Speaker 1: This is our American Stories, and our next story is
Speaker 1: brought to us by a listener, Jim Johnson, who is
Speaker 1: a longtime pastor who lives in Rogers, Minnesota. Pastor Jim
Speaker 1: wowed our listeners with his story Everett's Last Christmas Carol.
Speaker 1: We asked if he had another story to share with
Speaker 1: our listeners, and here he is again.
Speaker 2: Here's Pastor Jim, somewhere around Row twenty two, section three
Speaker 2: in the left field bleachers in Bloomington, Minnesota, at the
Speaker 2: now leveled Metropolitan Stadium, the old met as we called it,
Speaker 2: where the Twins used to play between nineteen sixty one
Speaker 2: and nineteen eighty one. There was that I learned a harsh,
Speaker 2: cruel lesson about life. I learned a lot of lessons
Speaker 2: about life, but that day culminated them all together. It's
Speaker 2: been forty one years since then, August of nineteen seventy nine.
Speaker 2: Back then, I was involved in professional organized baseball. I
Speaker 2: even made it to the major leagues. It was big
Speaker 2: money for me, surrounded by fans, people trying to get
Speaker 2: my attention. The Twins owner signed my checks and it
Speaker 2: was more cash than I could fathom. But it was, however,
Speaker 2: not as a left fielder that I made my name
Speaker 2: for the Minnesota Twins. I did play baseball, but not
Speaker 2: for the Twins. I was only a high school player
Speaker 2: for the Kennedy Eagles. No, my place in the majors
Speaker 2: was as a seller of hot dogs at the game.
Speaker 2: I started with soda and popcorn, then worked my way
Speaker 2: up to frosty malts and snow cones. But my highest
Speaker 2: levels were reached as a hot dog vendor. That was
Speaker 2: big time for me, selling Schweigrit tender bite hot dogs.
Speaker 2: Those sumptuous tubes I sold for a dollar, served up
Speaker 2: by a kid who would one day become Sports illustrated writer,
Speaker 2: Steve Russian. He was then just a fourteen year old
Speaker 2: kid who forked boiled wieners and put him on buns
Speaker 2: for me, stuffed him in a wax paper package, and
Speaker 2: once in a while, the gifted SI journalists to be
Speaker 2: would fling one hot dog to me, seeing how hungry
Speaker 2: and sweaty I was. Every time I scrambled down the
Speaker 2: steps to Russian's post in the commissary in center field
Speaker 2: behind the fence next to the scoreboard, Steve Russian would
Speaker 2: fling a hot dog to keep me going. I will
Speaker 2: never forget him for that gift. Baseball is good because
Speaker 2: of people like Steve Russian, and because it's slow and
Speaker 2: dramatic and there's time to learn how to live life well.
Speaker 2: Baseball is played in a crowd in an artificially made
Speaker 2: city park, with people sitting on top of each other,
Speaker 2: crowding into you, elbows and kneecaps a little too tight.
Speaker 2: You see baseball in the stadium with twenty thousand or
Speaker 2: thirty thousand or forty five thousand people puts you in
Speaker 2: a different world. The smells, the sounds, the echoing crack
Speaker 2: of a Louisville slugger, the force of a Bob Casey
Speaker 2: announcer saying, now batting for the Twins, number twenty nine.
Speaker 2: The second basement rod carew or how he used to
Speaker 2: say in that buzzsaw voice, no smoking in the Metrodome,
Speaker 2: no smoking. And there you would see Ken Hurbeck at
Speaker 2: first base, well Casey kroon that anti nicotine sung. There
Speaker 2: was my Kennedy High school mate, our varsity eagle, first
Speaker 2: basement pitcher, pretending to smoke while mister Casey yelled no smoking,
Speaker 2: and her Beck would wave his arm saying no, no,
Speaker 2: you can't do that, and we loved it. That's what
Speaker 2: happens when you put twenty somethings in a stadium, tucked
Speaker 2: inside a place with twenty five hundred fans or twenty
Speaker 2: five thousand fans, and the noises and hot dogs and vendors,
Speaker 2: the players, all blending together with the pa man a
Speaker 2: symphony of sports and people and life. Something better happens
Speaker 2: when you give a seventeen year old a cooler of
Speaker 2: hot dogs and you point to the crowd and say,
Speaker 2: go sell these. You learn about the world selling hot
Speaker 2: dogs at a ballgame. So now, when I'm living with
Speaker 2: the rest of you during this global pandemic, I pine
Speaker 2: for the crowds in those days at the Old Met.
