Happy Halloween!
As usual for me, Halloween is a time for reflection, even this year as I celebrate the fresh World Championship of the Washington Nationals. It was 46 years ago that I lost my dad, Ken Hicks. So, with that in mind, I share this excerpt from Secrets on the Base Paths, (shameless plug), available on Amazon.com or Barnes and Noble. As I have always said, the book is about so much more than baseball, although as a "coming of age" story, baseball plays a key role in both stories, mine and the story of Digger Post, the 1920's pitcher who witnessed discrimination in the deep south before becoming entangled himself. So here is a bit of my story, not about baseball at all.
Franklin Roosevelt described December 7, 1941, the date of the attack on Pearl Harbor as “A date which will live in infamy.” A date which will live in infamy for me is October 31, 1973. That date haunts me in many ways. Of course it stands out because Halloween is celebrated each year on the anniversary of that infamous date. Each year I am reminded of the fateful day in 1973 when my life changed forever, by little kids walking through the neighborhood, dressed in costumes as they look for treats. Hell, I used to be one of those kids.
Halloween can still be fun when you’re sixteen, but in a much different way than when you’re six. When you are six, or eight or ten for that matter, your concerns are limited to your costume and how much candy you can accumulate in a couple of hours. Simply put, the younger you are, the more you focus on the “treat,” and as you get older that focus tends to be towards the “trick.” That truth could not have been demonstrated better than the plans my friends and I were making on Halloween of 1973.
Halloween fell on a Wednesday that year so a school day would have to be dealt with before any of the festivities could begin. The day began quite normally as I sat down for breakfast at the kitchen table with my parents. Almost every morning I sat on the side as my mom usually sat on the back end of the table. I have no idea why we switched seats that morning, but the sun in my eyes made me sorry for the change. It was an exceedingly sunny morning and I sat on the opposite end of the table from Ken. The kitchen window was at his back and the sun was directly in my eyes. I continually tried to move so that my dad’s head would block the bright rays. Even as Ken spoke I had difficulty seeing his face. I recall that the glow from the sunlight seemed to create almost a halo around his head. When he asked what my plans were for the evening, I avoided telling him about the mischief my friends and I were planning by saying I’d probably do something with Heather. It wasn’t the first time I had lied to my dad, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
Between classes that day, several friends and I firmed up our plans which included obtaining beer, a difficult task, but not nearly as difficult as it would be for teens today. In 1973, you only had to be 18 to buy beer. There were a couple of us that could possibly pass for that, especially a couple of buddies who were 17. Anticipation was part of the fun though so time would tell. By the time fourth period rolled around, I was in my English class which was located in a Quonset Hut in the parking lot. Groveton High School, the smallest high school in the county, despite a relatively low student population was overcrowded, and several of these prefabricated buildings were needed for overflow classrooms.
As the class neared conclusion, Mr. Stagi, one of the assistant principals in charge of discipline, came to the door. When he announced that he needed to see Phil Hicks, I was beyond shocked. I certainly wasn’t a saint, but I couldn’t imagine what I had done to require any sort of discipline. Of course the customary cat calls came from my classmates and I tried to make light of that to the best of my ability. I kept telling myself, “You haven’t done anything wrong….yet.” Whether or not it was because of Halloween, I can’t be sure, but Mr. Stagi looked like he was dressed as an undertaker, with a black suit and tie.
We stepped outside and the first words out of his mouth were, “Your grandmother is here to see you.” I looked around in shock and thought that there must be a joke being played, either on me or on him. I said, “That can’t be true, both of my grandmothers are dead.” Based on his expression, it didn’t seem that he was in a joking mood. The walk to the office was a long one that day. I had trouble keeping up with Mr. Stagi’s pace as my mind was racing far faster than my feet. The moment we stepped into the office, I saw Delia Smallie standing near the door. She wasn’t my grandmother, and although I referred to her as Aunt Dee, she wasn’t even a relative. She was one of my parent’s Canasta partners and closer in many ways than many of my true aunts. I knew she wouldn’t be there at my school for any good or trivial reason.
She came toward me and hugged me about as hard as she could as she was already crying. Her voice quivered as she said, “Oh Corky, its Ken. He’s had a heart attack.” She squeezed even harder as I asked, “Is he going to be alright?” She paused for a moment, took a deep breath and answered, “No honey, he’s gone.” In many ways, my world ended that very second. Everyone talks about how we deal with horrific news. It’s true that the first stage is shock. I couldn’t have spoken if my life depended on it. It was as if my brain had shut down to stop me from processing this information.
We were in her car before I knew what was happening. I remember that trip home like it was yesterday. I can shut my eyes and still see the baby blue dashboard and the word “Bonneville” in silver letters. Even though I’m sure my mind was on other things, I remember thinking, “Shouldn’t Pontiac use that name for a sports car instead of a luxury model? After all, it probably comes from the Bonneville Salt Flats where land speed records are set.” It sounds stupid to think about something like that in the midst of a moment so awful, but in retrospect, that is probably how a mind in shock should work.
I reentered reality when we arrived at the house. As devastating as the news was for me, it was doubly bad for Mom. I didn’t know what to say. As we held each other I thought that only five years earlier, the very house where we stood was home to six. Suddenly there were just two of us. It took a long time before I was able to find out any details, but somewhere in the midst of the blur, Mom mentioned that Pop and Flora were on their way.
My brother Tom didn’t arrive at the house for quite some time. With him no longer living with us, and with so much going on, I never questioned why. As it turns out he had the worst duty to perform that afternoon. He had to drive to Baltimore after he had received the news so he could be the one to identify my dad’s body. When I think back to how hard that trip, in both directions, must have been for him, I still cringe. Upon hearing the same awful news, I had gone into shock, and I only had to be taken home.
I had forgotten that it was Halloween until I saw a bowl of candy on the kitchen counter. I wondered to myself what it would be like handing out treats to kids under these bitter circumstances. When nightfall finally arrived, I was surprised to not have one knock on the door. For years, I didn’t know how or why that happened-- how an entire neighborhood loaded with kids had decided in unison to stay away from my home. It wasn’t until recently that I found out that my cousin Gail had sat out on the front porch to keep people away. Even as I heard about her doing this, decades after the fact, I thought about Pop and his feelings about sitting on the concrete porch. I can hear him say, “It’ll give you piles.”
As the evening wore on, my mom had tried to get some rest, but to no avail. She sat in a corner hugging one of Ken’s shirts, and occasionally holding it to her face. It was as if she wanted to breathe in any scent of my dad. Our Golden Retriever, Shasta, continually nuzzled her in an obvious attempt to make her feel better. I wished I could do something, anything to make her feel better. I knew I was going to have to put on a strong front, because Mom was going to count on me.
One final bit of selfishness overcame me though. It hadn’t occurred to me earlier during the immediate shock of the day. My dad was the family bread winner. My mom didn’t have a job. My concerns became self-centered. What was going to become of us?
It was late when Pop and Flora arrived, but I was still awake, staring into space. Pop and I didn’t have much to say to each other, but getting a big bear hug from him, gave me as much comfort as I could have hoped for at the time.