Seeing Home, page 22
Rick took the pressure off Allison and me by running all requests through the Yankee PR office. There would now be more reporters at the wedding than guests. Cerrone set up a post-wedding press conference in the Yankee media room with the Yankee banner behind us, just like the players and managers have after their games are over. All three network morning shows wanted an exclusive interview and coverage of the wedding itself. Bob Dotson of NBC’s Today Show had always been one of our favorites, so we went with him.
A few days before the wedding, Dotson and his crew set up an interview in Mr. Steinbrenner’s private box. It was freezing. There was snow all over the Yankee Stadium field.
This was shaping up to be a very chilly wedding indeed.
On the morning of the wedding, we woke up to an unexpected weather forecast of sunny and seventy-five degrees. It was an amazing day, unseasonably warm for early March.
But an even bigger surprise occurred when we arrived at the Stadium. What had been snow-covered and dormant a few days before was now vibrant and fresh. Mr. Steinbrenner asked his grounds crew to make the Stadium look just like it would for Opening Day, even though that was almost a month away.
The wedding itself was like a fairy tale. A judge from the Bronx presided. Eddie read the familiar passage about the virtues of love from Corinthians, chapter thirteen. Chris read a poem about life and baseball written by former pitcher Jim “Mudcat” Grant. Irish tenor Ciaran Sheehan, who starred in The Phantom of the Opera on Broadway, sang “Always,” Irving Berlin’s famous love song in 1942’s Pride of the Yankees.
Finally, Allison and I got to say “I do” on the very same spot where so many of our heroes had their own memorable days in the sun.
As soon as the wedding was over, we were rushed to the press room for interviews. There was standing room only. It felt weird to be on this side of the interview table.
Someone asked Allison why I picked Yankee Stadium for a wedding venue and she said, “Because he wanted to give me the biggest diamond possible.”
Eddie thought ahead and brought two bats, a ball, and a glove as props for wedding photos. They brought us back out to the pristine field, with the red, white, and blue bunting and the scoreboard that said CONGRATULATIONS ED AND ALLISON ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY! We posed with the bats over our shoulders. I held a light-colored stick, and Allison had a dark one, which contrasted nicely with my black tuxedo and her white wedding dress. The next day, several newspapers ran that photo with the headline BRIDE OF THE YANKEES.
The reception was held upstairs in the private Yankee club. Allison and I sat in a booth shaped like a gigantic catcher’s mitt as well-wishers came over to talk to us. The room was adorned with pictures of the Yankee players and their greatest moments. It felt like just the right place to celebrate. Actress and film director Penny Marshall was there, along with producer Elliot Abbott. They had made A League of Their Own and were interested in learning more about my story. We were happy to have them among our guests.
Toward the end of the evening, one last surprise from Mr. Steinbrenner was announced. He couldn’t be there himself, so the Boss sent a congratulatory note, which was read aloud by Chris. George was returning the check that Allison and I had written to cover the cost of the wedding. He was taking care of the whole tab himself. It wasn’t a small amount. He insisted that family members should not pay for the use of their own house.
As he had so many times before, Mr. Steinbrenner left me in awe of his generosity.
I hope George doesn’t mind that I just told more than two people about it.
I SAW MR. Steinbrenner for the final time at the All Star Game in Yankee Stadium in 2008. It was the last year at the old Stadium and they were using the pregame ceremonies to honor all of the legends who played there. I happened to be in the Monument Park area out by the bullpen in left center. Chris was my guide that night.
Toward the end of the introductions, George was brought to the bullpen gate in a golf cart. They were going to ride him around the perimeter of the Stadium to hear cheers from the fans in honor of the six championships he’d helped to deliver them. He was right next to us. When Chris told me he was there, I leaned over and said, “Thanks for everything, Boss. I love you.” George looked over at me. Unable to speak, he gave a thumbs-up and nodded. I couldn’t see this gesture, but I could feel the warmth that came my way from him.
Two years later, I was at the All Star Game in Anaheim, California, with Chris when we got an early morning phone call that Mr. Steinbrenner had passed away. It was a sad day, but it also made me happy that people were finally lifting his self-imposed moratorium on stories about his generosity. The Boss didn’t want to ruin the public image of himself as a stern taskmaster prone to firing and rehiring managers, players, and employees. He asked everyone to keep quiet about his charitable works until he was gone.
The world would now know the George Steinbrenner I had known for years.
GOING TO ALL Star Games and Hall of Fame inductions gives me a chance to catch up with players I might not ordinarily get to see on a regular basis. When Goose Gossage was put in the Hall in 2008, I was in Cooperstown to cheer him on. The president of the Hall, Jeff Idelson, invited me and Chris to be his guests at the gala party the night before. Most of the living Hall of Famers were there.
Chris was in the corner chatting with Reggie Jackson when both of them noticed Willie Mays enter the room. Chris came to get me. We approached the “Say Hey Kid.” Willie was losing his sight and was moving a bit slower, but he was still as sharp as ever. He greeted me with a cheery, “Hey, Eddie, how you doin’, man?”