Speaker 2: I think about August first, nineteen seventy nine, when I
Speaker 2: learned about crowds and humility and revenge and hot dogs.
Speaker 2: The Old Met was a hodgepodge patchwork of a sports venue,
Speaker 2: almost modular. The infield was made of black soil, like
Speaker 2: it was from the Red River Valley of the North.
Speaker 2: It was a small stadium that could hold up to
Speaker 2: forty five thousand people, even more for the Vikings games,
Speaker 2: but it was well a little backward but we loved
Speaker 2: it because it was ours. It was not New York,
Speaker 2: it was not La it was not Chicago, it was
Speaker 2: not Wrigly, it was not Saint Louis, just Old Metz
Speaker 2: Stadium built in Bloomington, Minnesota, on an onion field next
Speaker 2: to the Minnesota River. Now it's the mall of America,
Speaker 2: but then it was just a training ground for life.
Speaker 2: That day, I muttered hot dogs. I was mad hot dogs.
Speaker 2: It was a hot day, so I would sell about
Speaker 2: thirty six, maybe seventy two hot dogs. That was it,
Speaker 2: while my friends during that hot not whole afternoon game
Speaker 2: would be making twenty percent commission on snow cones or
Speaker 2: malt cups by the hundred. I asked our commissary manager,
Speaker 2: mister Dylan, the cigar smoking vendor boss, if maybe, just maybe,
Speaker 2: just for a Wednesday day game with eighty three degree heat,
Speaker 2: for a twins game against the Oakland A's, if I
Speaker 2: could sell seventy five cent malt cups or snow cones
Speaker 2: instead of hot, hot hot dogs. Dylan, to my incredulity,
Speaker 2: said no, sell hot dogs. What I said, come on,
Speaker 2: I'm a hot dog vendor, I'm an upper class sales rep.
Speaker 2: It was not quite beer vendor level, but way above
Speaker 2: the soda hawkers and the lads selling popcorn. Hot dog
Speaker 2: vendors had status. We could cry out with our throats
Speaker 2: wide open, the veteran first team Major League Schweigert vendors,
Speaker 2: hot dogs, get your hot dogs here. It was the
Speaker 2: rookies who had no choices peanuts. Yes, they had clout,
Speaker 2: but hot dog vendors are supposed to get their way.
Speaker 2: So I asked Dylan and if I could sell snow cones,
Speaker 2: but he said no, We're not gonna do that on
Speaker 2: an that whole Wednesday at three pm, with only five
Speaker 2: thoy seven hundred and eleven fans in the park that day,
Speaker 2: selling for a team that would draw the fewest fans
Speaker 2: of any team in the American League that year, an
Speaker 2: average of nine thou nine hundred fans per game. Those
Speaker 2: poorly middling Twins were letting go of all their stars
Speaker 2: because mister Griffith was too tight to pay them, and
Speaker 2: the fans stayed away in droves. We, in turn, were
Speaker 2: destined to watch players like Rick Sofield and Willie Norwood
Speaker 2: instead of Larry Heiseel and Greg Nuttles and Lyman Bostock
Speaker 2: and Rod Carew. The crowds were so thin, so we
Speaker 2: figured if we showed up on a sweltering eighty three
Speaker 2: day to sell hot dogs, we could at least sell
Speaker 2: something cold. But Dylan said no chance, and that ticked
Speaker 2: me off. So my co working underlings one through two
Speaker 2: hundred and ninety nine were selling cold items and making
Speaker 2: big fat coin and I would be selling steaming hot
Speaker 2: dogs to little children who did not want to eat
Speaker 2: something hot, and maybe make fourteen dollars for the day.
Speaker 2: That was wrong hot dogs, I growled. To top it off,
Speaker 2: Section three was filled with little children, tiny humans with
Speaker 2: small coins and no desire to eat hot Schweigert tender bites.
