Chapter 17. The Series
Wednesday, October seventh. It was warm in St. Louis, where Game 1 was being played, but really cold in the woods in Essex. The temperature had dropped almost thirty degrees from Sunday, and we were all glad we had made the decision to end it. Not that we couldn’t take it, but we knew it would only get colder.
We lost Game 1, and that was a blow. How could Whitey Ford lose to Ray Sadecki? We didn’t know, of course, how badly Whitey was hurting, or that this would be his last World Series game ever. The kid, Stottlemyre, beat Bob Gibson in Game 2 to tie the series, and we were sure to win when we got back to Yankee Stadium on Saturday.
We did win Game 3, and in the most delightful fashion. The game was tied 1 – 1 when Mickey Mantle led off the bottom of the ninth. He hit the first pitch over the fence in right field to win the game. We were inside the cabin, because it was raining, and we made so much noise that Tom was worried that someone would hear us from Lost Nation Road. But everything was fine, and we were up two games to one.
Some of the guys were out to visit on Sunday and they listened to the game with us, knowing we would be returning home before the next weekend. It was raining, so we crowded into the cabin. Larry and Roy weren’t as used to the smell as we were, but they tolerated it. We were cruising with a 3 – 0 lead going to the sixth, when an error loaded the bases, and Downing gave up a grand slam to Ken Boyer. We only got one hit after that, and lost 4 – 3.
We lost again Monday, and it felt like the world was going to end. Tom Tresh hit a heroic two-run homer in the ninth to tie the game, but we lost it in the tenth. There was an off day on Tuesday, then back to St. Louis. It rained all day Tuesday, and we spent the day preparing to leave. There wasn’t that much to do, really. It wasn’t like we had to leave the place spotless for the new tenants; we thought we might visit again next summer, but we didn’t have anybody else to do anything for.
There was some work to do outside, burying the last of our garbage and making everything look undisturbed, but we couldn’t really do that in the rain. We weren’t sure yet if we would be leaving Thursday or Friday, so we waited to wash our clothes and ourselves until we knew.
Wednesday afternoon’s win tied the series at 3 – 3, and we felt a lot better. Three homers produced an 8 -3 victory, and there would be a game seven on Thursday. Now we knew that, win or lose, we would be walking back to town on Friday.
We got all of our clothes washed on Thursday morning, and did what little there was to do for packing. Everything done and ready, we settled in for Game 7. Without Whitey Ford, Yogi started the kid, Mel Stottlemyre, on two days rest. What a spot for a rookie! He gave up three runs in the fourth, then his shoulder stiffened up, and Al Downing came in for the fifth, and he gave up three more.
Mickey hit a three-run homer, his eighteenth World Series home run, the all-time record, but it wasn’t enough, and we lost 7 – 5.
It was a glum evening in the cabin, as we shared two cans of Spaghettios for our last meal. We had chosen to coincide the Series with the end of our adventure, but this wasn’t the way we had pictured it. Looking back on it later, it seemed appropriate in a sad way. We had no idea that it was the end of the Yankees’ dynasty, or that they were going to fire Yogi Berra even though he had won ninety-nine games and three more in the Series.