We talked about old times at the Polo Grounds and my very first interview, in 1957. I told him that I still had the photo of it that Uncle Eugene snapped. There were others waiting to talk to Mays, so I said good-bye. Before I had a chance to walk away, Willie grabbed my arm and said, “How ’bout another picture?” With that, he and I did our best to try to re-create the pose from fifty-one years earlier.
Herb Miller was with me at the All Star Game in Boston in 1999. They introduced a special “Team of the Century” before the game. Fenway Park erupted in cheers for ten minutes when Ted Williams was brought out. He was the greatest Red Sox player of them all and was taking a long-overdue bow. Herb made sure that I got to see Ted before he left the park. Williams rarely appeared away from his Florida home, and I wanted to thank him for all he’d done for me.
As soon as we got close, Ted snapped to attention. “There you are, Eddie! I see you over there. Where’s Kay? How come you didn’t bring her?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Mr. Williams that Kay would have been almost thirty years old in human years at that point. He shook my hand, said hello to Herb, and left with a big grin.
It was a magical night.
The Celebrity Golf Classic had been running smoothly for two decades. Herb and Scooter made sure that the students at Holy Family, and blind children all across New Jersey and throughout the United States, got as much funding as they possibly could, thanks to our tournament.
Unfortunately, we suffered two major losses in rapid succession.
Herb Miller died suddenly in October 2005. It was a shock. He was relatively young and in good health. Other than the stress of running the school and constantly seeking new methods of fund-raising, he was a carefree guy. My heart broke for Zinnia and their children.
Holy Family was never the same after Herb’s death. The nuns shut the doors to the building completely a few years later, and it was eventually demolished. The school that I lived in and loved was gone forever.
And then Phil Rizzuto passed away in 2007. He had been in ill health for years, but it was still a crushing blow. Allison and I got to see him a few times toward the end at his assisted-living facility. He was still the same old Phil. Though his voice was weaker and he was confined to his room, the spirit of the little man whose heart was as big as all of Yankee Stadium shone through.
I AM CONSTANTLY inspired by such things as Derek Jeter’s Turn 2 Foundation, Don Imus’s Ranch for Children with Cancer, Curtis Granderson’s Grand Kids, the Michael J. Fox Foundation, the David Ortiz Fund for Children, Oprah Winfrey’s Leadership Foundation, Danny and Marlo Thomas’s Saint Jude’s Children’s Hospital, and other examples of celebrities leveraging their fame to give back to their communities, helping thousands of worthy causes in the process. The Yankees have also continued George’s philanthropic endeavors. Thanks to Media Relations Director Jason Zillo and George’s children, Jennifer, Hank, Jessica, and Hal, the team instituted an annual event called HOPE Week. Not only do the Yankees donate to these charities, they highlight them for an entire week at the ballpark and on television, encouraging fans to be supporters.
It’s an organization using the power of its brand for good.
To emulate all of these inspiring examples, Allison and I began the Ed Lucas Foundation in 2012. It’s meant to provide support and guidance to blind and disabled people and the organizations that assist and serve them throughout the United States and the world. Bob Diehl passed away in 2010, but his fellow Lion, Herb Bodensiek, was a man cut from the same cloth. He had lots of experience setting up foundations, and gave me excellent guidance. Several other people, like Tim Courtney, Rich Cutter, and Joe DiDio, and old friends like Gene and Karen Mehl, and the five Dunphy siblings (Eileen, Ann, Eddie, Mary, and Regina), were instrumental, along with Mr. Bodensiek, in helping me and Allison get the foundation up and running.
One of the events that directly led to the Ed Lucas Foundation was Strikeouts for Scholarships, a partnership created by David Nussbaum between WCBS Radio, Seton Hall, and the New York Yankees. For three seasons, beginning in 2008, ten dollars was donated for each strikeout thrown by a Yankee to a special fund set up to help disabled students at Seton Hall. The public was encouraged to match donations. It was very successful, but limited to one school. Allison and I wanted to expand it to benefit students from any college, as well as any disabled children, adults, or senior citizens facing their own uphill battles.
Many people wondered what would happen to the golf tournament after Phil’s death and the closing of the school. Gene Michael, who was largely responsible for putting together the Yankee team that won all those World Series championships in the late 1990s, stepped in to fill the large void left by Scooter. He wasn’t replacing Mr. Rizzuto, just carrying on his legacy. Thanks to Gene, the Golf Classic, renamed in his honor, is still going strong.
In the years to come, I hope to expand the reach and scope of the Ed Lucas Foundation, following the pattern set by Derek and the others. More and more people each day are left facing a life of blindness and disability due to injury, disease, or aging. We would like to be a beacon for them.
If you’d like to learn more about what we do at the Ed Lucas Foundation, I invite you to visit us at www.EdLucasBook.com. There’s even a link there where I will send you a bunch of gifts to help you get started on making a difference in your own community.
I have been blessed many times over, and it has humbled me. Whenever there were moments that I could have thrown in the towel and completely given up, God placed people in my life to lift me up and to keep me moving forward. You can be that person for someone, too.
