As
I walked through the gates and up the ramp at Fenway Park I looked onto
the field with the eyes of an eight-year-old. Seeing the green of the
outfield grass glowing in front of me, hearing the sounds of hawkers peddling
cotton candy and hotdogs, and feeling the rush of excitement as the Red
Sox took the field - this brought me back to life as a little kid. Younger,
thinner and definitely with more hair, every day was an adventure. Something
new to see, to do, to feel.
“I remember my first league team, the Hatchet
Harries, led by Brian Bloch (who was in the bunk next door, but 3 years
older than me).”
Staring out at the field as the Red Sox and Blue Jays went back and forth in a wild opener, the Fenway diamond seemed to disappear and in its place I was seeing the West End ball fields. Johnny Stoller was hitting fly balls and Matt Bloch was catching. A variety of other alumni were manning the bases and I am pretty sure that Bill Margolin was walking up the path. A rattling pickup truck was flying down the road between the ponds and the cooks were sitting out front smoking a cigarette. The memories have obviously blurred together over time, but there are some that I will never forget, starting from Day 1, June of 1986, when I first stepped foot at West End House Camp:
