The Biggest Fan
Tony Molito
October 23, 2016-The Hall Ball has evolved numerous times in its life. At first, it was just an idea to visit the graves of the members of The Hall of Fame. Then, I added the photos and the ball, quickly followed by the idea to include the living players as well. As time passed and the project started to get noticed by others, I began to realize that it could have more meaning if it stopped being so personal and became something that I shared with others. With the assistance of the folks at Sportspalooza I created a web presence. I made the website and started a Facebook. I got a twitter, too, although I am terrible at using it. I even created a gofundme, in the hopes of getting some support to tackle the mounting debt that the project has created.
Since then, The Hall Ball has inspired a small but loyal group of individuals who pay close attention to its travels. Some of them are friends I knew before the project even began. Some are friends of friends. And some I know only because of The Hall Ball. Tony Milito was one of the latter. Tony is a guy who is a fan of virtually every baseball Facebook page in existence, so The Hall Ball was right up his alley. When I put out an early plea for writers to help me complete the bios I wanted to create for the website, he was one of the first to volunteer. As of today, he has probably written more of them than I have. Every time someone on Facebook posts about a Hall of Famer, Tony is sure to comment on the ball’s visit to that player and post a project photo.
I met Tony in person for the first time in May of 2014 when he drove to Staten Island from his home of New Brunswick, NJ to join in the celebration of the marker I assisted in installing for Sol White. By that time, he had donated financially to the project and was sending me emails letting me know when living players were passing through. I was so humbled to meet someone whose love for the game was so evident, and whose respect for what I was doing was so genuine, that it remains one of my favorite memories from the day. I even took Tony’s picture that day, holding the ball. He had earned the right.
Since then he has been the project’s greatest advocate. Besides making sure that nary a Facebook post goes by without a nod to the ball, it was Tony who wrote the letter to Corey Kilgannon of the New York Times telling him of the project. I owe the small fifteen minutes of fame that has landed in my lap over the last three weeks to him. It would not be an exaggeration to say that even before today, the project would not be as far along as it is without Tony’s help.
I only met Tony’s wife, Kathy, once. After I returned from Cuba, I wrote about a new collection I wanted to start of the rookie cards for every Cuban who has ever spent time in a major league uniform. Tony promptly dug into his card collection, found every duplicate he had of a Cuban player, and he and Kathy made the drive up to Staten Island to bring me this very generous gift. Kathy was originally from Staten Island and still had family in the area. If memory serves, I think they were even on the way to her high school reunion when they paid their visit. Kathy loved square dancing, fireworks, frogs, baseball and Tony. Anyone who knew them knew just how much they were in love.
I spent the next year watching Kathy’s continued battle with cancer from the safe remove of the internet. Tony would post the up and down updates of her struggle. I knew that he retired and they went down to the house in Florida they had purchased. I knew their wish was for her to finally conquer the disease in the dream home they had always wanted. And so I knew, just days after they settled into their Cape Coral nest, that their visits to hospitals were not over. Kathy persevered for seven more months, but on June 12, the cancer finally ended Kathy’s life and broke Tony’s heart.
Since then, Tony has written about his grieving. About the continued signs Kathy seems to keep sending him, including a frog that moved into their yard the day after she died. About the junk mail that still keeps coming to their mailbox with her name on it. About the echoes that are left behind when a loved one is gone forever and how hollow the things that remain feel. I don’t think he even realizes what a reminder he has served for me, to love and live and never hesitate to embrace those that mean the most to me.
I have also watched him manage his grief in a way that I myself can fully appreciate, and have used in times of hurt in my own life. That tool? Why, baseball, of course. He has spent the months since traveling to games and stadiums and museums and special events commemorating the sport that has meant so much to him, to me, and to generations of people for the last 160 years.
He watched his beloved Mets make it all the way to the Wildcard game, where he and I sat in section 501 of Citifield and witnessed this year’s dream fall to Conor Gillaspie’s unlikely ninth-inning home run. He’s gone to a sports collectible show in Atlantic City, and watched multiple vintage baseball games played by the rules of the 1850s. He’s witnessed the Trenton Thunder play the Akron RubberDucks and saw big league games in Atlanta and Philadelphia. He climbed the lone remaining structure from the Polo Grounds, the John T. Brush stairwell, and he went to Yogi Berra’s museum in Little Falls. Last weekend he visited the Forbes Field Wall to join in the celebration of the 56th anniversary of Bill Mazeroski’s historic home run.
And then there was today.
Those of you who are paying attention to the project know that I put out a plea this week to try and raise some last minute capital in order to photograph Red Schoendienst in St. Louis. I’m thrilled to say that we were able to raise over three hundred dollars which, while certainly not enough to cover the whole ticket, was enough to justify the remaining expense. The only problem was that this weekend was one of the infrequent times in which my job required me to work on a Saturday. I had the funding, but I myself could not go to St. Louis. What to do?
Other than my beloved Family, there is really only one person I trust with the ball at this point, and that’s Tony. So, I asked him to do something unprecedented in the history of the project. I asked him to take it to St. Louis and get the photograph for me. The ball hasn’t really been out of my possession since it was created and when I gave it to him on Thursday it was with no small amount of nerves. But, Mr. Schoendienst is 93 years old. My chances were running out.
To be clear, there are already three photographs in the Project that were taken by other people. Both the Reggie Jackson and Cal Ripken, Jr. photos were taken by their respective handlers with me standing nearby. Mike Schmidt’s photo was taken by Sean Morgan with Fanatics Authentic, who was leery of my intentions and would only agree to the photo if he got to take it. But, I have never not been on site when the picture was taken. Today, the Ball became bigger than me. Today, the 288th photograph was taken while I was 972 miles away, tucked in the corner of a darkened theatre.
I have always wanted the ball to be thought of as a communal project. I have wanted the people who have donated their money, the ones who wrote bios for the site, the blogs and podcasts that helped spread the word, and even the people that took the split second to hit “like” on Facebook, to feel some sense of ownership in the project. Today, Tony truly became one of the creators of The Hall Ball. And, hopefully, for just a little while, his beloved baseball masked the pain of missing his beloved Kathy.
There has been a lot of good that has come from the ball already. It led me to Sol White and now Cristóbal Torriente. It has helped educate me about the game and made me a better historian than I was six years ago. It has brought me and my family to locations exotic and mundane, opening up the great expanse of America to us in a very special way. It took me to Cuba, where I had one of the most transformative experiences of my life. And now, it has given this kind, loving man a chance to meet a baseball legend and to be a part of something unique. Thanks, Tony, for the picture, and for being there all this time. It has been an honor getting to know you.