Speaker 2: They crowded the aisles in such a way that I
Speaker 2: couldn't get to my spot. Had the old met the
Speaker 2: high school vendors all staked their claim this guy in
Speaker 2: the third base seats, that guy in the second deck
Speaker 2: behind home. But I and my gentle giant friend Gunner,
Speaker 2: that six foot four first base back up to Kent
Speaker 2: Hrbeck at Kennedy High School. Gunner and I would claim
Speaker 2: the first deck of left field. We owned it. It
Speaker 2: was ours. It was our unquestioned capitalistic domain. But those
Speaker 2: not hole kids got in for free with an adult
Speaker 2: who paid three dollars for a ticket, and any old
Speaker 2: guy who paid that little for a ticket was not
Speaker 2: going to spend a dollar for the junior not hole kids.
Speaker 2: He crowded into his Ford Galaxy for a free not
Speaker 2: hole game on an eighty three degree day in Minnesota.
Speaker 2: So that was my mindset going into Row thirty two
Speaker 2: that August first day. During the middle of the first inning,
Speaker 2: then and there, I decided I was going to have
Speaker 2: my way. I decided to break vendors code rules. Yes
Speaker 2: I was mad, so I could do it. Rule number
Speaker 2: one for vendors was always never walk on the bleacher
Speaker 2: seat backs.
Speaker 1: And you're listening to Jim Johnson. When we return, Jim
Speaker 1: Johnson's story continues here on our American Stories. And we're
Speaker 1: back with our American stories, and with Jim Johnson, let's
Speaker 1: pick up where he last left off.
Speaker 2: During the middle of the first inning, then and there
Speaker 2: I decided I was going to have my way. I
Speaker 2: decided to break vendors code rules. Yes I was mad,
Speaker 2: so I could do it. Rule number one for vendors
Speaker 2: was always never walk on the bleacher seat backs. Unthinkable,
Speaker 2: you have to walk down the aisle. But no, I said,
Speaker 2: like Herbie Brooks, the passionate Minnesota born Saint Paul's side
Speaker 2: coach of the Gophers and Team USA Hockey, not today,
Speaker 2: not tonight. I was sick and tired of kids and crowds,
Speaker 2: and sick and tired of hearing how people had to
Speaker 2: follow the rules. So I was cruising down those bleacher
Speaker 2: back steps, Row twenty two, Row twenty one, and I
Speaker 2: was carrying my thirty six hot dogs in a candy
Speaker 2: Apple plastic tub, my Vendor number three eleven button flapping
Speaker 2: on my hat, my crisp Linen Vendor shirt, my coin
Speaker 2: apron clanking and clinking down the aisle with me. And
Speaker 2: I was feeling good. I was feeling right All the
Speaker 2: way down Row twenty five, twenty four, twenty three. I
Speaker 2: was going great, my athletic poise carrying the day, not
Speaker 2: a worry. But then came Row twenty two, and there
Speaker 2: my ankle turned on the top of that bleacher. My
Speaker 2: Nike high top twisted, and my left knee wrenched itself
Speaker 2: between seats fourteen and fifteen. My chest heaved into Row
Speaker 2: twenty one, and my hot dog cooler popped and bounced
Speaker 2: onto rows nineteen and twenty. My wax paper baggies spilled
Speaker 2: out Schweigert tender bites, and they slinkied and wobbled between
Speaker 2: seats two, twelve and thirteen and fifteen. Coins from my
Speaker 2: apron sprinkled and hinkled and rolled, and little, not whole children.
Speaker 2: Those thieves pounced on my quarters, four dollars worth of them,
Speaker 2: and liberated them from my care. One waiter splunged underneath
Speaker 2: my foot, and a teenage kid, some gear head with
Speaker 2: orange hair, pointed and stared and said, ah, look at that,
Speaker 2: Look at that kid. His friends laughed hard, and they
Speaker 2: pointed at me with their fingers, at my vulnerable position,
Speaker 2: and laughed like mockers and scoffers. Some hot dogs escaped
Speaker 2: while I picked up my coins, my red face with anger,
Speaker 2: looking back at them, and watching those pre adolescent pirates
Speaker 2: scooping up my change, and it was all gone. It
Speaker 2: was there I realized, yes, you have to pay for
Speaker 2: your misdeeds. Some people get away for their disorder, but
Speaker 2: not me. It was there that I realized there is
Speaker 2: no true justice in this world, in this dark, dark planet,
Speaker 2: unlike what I learned in elementary school in Bloomington, Minnesota,
Speaker 2: in the lower class suburbs, or in Sunday school at
Speaker 2: the Lutheran Church. I learned that we are not all family.
