Memoir by Dan Spinella
When the yellow and red Rheingold truck was parked outside of the apartment, we knew that Dad was home and we were going to a ballgame.
We’d pile into the truck, the smell of beer permeated the cab, and drive to Brooklyn and Ebbets Field. It seemed like a ride that went on forever. From wherever we parked, we could see the Ebbets Field rotunda.
We’d run ahead of Dad, who’d buy grandstand tickets, then we’d walk into the green afternoon at the ballpark. Down below, but not too far away, were Reese and Campanella, Snider and Hodges, and most strikingly Jackie Robinson. Playing pepper.
We knew it was possible to have heroes and witness their feats of small greatness tucked away in our seats in our baseball home.