 bottom left, 116 top, 214, 256 both
Courtesy of the Lubar family: page 53 top, 62 top, 89 top left
Courtesy of the Schimmenti family: page 67
AP/Wide World Photos: page 46, 47 both, 62 bottom, 81, 150 bottom, 168, 172 all, 196 bottom left and right, 203, 204 both, 211 both, 220, 231 both
Nassau County Museum Collection, L.I.S.I.: page 39 both, 196 top
Courtesy of Rockville Centre Public Library Archives: page 89 top right, 100 top
Nancy Adler Baumel: page 100 bottom right, 185 bottom
Courtesy of Mr. Salvatore A. Milone: page 89 bottom
Courtesy of South Side High School Alumni Association: page 116 bottom
Courtesy of Elaine Friedle: page 185 top
SIMON & SCHUSTER PAPERBACKS
READING GROUP GUIDE
Wait Till Next Year
“Wait Till Next Year!” For decades, faithful fans of the Brooklyn Dodgers roared this impassioned battle cry, certain that the long-awaited world championship was right around the corner. When this dream finally crystallized in 1955, the world was forced to admit what Dodger fans knew all along: “dem Bums” didn’t just have a lot of heart; they had what it took to go all the way. The Dodgers were simply the best.
As a young girl living in the New York suburb of Rockville Centre, Doris Kearns grew up idolizing the Dodgers, from the elegance and bravery of Jackie Robinson, to the wonderful hitting streaks of Gil Hodges, to the peerless skill of catcher Roy Campanella. Doris’s passionate support for the Dodgers was matched only by her disdain for their New York rivals, the Yankees and the Giants.
For Doris, baseball was not just a spectator sport that helped forge a permanent bond with her father. It was a crucial catalyst for many of her most important life lessons. Through baseball, Doris discovered the power of a well-told story and the virtue of losing gracefully. Baseball high-lighted both the ugliness of racism and the beauty of camaraderie and sportsmanship. And on one unforgettable October afternoon in 1955, baseball revealed to twelve-year-old Doris Kearns the simple, sweet thrill of a long-awaited victory.
Wait Till Next Year also captures the casual friendliness of the suburbs in the 1950s. Through Doris’s eyes, we meet the cast of colorful characters that populated her hometown and made her small world seem bigger than life itself. We visit the butcher shop where debates between Dodgers and Giants fans were certain to heat up during the pennant race; Ebbets Field, where Doris paid homage to her chosen heroes; and the cozy streets of Rockville Centre, where your neighbors’ homes felt almost as familiar as your own.
A touching tribute to the fragile innocence of post-World War II America, Wait Till Next Year ultimately attests to one universal and bittersweet truth: while all good things must come to an end, our memories of times gone by can live forever in our hearts.
Like millions of Americans, Doris was caught up in the glory days of baseball in the 1950s, exhilarated by the Dodgers’ victories, and pained by each and every loss. Individual players became her heroes, as well-loved and respected as family and friends. How important is it for people—particularly children—to have such heroes to look up to? How can we feel such a strong kinship to people we have never met? Are sports figures the best role models? What lessons can athletes teach us about life?
Doris’s parents each pass on their own special gifts to their daughter. Through baseball, Mr. Kearns teaches Doris the importance of telling a story slowly, building the drama to a powerful crescendo. Through reading, Mrs. Kearns demonstrates the beauty of a well-chosen word and how a good book can take you away to places you might otherwise never go. Discuss how these gifts complement one another and how they came together to make Doris the historian and word-smith she is today.
In the 1950s, most fathers did not take their little girls to baseball games. How did you respond to the female point-of-view in this book? Did you see Doris as the son her father never had? Or was she an extension of his sister, Marguerite? What does Mr. Kearns’ relationship with Doris provide that he missed during his tragic childhood?
Although her childhood was marked by the untimely death of her mother, Doris paints a near-perfect picture of life in the suburbs. How does time affect our memories? Is it natural to “revise” our own personal history? Are we destined to recall the best times of our lives as rosier than they actually were?
Idolizing her team as only a child can, Doris was fortunate enough to have her childhood coincide with baseball’s most glorious heyday. Discuss the sport’s changing role in the American landscape through the second half of the 20th century. Does regional team loyalty still mean the same thing in today’s “global village,” or has the technology that has made our country seem smaller altered the notion of the “home team” ? What does baseball offer that other sports cannot? Is it still our true national pastime?
One of the most pleasant aspects of reading a well-written memoir is that it often helps you recall dim memories of your own. Did Wait Till Next Year spark any forgotten memories from your childhood? Did it remind you of special moments you shared with your parents, of family traditions that you enjoyed? Did this book inspire you to write down any of your own history to share with family members in years to come?
Doris says that her “early years were happily governed by the dual calendars of the Brooklyn Dodgers and the Catholic Church.” In fact, Doris’s careful calculations of baseball scores and batting averages charmingly mirror the manner in which she tallies up her nightly prayers. Discuss the mingled roles of baseball and religion in Doris’s childhood. Was baseball a kind of secular worship for her? How are these different institutions similar to one another? What does each offer that the other does not?
Prior to television, Doris listened to baseball games on the radio, relying on her imagination for visual images to accompany the announcer’s play-by-play. This changed when the Kearnses bought their first television set and Doris was able to watch the games in the comfort of her own home. How did the addition of television change the face of baseball for Doris and other fans? How did it add to her enjoyment of the game? What did it take away?
When Doris’s sister, Jeanne, is selected as co-captain of the “Blue Team” in a girls’ athletic competition, Doris is able to witness first-hand the unification that results from competition. Jeanne serves as a role model for Doris, teaching her that sportsmanship and competition are not limited to the world of men. But these types of events for women were rare in the 1950s. What does this say about the culture of that time? Discuss the importance of women’s sports and how our society’s views on women’s athletics have changed. Have they changed enough? What do women miss when they are discouraged from participating in sports?
The landscape of Doris’s childhood remains intact through the first decade of her life, leaving her with a misguided notion that her world will never change. But by the time Doris reaches adolescence, everything that had seemed so permanent slowly begins to slip away. Longtime neighbors move, the Dodgers and the Giants leave New York, and, most important, Doris’s mother passes away. How does Doris react to these changes? Has the strong foundation her loving parents provided during her early years prepared her for these sudden changes?
An important rite of pa
ssage for all children is the moment when they first see their parents as real people, not the all-knowing figures they appear to be when we are very young. Childhood is never the same after you see a parent in a moment of weakness. How does Mrs. Kearns’ illness force Doris to grow up more quickly? How does it affect her childhood, her relationships with her parents? Can you recall the events that made you realize that your parents were, just like you, fallible and human?
In many ways, the Kearnses are a traditional, nuclear family of the 1950s, with the father playing the role of breadwinner and the mother keeping house. Yet, in many ways the Kearnses are quite progressive, teaching their daughters to reach as high as they can to fulfill their dreams. How is Doris different from the other girls on her block? Do her independence and faith in her abilities have their roots in her love of baseball?
Doris pays tribute to many of her female teachers in junior high and high school. Many of these women rose to the top of their field during World War II—and then refused to “go back home” when the war was over. Did you have any teachers who stand out in your mind as particularly inspiring? Share your own recollections of an important educator who encouraged you to be your best.
Doris stands out as a child not only for her ability to realize when she is observing history-in-the-making, but for her ability to see herself as part of it. Is this the result of her early love of reading, during which she actually inserted herself into the action of the stories she read? How does baseball play a role?