Speaker 2: We are not all brothers and sisters. Are we We
Speaker 2: are not like Neil Diamonds saying hands touching hands, reaching out,
Speaker 2: touching me, touching you. That's not true, is it, sweet Caroline. No,
Speaker 2: my friends, we are cheaters and thieves and out to
Speaker 2: get the goods. And no, we are not going to
Speaker 2: all wear masks and stay home and ride the coronavirus out.
Speaker 2: We are going to take what is ours in point
Speaker 2: and laugh at the man with the hot dogs stumbling
Speaker 2: over Rote twenty two and twenty one at the Met Stadium.
Speaker 2: You know, such cold, hard truths you can only learn personally,
Speaker 2: And I learned them at the old Met Stadium. Now
Speaker 2: I'm a Lutheran pastor, the father of nine children, the
Speaker 2: grandfather of seven. I've pastored souls in northern Minnesota, and
Speaker 2: I have cared for parishioners in southern California too. Now
Speaker 2: I'm a coach and advisor to twenty pastors of new
Speaker 2: churches all across America. And I'm a friend and father
Speaker 2: to his seven adult children and two teenagers. And what
Speaker 2: I really want to tell them is summarized in five words,
Speaker 2: guard your hot dogs. Bub a Scandinavian American Anglo guy
Speaker 2: can have heroes. And they were people of all races
Speaker 2: and all creeds, every class. We respected Muhammad Ali from Kentucky,
Speaker 2: but he really was from the whole world. We wished
Speaker 2: we were Tony Oliva the Cuban, and Ken Landrew the
Speaker 2: Angelino from La We adored Kirby Puckett, and we loved
Speaker 2: Ozzie Smith from Watts and Rod carew was from New York.
Speaker 2: But they were all ours. They were Minnesota twins. They
Speaker 2: were baseball players, and they belonged to us. We imitated them,
Speaker 2: We swung like them, and that's good because it's baseball
Speaker 2: in a crowd in an artificially made city park with
Speaker 2: people sitting on top of each other during the COVID season.
Speaker 2: You think about times like that and you wish we
Speaker 2: could learn to get along better. We could learn to
Speaker 2: get along and follow the rules and put on a
Speaker 2: mask or watch from home and don't sing in front
Speaker 2: of a big crowd of people, and spread your germs
Speaker 2: for Pete's sake, don't smoke, not in the Metrodome or
Speaker 2: anywhere else. But now I'm living with the rest of
Speaker 2: you during this global pandemic, and I pine for those
Speaker 2: simpler days and the crowds and everything I learned from
Speaker 2: what I'm missing today. I remember one day selling hot
Speaker 2: dogs on the other side of the stadium when the
Speaker 2: Yankees were playing the Twins in a night game at
Speaker 2: the Old Met. I wandered away from left field and
Speaker 2: was selling on the second deck side infield by first base.
Speaker 2: Everybody stopped selling, and the fans stood up when Yankees
Speaker 2: slugger Reggie Jackson stepped into the box. When the Yankees
Speaker 2: came to the met it was always a sellout, or
Speaker 2: nearly so. The usually empty seats would fill with over
Speaker 2: forty thousand fans. They came to see mostly Reggie Jackson
Speaker 2: or to jeer him. Doug Corbett was the reliever. Twenty
Speaker 2: thousand voices yelled hoping Doug Corbett would strike Reggie Jackson out.
Speaker 2: Jackson was controversial and lovable and hateable all at once
Speaker 2: because he enjoyed himself and loved to hit that little
Speaker 2: round ball as far and hard as he could. Like
Speaker 2: Muhammad Ali, he was the straw that stirred the drink,
Speaker 2: or like I would tell my little grandchildren, the popsicle
Speaker 2: stick that stirs the hot chocolate. Once Jackson said I
Speaker 2: don't come to New York to become a star. I
Speaker 2: brought my star with me him for saying that, and
Speaker 2: we knew it was true. He also famously said, after
Speaker 2: Jackie Robinson, referring to the first black player to break
Speaker 2: into the major leagues, after Jackie Robinson, the most important
Speaker 2: black player in baseball is Reggie Jackson, and he added,
Speaker 2: I really mean that. But my favorite quote of all
Speaker 2: time from mister October is how he described dealing with defeat.
