A few weeks ago, I had dinner with an acquaintance who I hadn’t seen in several years. During our conversation, we stumbled upon our passion for baseball; his for the Baltimore Orioles, mine for the Tampa Bay Rays. I suggested the viewing of a Netflix documentary “Koshien”, the story of a Japanese High School baseball team competing for a National Championship; an absolute must watch for any baseball fan. My dining partner shared that he spent four-years in Japan as a youngster while his father was on an assignment with Getty Oil. He spoke glowingly of his time in Japan, telling the story of safely riding a train, on his own, as a fourth grader, heading back and forth from school. Conversely, he then cited how he and his wife, in an affluent community, would watch their children load a yellow school bus that stopped at the bottom of their driveway.
My friend’s stories reminded me of a very special, relatable experience during my younger years:
As I look back on my childhood, the following story seems so contrary to our parental modus operandi as our parents were incredibly strict, including but not limited to our manners and our conduct. Periodically, a formal meal was held in our infrequently used dining room which required folded linen napkins in our laps, elbows clear of the table, proper attire, proper posture and proper utilization of the various utensils; all in preparation for an upcoming evening with our minister (Dr. Bruce Evans) and his wife (Lib). Television was not permitted during the school week nor were we allowed to go out with friends during the school week, all the way through high school. When we were allowed out of the house on the weekends, our curfew was significantly earlier than our friends. Suffice it to say, the reigns were pretty tight. Not to mention, there was a mystical creature (the Killy-Loo Bird*), who would fly over our shoulders each day, reporting back to HQ relative to marginal behavior or a sighting of one of the Schoch boys hanging out with the wrong crowd (affectionally known as “hoods”) in front of Conte’s Delicatessen!
*Our father grew up in our hometown (Springfield, NJ) and had a significant network of life-long friends that kept a very close eye out for one John Schoch, Jr. and one Jimmy Schoch.
During the summer between my eighth and ninth-grade years, at the age of thirteen (circa 1968), my parents permitted Eddie Cook and me to travel independently to New York City, more specifically the Bronx, to attend a day game to watch our beloved New York Yankees. A journey I had taken with my family on a few occasions.
Traveling to the Stadium was no small feat as it required an hour-long bus ride on the maroon and silver Somerset Bus Company from the top of our street, through the Lincoln Tunnel to Port Authority, in the heart of downtown Manhattan. From Port Authority we would need to find our way to the subway platform, taking the E subway from 42nd Street to 7th Avenue Station, then the D subway from 7th Avenue Station to 161 Street; Yankee Stadium; home of Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris, Bobby Richardson, Elston Howard, Clete Boyer, Tommy Tresh, Mel Stottlemyre, Whitey Ford and Jim Bouton. Immediately following play, we were instructed to make haste by reversing our path to Port Authority where we would board the Somerset Bus Company with our pre-bought tickets, heading for Washington Avenue after numerous local stops along the way.
I have struggled to reconcile the obvious contradictions, but here goes: We (cumulatively) were raised by the Greatest Generation, who fought to save civilization during WW II in places like Pearl Harbor, Battle of the Bulge, Normandy, Okinawa, Iwo Jima and Midway. My brother’s birth was only five years removed from VE (Victory over Europe) Day. Having taken down the Axis Powers, is it conceivable the environment in our country was kinder and far more fraternal? Was there a greater confidence in strangers or mankind in general, or did our parents just say; “Oh what the hell, give the young lads some wings, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?!”
Our adventure seemed so very harmless at the time; however, it is hard to imagine sending two thirteen-year-old boys on such an odyssey these days.
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