Several of the people I encountered in my journey just happened to be Hall of Famers. It’s a special title, given to those who excel in a certain area. That seems like an unreachable goal for many, one reserved for icons and immortals. Nothing could be further from the truth. Each and every one of you has the opportunity to be a Hall of Famer in the eyes of someone in your life, in a quiet and meaningful way. It’s easy to do.
My obstacle just happens to be blindness, but everyone has his or her own mountain to climb. Whether it’s physical, psychological, financial, emotional, or otherwise, we all face battles at several points in our lives. If you just take the time to recognize and empathize with those who are going through rough waters, reach out to them and lend them support in your own way, you will be a Hall of Famer to them.
My passion just happens to be baseball, but if you follow your own passion and live it to the fullest, you will quickly discover the rewards that come from it. Doing that helped me to carve out a successful career in sports despite my limitations, but it just as easily could have been law, education, science, entertainment, or dozens of other vocations if that’s where my heart took me. It was more about the drive than the journey. By following your own passion and working hard at it, you are enriching not only your own life, but those of others who are watching, especially your children and family members. Once they see you proving that anything is possible if you set your mind to it, no matter what the naysayers claim, you will be a Hall of Famer to them.
My faith just happens to be Roman Catholic Christianity, but if you look to a higher power, no matter what your denomination or creed, it can help bring you comfort in times of crisis. This has always worked for me and my family, putting into action the lessons from the Good Book we heard from the pulpit. When you shift your focus from yourself onto others, treating them as you’d like to be treated—the central tenet of almost every religion—your life will improve in the process. It seems like a contradiction, but I’ve discovered that the more I do for others, the happier my own life becomes. If you take some time out of your busy day to perform an act of kindness for a friend, or even a complete stranger, you will be a Hall of Famer to them.
My service organization just happens to be the Lions International, but I encourage you to join a club in your local area. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the Lions, Kiwanis, Rotary, B’nai B’rith, the Knights of Columbus, the Elks, or other similar clubs, they are all outstanding organizations that gather like-minded people to give back to their communities while offering opportunities for personal growth and networking. By joining a local service club and becoming an active volunteer in helping those in your community who need it the most, you will be a Hall of Famer to them.
So many wonderful things have happened to me in my life that I feel it’s my duty to give back, to comfort others and to help them realize their dreams. I encourage you to do the same. We are all on a journey home; it’s how you treat others along the path that makes the difference.
Always be there for other people. Be the shoulder to cry on, the ears to listen sympathetically, the eyes to recognize suffering, and the arms to hold someone tight when that person is hurting. Do all of these things, and I promise you that when you round the bases for the final time, you will be welcomed home at the end of the game with love by God, who will surely include your name on the list of life’s Hall of Famers.
All photos are courtesy of author’s collection unless otherwise credited.
My baby picture, 1940.
A studio portrait for Easter, at age 4, with my sister, Maureen, age 2, 1943.
Standing outside our home at the Lafayette Gardens Housing Project in Jersey City, 1947.
A school picture from P.S. #22, age 9, just a few years before the accident that would take my sight away forever.
A photo article about me and my broadcasting goals that appeared in The Jersey Journal in 1956.
In the dugout at New York’s Polo Grounds in 1957, with Giants manager Bill Rigney and friends.
My graduation from the New York Institute for the Blind, 1958.
Celebrating my graduation with Maureen, my Dad and Mom in our Weehawken apartment, 1958.
The Seeing Eye class of summer 1958. I’m second from the right with Kay, my first Seeing Eye Dog.
My first big interview—with superstar Willie Mays—at the Polo Grounds. It was his last day as a New York Giant—September 29, 1957.
With Mickey Mantle on Old Timer’s Day in 1977. Though he was an American icon, Mick was still among the the most humble and generous people I was ever blessed to know.
Sharing a laugh with Mr. DiMaggio at his locker on Old Timer’s Day in 1978.
Sitting in the Yankee dugout in 1980 with Scooter and Yogi. I’m proudly wearing my gold blazer and purple tie, the symbols of my long association with the Lions Club.
On the field in 1979 with my second Seeing Eye dog, Flo, and the late Yankee captain Thurman Munson, a gentleman in every sense of the word.
With my personal home run hitting tutor, Reggie Jackson, in 1980.
After Dee walked out on our family, I had to raise the boys all by myself. I’d often take them to work with me at the ballpark. Here we are in the stands at Shea Stadium in 1974.
My sister and my parents were, as always, there for me when I needed them the most. They watched the boys when I couldn’t. This is Mom and Dad at Eddie’s First Holy Communion, in 1975, at Saint Aloysius Church, Jersey City, with Chris and Maureen’s son, Jeffrey.
Bob Diehl, Yankee relief pitcher Goose Gossage, and me in 1981.
Bob Hope giving me a few golf pointers in 1981 as my guide, Angelo, looks on.
At the Seeing Eye with my third dog, Bessie, my son Chris, and a family friend, 1982.
Yankee pitcher Dave Righetti, with me and my fourth (and last) Seeing Eye Dog, Tommy, in 1984. Dave was trying to “see” the locker room just by hearing, like I do, so he closed his eyes for a few minutes while we chatted.
Posing with “The Donald” and Chris in 1990. One of the rare times you will ever see Mr. Trump out of his customary business attire.