Speaker 2: I was reminded Jackson said, when I lose a strikeout,
Speaker 2: a billion people in China don't care. I think that's
Speaker 2: about the way it is. That day at the Old
Speaker 2: Met I put down my hot dog cooler and just
Speaker 2: watched Jackson with two men on bass and the Yankees
Speaker 2: down by two, facing Corbett and the forty thousand Minnesotans
Speaker 2: in the eighth inning, he turned and twisted on the
Speaker 2: first pitch, missing wildly, and we all laughed as the
Speaker 2: umpire called strike one. He swung with as much gust
Speaker 2: Of was that redheaded boso who laughed at me when
Speaker 2: I tripped on row twenty two. Yes, we yelled strike
Speaker 2: him out, get him. The second pitch was a curveball,
Speaker 2: and Jackson flailed again, spinning on his heels, falling on
Speaker 2: his ripe hip, sprawling into the dirt. Oh, how we jeered.
Speaker 2: Victory was so sweet. We thought two strikes on Reggie Jackson,
Speaker 2: and then came three wasted pitches, and Jackson watched them
Speaker 2: all and waited for the three to two pitch.
Speaker 1: And you're listening to Jim Johnson, and in Minneapolis. He's
Speaker 1: also a pastor, as he mentioned. And by the way
Speaker 1: to hear his story, then he lasted with us. Everett's
Speaker 1: last Christmas, Carol, go to our American Stories dot com
Speaker 1: and in the search bar, just put in his name.
Speaker 1: But my goodness, I love that term pre adolescent pirates
Speaker 1: because you could see those kids just scurring around, stealing
Speaker 1: every last order nickel and dime. Yes, you do pay
Speaker 1: for your mist he learned when we come back more
Speaker 1: of this terrific storyteller. And my goodness, we have so
Speaker 1: many across our country, so many of you, the listeners,
Speaker 1: are actually our very best storytellers, right up there with
Speaker 1: the best authors and the most famous storytellers in this
Speaker 1: great country. Jim Johnson's story continues here on our American stories,
Speaker 1: and we continue with our American stories and Jim Johnson's story.
Speaker 1: Let's pick up where we last left off.
Speaker 2: When it came, Jackson spun and the bat cracked, and
Speaker 2: the ball sailed into the ether. It became as small
Speaker 2: in the sky as a tiny aspirin. It soared into
Speaker 2: the right field bleachers, and strangely, we all cheered for him,
Speaker 2: even the Twins fans, to watch a man love adversity
Speaker 2: stand up there and swing at all his enemies. Devil
Speaker 2: may care. He sends a baseball into obscurity, and he
Speaker 2: trots around the bases with a half smile and a
Speaker 2: victor's jog. Oh, how we loved him. Jackson once said,
Speaker 2: he prays before Homer, and he tells the Lord. He says,
Speaker 2: please God, let me hit one. I'll tell everyone you
Speaker 2: did it. That suits me just about fine. Back in
Speaker 2: lower middle class Bloomington, I learned at the met that
Speaker 2: there is no utopia. Nothing comes for free. There was
Speaker 2: no room for everybody to worry about not getting treated right.
Speaker 2: People on the bottom can rise up and learn. There's
Speaker 2: room for the tall and the proud to fall, and
Speaker 2: there's room for the lower bottom feeders to rise up.
Speaker 2: Those are the low down truths. If they say to
Speaker 2: sell hot dogs, sell hot dogs and smile. If you
Speaker 2: spill some mustard, rub it on your pants and wash
Speaker 2: your hands and keep going. My favorite vendor was an
Speaker 2: aging black man named Paps. He sold beer, which I
Speaker 2: did not do or drink to this day, but I
Speaker 2: admired how Pap sold it. He was at least seventy
Speaker 2: five years old, and he smoked a pipe while he sold.
