Aprils And Octobers

The Boston Red Sox are the World Champions of Baseball! This came to pass with the final and necessary achievement of clinching the title by winning a fourth game last evening in their series with the St. Louis Cardinals. The game was played at Fenway Park, the team's iconic and storied home field since 1912. This was the first time since 1918 that they secured the championship while in their beloved home stadium: too long a period for any likely survivors of the event of ninety five years ago to remember it.  But joyous remains the occasion, even if celebrated by descendants only, actual and spiritual ones of the so much earlier event. Remembrance must inevitably rely on those willing to transmit the histories of important milestones especially as the lives of primary sources fade and then end.

Many an October has afforded golden memories, particularly regarding bygone glories of our National Pastime. But the month itself seems to have a kind of vivacity that rivals April, though the former sits astride the beauty of autumn's crisp freshness while it seems to remain mindful of the fast approach of mortality that winter represents. Before 1962, I never gave much thought to either month as the epitome of its respective season. Halloween was a gentle time then, limited to a week or so before the date of All Hallows Eve. And there was no obsession with occult matters, just the spooky tales meant to entertain and contrast with the lightness most sought in their lives. Many more people then knew that the day after was All Saints Day, a holy day of obligation for Roman Catholics. But back to the month: the golden orange one with its obvious association with fall leaves that have turned to many different colors: russets, oranges, reds, various browns and yellows together with the harvesting of butternut squashes, pumpkins and other gourds. Earth tones dominate and nature seems to remind us of the cycles of our days as forcefully as Eliot's "cruelest month." In April of '62 I was enjoying the start of another baseball season, reminding me of the sport's annual commencement and conclusion being associated as usual with April and October, respectively. My beloved Dodgers were in contention to win another pennant and the prospect of jet travel for the first time later that summer made for a pleasant time in my life. But then it happened. An international crisis, the discovery of missiles in Cuba aimed at the continental United States quickly evolved into such a dramatic series of events, each leading to ever increasing, unimaginable levels of fear, that the coolest of heads could not assure or promise us that doomsday would be avoided. The fun that had been Halloween was never to return after that October. Horror with no safety net or the believability of a parent's soothing touch is a phenomenon with only one safe aspect: the reliability of the accuracy of its placement in a file marked "traumatic".  …To Be Continued