![]() ![]() She must have had some Marine in her too. A proud woman, she accepted that she’d have to be in a wheelchair, but her son was the MC and this was for her husband of decades and father of her four children. She was worried sick that her health, which was failing, would fail her. She was all twitter because of preparations for the Shea Stadium celebration of Gil’s 100th birthday. It was a lovely chat, like I was talking to my grandmother. And after an interminable number of rings, my heart racing, I was suddenly talking to Joan Hodges. After a few days and a lot of deep breaths, I called it. Suddenly I felt as I did when I was a kid chasing guys for autographs. Peter was friends with the Hodges family and asked me if I’d like to talk to his wife and maybe get an endorsement for my book. When I was writing the first volume of my humorous memoir trilogy, “The War of the Itchy Balls and Other Tales From Brooklyn,” () I had one of those “I can’t believe that happened moments.” Through a person I knew, I met Peter Bavasi who grew up in the Dodgers’ dugout because his dad Buzzi ran the Dodgers. He was the “strong, silent type” but an approachable version of it. He’d kid around with kids clustered by the railing during batting practice. Hodges seemed to be as nice off the field as he was on it. When Hodges connected, it was usually a shot no matter its trajectory. This was before the days of immediate stats that tell the speed a ball leaves the bat, how high and far it goes. When he connected, the fielder had best be sharp. If there was a role model for a kid on the field, Hodges was it. He was a Marine and like most Marines he was always a Marine. When he made out or struck out at crucial moments in crucial games, he left the field with an air that didn’t say, “I failed,” but said “I’ve failed my teammates.” I guess when you’ve been in the thick of fighting in the Pacific Theatre and decorated for valor, there’s not much you’re afraid of. When he was in a slump there was no bat-breaking, no bat-throwing. The heel of his hand always showed as he wielded that oft-cited gold glove. Hodges’ right hand didn’t seem to fit in the glove. Ted Kluszewski was bigger, but not better. For that era of baseball, he was a big guy, 6’1”, 200 lbs. It seemed like it stopped just because he said it should. ![]() When Hodges joined the scrum, it stopped. When there was a scuffle that presence showed itself. I revered Gil Hodges differently than I did my several other heroes who played for Brooklyn’s Dodgers in the ‘50’s and early ‘60’s. We’ll get to why in a bit, but first the memories. Now he has been voted in and will this spring be enshrined where he should be. ![]() I, like many Dodger fans, have thought it a head scratcher as to why Hodges hadn’t got there. But better for a ball player is to be voted into the Hall of Fame. It’s nice to have a bridge named after you, especially one so eye-popping if you catch it at the right times. ![]()
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