Speaker 2: He weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds, and he
Speaker 2: sweat and smiled and carried his forty pound boxes of
Speaker 2: Schlitz or grain belt or Paps blue ribbon. And when
Speaker 2: he sold, he did not yell. He confidently smiled a
Speaker 2: half smile like Reggie Jackson, and often sat down with
Speaker 2: the fans took a break. He wore this rainbow colored
Speaker 2: umbrella type hat, and he talked, and he spoke really soft,
Speaker 2: saying hey cold, He said so refreshing. Paps was living
Speaker 2: life and enjoying it, and everybody loved him. He was
Speaker 2: a laid back man of confidence and love, and oh
Speaker 2: how I wish I had those gifts. Fans loved to
Speaker 2: buy from paps. Also at the met there was a
Speaker 2: score book vendor named Donnie. He had down syndrome. As
Speaker 2: I recall, his glasses were usually crooked, and his shirt
Speaker 2: usually rode up too high up his back. His pants
Speaker 2: were loose, so you saw the top of his sweaty
Speaker 2: behind above the band of his underwear. We didn't look
Speaker 2: too close over there, but I learned to look really
Speaker 2: close at his face. Donnie was into it and he
Speaker 2: loved his job. Twin scorecard, Here, get your scorecard. He
Speaker 2: drooled a little, but that was okay. We learned to
Speaker 2: accept it. There is dignity in work, and showing up
Speaker 2: to sell programs was Donnie's work. Hi, Donnie learned to
Speaker 2: say to him. I learned to treat him with honor.
Speaker 2: I learned everybody counts. I learned God loves them all,
Speaker 2: and he loves you too. I also learned as a
Speaker 2: vendor about competition. One day, during a Vikings game, Tom
Speaker 2: van Dervoort, Vendor number three twenty two, got too close
Speaker 2: to Doug Janzig Vendor three forty six. At halftime, we
Speaker 2: learned to order a double or a triple load of
Speaker 2: seventy two hot dogs or one hundred and eight, cramming
Speaker 2: them into our cooler, and then we would stand at
Speaker 2: the back of the line where the fans waited at
Speaker 2: the concession stand, maybe eight or nine people deep. We
Speaker 2: opened up the cooler, let the smell just waffed out,
Speaker 2: and then we looked at the people waiting in the
Speaker 2: back and we would coop to them, hot dogs here,
Speaker 2: get your hot dogs. And on a cold day you
Speaker 2: could sell about ninety hot dogs in about five minutes.
Speaker 2: But you had to stake your claim and take your
Speaker 2: spot at the back of that concent ushion stand. On
Speaker 2: one fateful Saturday night, Vendor three twenty two placed his
Speaker 2: cooler adjacent to Janzig Vendor three forty six. A turf
Speaker 2: war ensued. Hey, get out of my spot, said Doug.
Speaker 2: Forget it, said Tom, Move out of here, said Doug, No,
Speaker 2: you move, said Tom. Hard words grew into curses, and
Speaker 2: curses became threats, and then came the ultimate. The yellow
Speaker 2: mustard bottle was pointed, get out of here, squortsquirt. Tom responded,
Speaker 2: what are you doing squartgs, squarre squirt. Before it was
Speaker 2: over all two hundred dogs were unsold and two vendors
Speaker 2: were covered with mustard. It was like a moment of
Speaker 2: eminent domain against free markets, competition against first come, first served,
Speaker 2: And in the end two vendors battled it out and
Speaker 2: both lost. Two competitors that day were done selling. You know,
Speaker 2: in this world, at the old met and in this life,
Speaker 2: you've got to learn to get along. Isn't that part
Speaker 2: of what we're learning today? During this crisis. We have
Speaker 2: the mask people and the non maskers, the closer downs
Speaker 2: against the let it be and live your lifers. It's
Speaker 2: us against them. It's the halves versus the have nots.
Speaker 2: It's the rioters against law and order. It's sometimes deadly
Speaker 2: and it's sometimes just fine. But somehow, some way, we
Speaker 2: have to learn to get along. Like Reggie Jackson prayed it,
Speaker 2: please God, let me hit this one out. Let's get
Speaker 2: through this with love and patience and confidence and joy.
