Recently I shared the story of the 50^th Anniversary of my wife Betty and I, and the wonderful surprise party we were thrown by our son, Joe, and our brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews. 

However, I left out one detail, perhaps saving it for another day, and this is that other day. 

We received what I think is a one-of-a-kind gift that day and I perhaps no one in the world has ever received the exact same gift and is not likely to receive in the future. A gift so thoughtful, so insightful, and so special, that I knew at the moment, I would hold on to it for the rest of my life and pass it down to my family. 

Here is the story of that gift, but to have it make sense, let me share with you the personal history of the relationship between Fenway, the Red Sox and me.

To this day I am not sure if my dad or Uncle Joe (my mother’s uncle and part of the couple that raised her) took me to my first Red Sox game, but it happened sometime in the summer of 1958 when the team was really bad and played mostly day games. 

It is true that I actually saw Ted Williams play in person, but my favorite player was Jimmy Piersall, because when I was a kid, that’s what people called me ‘Jimmy.’ I remember when the only revenue that the Red Sox official charity had was from red boxes hanging on the posts under the grandstand at Fenway. Their official charity, then and now was the ‘Jimmy Fund.’

So, with a star player with my name, and an official charity with my name, Fenway was a very special place to me as a kid.

Every year, I would spend more than a couple of weeks sleeping over at Auntie and Uncle’s in Roslindale. 

Every day there was a day game, Uncle and I would walk to Cummins Highway, wait for a bus to Forest Hills Station and take the Orange Line (before it was called that) to downtown Boston. 

We’d then walk around following the Freedom Trail of historical sites or look architectural wonders.

Sometimes, if everything was perfectly timed, we'd have chicken croquettes at a Waldorf Cafeteria downtown before we hopped on the Green Line Trolley (before it was called that) and headed to Kenmore Square where we’d walk a couple of blocks to Fenway.

We would enter the press gate and sit on two metal folding chairs and wait. Uncle had been a big Boston Braves fan, and when they moved to Milwaukee in 1953, his contacts at Braves Field, and his loyalty, moved over to Fenway Park. 

Not only were the baseballs that I played with as a kid used Major League batting practice baseballs that one of his buddies gathered out of the big screen over the left field wall, but he also had friends inside the park.

We would sit and wait until almost game time and one of Uncle's buddies would give us two tickets directly behind home plate. We'd sit in seats originally reserved for family members who didn’t show up for the game.

We did that for 15-20 games a summer over five or six years, so I saw a lot of baseball in the early Sixties when the Red Sox were not very good. 

Occasionally I would talk Uncle out of sitting behind the plate and we’d roam out to the $1 bleacher seats or the $1.50 grandstand seats. Suffice it to say, if you gave me a map of Fenway, I could accurately number each section to this day. (If you've never been to Fenway, I can also tell you where NOT to sit).

Because I was so familiar with the park and the public transportation system, when I was ten years old, living in Braintree (roughly an hour drive from Fenway), I was allowed to go to a game with a friend, and no adult. Ten years old. A two-hour trip by public transportation. Hard to believe.

We’d take a bus to Quincy, another bus to Fields Corner, the Red Line to Park Street and the Green Line to Kenmore Square. When I was 13 years old, after several successful years of responsibly getting to Fenway with a friend, I was permitted to travel that route alone. Times have changed.

One year, my dad took all the siblings to opening day, tickets were easy to get, and I remember one of my sisters spending three innings under the stands getting hot dogs for everyone because the lines were so long.

In junior high school, I was a member of one of the smallest crowds in Fenway history, less than 500, at the end of a season. I had all of Section 1 to myself, but we didn't take selfies in those days, so I can't prove it.

And, of course, on our honeymoon, my wife and I sat in the bleachers for a game.

Would you expect anything less from me?

I have previously documented my experience operating a restaurant across the street from Fenway and my connection with Bill Maskell, the best usher in Boston in the weblog A Little Red Towel. I attended about 60 games in 1979 and a couple of dozen in 1980 and learned a lot from an 80-year-old usher.

I was there so often during those two years that I could accurately assess the attendance and post-game rush, and I would call the store from a pay phone behind Section 18 and direct the postgame staffing. If there was a smaller crowd, staff were sent home. For a larger crowd, things were made more ready.

Since those days, and while I was moving and traveling nationally, I have seen the Red Sox play in 21 different Major League Ballparks, listed below. Additionally, I have been to 10 other Ballparks for games, but unfortunately, the Sox were not playing.

I'm not necessarily bragging, but I am illustrating that the depth of my attachment to the Red Sox is deep, and that is why the present we received at our anniversary party meant so much to me.

Plus, while working for the March of Dimes, we held several events at, you guessed it, Fenway Park.

Oh, yeah, in 2020 at the age of 70, I ran my first (and only?) Marathon around the outside of Fenway Park (47 laps). That story is here.

Recently, in response to my mom’s last wishes, I was able to spread her ashes in left field, in front of the Green Monster. That story is here.

As you can see, Fenway, the Red Sox, and me are kind of connected.

That’s why when opening gifts at our surprise anniversary celebration, I was thrilled when I opened the gift from our niece Lena and her partner Tom, the Red Sox Clubhouse Manager.

An Emotional Moment

26.2 Mile Route

Inside the Scoreboard

So, what could be so amazing about a wedding anniversary gift you ask?

Fenway Park has one of the last ‘mechanical’ scoreboards in baseball. 

Numbers painted on heavy metal squares hang on a hook for all to see. Runs, hits, errors, inning by inning tallies, out of market game scores, standings: all on metal squares painted Fenway Green for more than 112 years.

Tom and Lena gifted us one of those scoreboard squares with the number 50 on it. Not available in stores, not available unless you are a true fan, and have a true friend who is thoughtful and knew I would know what it meant and how much it matters.

So, after all these years, I have a piece of Fenway in my hands, in addition to the pieces in my heart.

It's one of the nicest presents I've ever received, and it certainly is a great capstone to a life story of Fenway, the Red Sox and me.