Going to Wrigley with Dad

April 14, 2012

Going to Wrigley with Dad

By Dan Baron

The morning of Thursday, April 12 began for me like many trips to Wrigley Field. I left my office with two tickets to the game and the traditional foot long Subway sandwich.

The plan was to meet my sister Wendy at Wrigley Field at noon.

This time, however, I also packed an envelope that contained three tiny plastic bags of Dad’s ashes. Our mission was to spread them around the park and, if possible, on the field.

I guess that spreading Dad’s ashes at the ballpark might seem a little bizarre to some people. I looked at it, however, as a loving and spiritual act – one that dad would have appreciated. People spread the ashes of loved ones in oceans and other places, but you can’t get a hot dog (or in Wendy’s case, a bison dog with lots of trimmings but no bread), $7.50 beer, Frosty Malt or other organic food in the ocean. You can’t pin your hopes on your favorite team in the ocean (unless you are rooting for the Marlins, which ain't gonna happen). You might not have time while paddling in the ocean and facing a shark to wonder “Who’s pitching today?”

I arrived about twenty minutes before Wendy did (I guess we were “early and earlier”). Plenty of time to deposit ashes in a few key spots around the ballpark. First, I carefully dropped a few near where they sell tickets at the corner of Clark and Addison. Then I walked east and did the same on the path between the ticket window and corner across from the 7-Eleven. I visited the statues of Ernie Banks, Billy Williams and Harry Caray. I pretended to gaze in awe at these statues while furtively pulling a few ashes out of the a plastic bag with my fingertips. I should add here that I did not spread ashes on the statue of Ron Santo. Pops often felt that Santo was “a bum who never got a big hit for us.” (I thought of sprinkling ashes on Santo’s statue anyway, because his failures resulted in me learning a whole bunch of curses from Pops). Though Pops had a tendency to mildly exaggerate (definition of mild: like a Habanero pepper), I tried to honor his beliefs by only spreading ashes in places where he would want them to go.

At this point I understand if some readers believe that this ash-spreading ritual sounds barbaric and might be tied to a cult of troubled Cub fans. To which I would respond: So what, you gotta problem with that?

You will, I hope, be delighted to know that neither Wendy nor I were arrested and jailed after distributing ashes in and around the ballpark. From research I conducted (on the Internet), spreading ashes at Wrigley is illegal, unless you are a celebrity or former baseball star or beer company executive and the team makes a special occasion of this event. Much of our time for our first hour at the park - and especially mine - was spent pinching a tiny bit of Pop’s ashes from a small plastic bag and waiting until the perfect moment to drop it onto the field or elsewhere at the ballpark.

As we walked into the ballpark, the sky was blue and clear and it was pleasant out (when we got to our seats, of course, it got much chillier, blessing us with the opportunity to curse both the Cubs and the weather). If you’d like a tour of the places we visited, I’d be happy to provide it sometime. I tried to look for spots where robotic bureaucrats who work for the Cubs appeared to be oblivious to our intentions (actually, most of the Cub employees were friendly, but I think all are highly trained to stop short 50-year-old Jewish men from trying to throw ashes onto the field). I knew that getting arrested would deter our mission and might even prevent me from watching the Bulls and Blackhawks games that night. We spread ashes between third base and home (foul territory), and then between third and left field wall (twice – once in foul territory, once in fair territory). That is when I realized we could toss a few ashes into the left and right-field corners. As I dropped ashes into the right-field corner, we could actually see them wafting down to the field. Honestly, it was a strange but magical sight.

It was a little windy, of course, and some of the ashes landed on my leather jacket. I wondered for a minute how to explain what had happened to our dry cleaner, who does not speak any English except for “credit card” and “ready on Tuesday.” I was able to brush off the ashes. That was a good thing, since I needed my jacket clean for Monday.

I cannot speak for Wendy here, though she was an extremely capable accomplice and lookout for our ash-related journey. Wendy also dropped a few ashes on the field. On the spot where she performed this ritual (between third base and left field), the Cubs will soon build a small synagogue and a ruggelach factory.

We did, of course, have other targets. My mom suggested that I spread a few ashes at a concession stand, so I did (in front of one concession stand: no hot dogs were affected). I also spread a few ashes in one of the men's rooms. You may ask, “Really? Why drop any ashes in the men’s room”? The answer is, this room was a source of infinitely greater relief and satisfaction to Pops than the Cubs during most of his visits to Wrigley.

Later, we spread a few ashes underneath seats in Section 218, where we sat, and then under a pair of seats in the box seats we snuck down to (True story: I once snuck down to box seats with my friend Mike during a doubleheader in 1987. By coincidence, or maybe divine intervention, Pops and a friend were sitting in front of us. They had snuck down there as well).

Finally, after we left the park, I stood under the big Wrigley Field sign at Clark and Addison. A few Cub employees were standing behind me. I looked up, in awe, as my right hand released more ashes beneath me. This may not have been the smartest thing to do, but it worked.

As you may know, the Cubs won the game on Thursday, 8-0. It was their biggest win of the year. There’s no reason to be sentimental or superstitious here. Let’s face reality: the Cubs won the game because we spread Pop’s ashes at Wrigley. We held hands as the Cubs got the last out. Any baseball fan (or idiot) will tell you that these are the reasons why the Cubs won.

As I’ve said to a couple of you, I think I’ll hold onto a couple of those small bags of ashes until the Cubs are in the playoffs and need some help getting to the World Series. I think we’ll know when they need help (OK, the answer to that is “always.”). Or at least the kind of help that can put them into the World Series. It’s gonna happen, I’m thinking, in 2014 or 2015.

I have a good idea about what Dad have thought about our visit to Wrigley.

We had a great time, we held hands, we honored his legacy and the Cubs won. It was a day at the ballpark like no other.

I can hardly wait for the World Series.