Speaker 2: We'll do our best and learn not to fight. We'll
Speaker 2: try to get along. We'll sell our hot dogs, we'll
Speaker 2: learn to love the poor man selling scorecards, and we'll
Speaker 2: try to keep the mustard bottles to ourselves during this
Speaker 2: COVID crisis, this lockdown, the sports shut down. I listened
Speaker 2: to WCCO, the Good Neighbor to the Great Northwest, and
Speaker 2: I listen to the old games. I hear Corey Provis
Speaker 2: and Dan Gladden, and I smile. Or I tune in
Speaker 2: and hear Tim Gordon or Herb Carneil from days before,
Speaker 2: and I wish man, I wish I was selling hot
Speaker 2: dogs again. They're starting up the baseball season again. But
Speaker 2: what's baseball without the crowds? Well, it's still baseball. I
Speaker 2: suppose my mom would have been watching it. She was
Speaker 2: a devoted fan. But twins games without hot dog sales, Yeah,
Speaker 2: I think we can do it. But I still smell
Speaker 2: it good and real when I think about it, and
Speaker 2: wish for better days. When the new season starts, I
Speaker 2: will watch it. It's baseball and it makes me feel good.
Speaker 2: It makes me remember Donnie the Vender and Steve Rushan
Speaker 2: flipping me a hot dog from behind a commissary counter.
Speaker 2: And it reminds me of Reggie Jackson. It reminds me
Speaker 2: of Kirby Pucket and those great rare athletes black and White,
Speaker 2: Latino or Californian's unusual people who can show up for
Speaker 2: work every day, who learned to slap a curveball to
Speaker 2: the opposite field and sling an inside cutter down the
Speaker 2: left field line, or stroke a high fastball up the middle,
Speaker 2: or drive a towering fly ball way back, way back
Speaker 2: over the left field fence. They do things so few
Speaker 2: athletes can do, and I'll love them and admire them,
Speaker 2: and I'll watch them hit it hard, driving it like
Speaker 2: Kirby Pucket who always said see the ball, hit the ball,
Speaker 2: or like Nelson Cruz gripping and ripping those bomba homers,
Speaker 2: all wrists, all out, as the Twins did last year,
Speaker 2: three hundred and seven home runs in one year, one
Speaker 2: more than the Yankees. How good did that feel? It
Speaker 2: felt like justice to me. So what did I learn
Speaker 2: on August first, nineteen seventy nine and what happened to
Speaker 2: those hot dogs? Well, let's be real and let's be honest.
Speaker 2: That fall over row twenty two to nineteen was a
Speaker 2: beautiful day for learning humility. And I did learn you
Speaker 2: can't walk over the bleacher backs, and you don't have
Speaker 2: to live your life worrying about selling snow cones or
Speaker 2: hot dogs. Just do what you're supposed to do. Life
Speaker 2: is what you make it, and you don't have to whine.
Speaker 2: But what's the end of the story. Well, I'll tell
Speaker 2: you if you don't tell anybody else. I did pick
Speaker 2: up every one of those hot dogs. I picked up
Speaker 2: myself and gathered my pride. I walked out of left
Speaker 2: field and strode over to center field, three sections away.
Speaker 2: And yes, I sold every last one of those hot
Speaker 2: dogs and I felt good about it too. Is it justice? No,
Speaker 2: But at the time, on that eighty three degree night,
Speaker 2: it seemed like the right thing to do, to make
Speaker 2: the best of it. And that's what I'm encouraging you
Speaker 2: to do. Let's all do it as Americans. Let's face
Speaker 2: the crisis in the face and make the best of
Speaker 2: it without complaining. And don't squirt anybody with a mustard bottle. Okay.
Speaker 1: And that was Jim Johnson. And again he's a long
Speaker 1: time pastor who lives in Rogers, Minnesota. And my goodness,
Speaker 1: what storytelling here. We met Papps, we met Donnie, we
Speaker 1: met an ecosystem, and we all work with people who
Speaker 1: are different than us. And you can crow and complain,
Speaker 1: and we know those people who do that all day long,
Speaker 1: or you can get on with it and make the
Speaker 1: best of everything, and see that all of us can
Speaker 1: work together to do some pretty interesting things in our lives.
Speaker 1: And what did he learn most of all? That there's
Speaker 1: dignity and work, and there is and lessons are learned
Speaker 1: every day by work of every kind. Jim Johnson's story,
Speaker 1: his baseball story, his love story with his sport and
Speaker 1: his town. Here on our American stories.