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"Poppin Pops"
by Herbert H. Gottlieb

All of the men, except for my father were furious, They threw away their mangled cigars, and yelled at the children. However, my dad just laughed at the prank, relit his cigar, and continued smoking contentedly.

All the other children were envious. They all wished that they had a dad like mine. I'll never forget how proud I was of him that day.

"Busted!"
by Ron Glinka
My friends and I were at a dance and wanted to get some beer. We were all under age but they convinced me that because I was the tallest and looked the oldest I should be the one to buy it. I used some false ID. To make it short I got caught. The police officer knew my family and he called my house. My dad was working shifts and was not home. My mom who had just had a lump removed from her breast (non-maligent)picked me up. She was recovering and not feeling well. I went to bed. The next day I had a dental appointment. My father was going to drive me (I did not have a drivers license yet). We got into the car and he drove to the dental office. We went in and my dad waited for me to get done. We drove home.

During the entire episode my father never uttered a word. The whole time I was thinking please hit me, yell at me, anything, just get it over.

Silence was by far the worst punishment there is. And after over 35 years I still remember it well. My father is still alive and doing fine. When I remind him of that incident he laughs and says he was so angry with me for making my mother get out of bed and drive to pick me up that he was afraid he would do something he might regret and therefore didn't say anything.

Covering books was Dad's job. So, he would come home late from doing overtime at the telephone company. (In those days, when you said telephone company, it meant Ma Bell.) There, on the kitchen table would be a mountain of textbooks waiting for Dad's magic touch.

Using the A&P brown bags, he would cover them all-- nice and tight and taped and ready to face the school year. No matter how many books and how late the hour, Dad never complained about it.

Well, Dad became "Papa" when we grew up and had our own kids. And dear Papa passed away peacefully in his sleep two years ago at the grand age of 80. But whenever I cover a textbook for my own kids, it always brings this sweet memory of my dad -- Papa -- flooding back.

His best story was when they were on an old table playing pirate ship and my uncle Joe was underneath. The ones on top including my dad were making believe the waves were real high and shaking the table and Uncle Joe yelled... the table became attached to his head via a big nail... they carried the table attached to Joe's head with the nail and all across to the hospital... they were 3 boys in all and my grandmother says very wild and always in the hospital.

Uncle Joe was ok, but the nuns at the hospital will never forget the table and all coming thru the emergency room door.... and I think my kids get into trouble!

Stickball was a big part of his life, and seeing and hearing him now, it obviously still is. He loved the game, and loved the friends he made. He taught me more about life, about friendships, about treating people equally regardless of race, about being a good person, than anything or anyone else has ever taught me. I've seen in him the love of something, the commitment to something, and the happiness and satisfaction that can be accomplished when you are dedicated to something. Stickball may not sound like a lot, but in this case, it's everything. I'm so thankful for the game, and so glad that my Dad was able to play it.

I guess I could write about stories he's told of games he's played, or big hits he's gotten or great plays he's made. I could write about why he's called the Iron Man Of Stickball on your Hall Of Fame web site. I could write and try to describe how great I felt every time he sat down with me and told me a story about stickball. Or, I could just write THANKS DAD - thanks for the stories, and the interest you showed in me to include me in your stickball life. Heck, I rarely played the game (I tried it a few times) - I played baseball and softball instead. But when I watched it played, I understood and appreciated the ability of my father and his friends to play the game. And, I understood that it was much more than a game. Most of them still play it, even though they're in the fifties & sixties & seventies (and then there's Charlie Ballard - in a class by himself). I hope they all play the game forever.

I wish my Dad could play it one more time.

I was sent to the nurse's office by the instructor, and my mom was called-- she was at work, and she called her father, my grandfather to pick me up. Being so close to the race track, gramps liked the horses, so instead he and I went to the race track.

Gramps returned me home before my mom got home from work!

Out of nowhere I saw my father come running toward me and when he came up to the man who did this to me. My father hit him right on the jaw and he fell down. My father yelled at him how dare you do that to his child. we went up to my apartment when a policeman arrived with the man my father hit. My father explained what happened because my father happened to be watching me thru the window of the apartment which faced the front of the house. Needless to say the policeman took the man by the collar and told him he was lucky that he wasnt being sued for what he did.

I was the proudest kid on the block.

Thanks Dad!