I remember World War II, Pearl Harbor — even the landings at Guadalcanal. I remember Iwo Jima, Okinawa and Omaha Beach. I remember many things that people today might consider ancient history, but one of the moments that stands out to me the most today — even after 71 years — is the 1945 World Series.
I was 19 then, and I didn’t realize that as I sat there watching the Cubs play the Detroit Tigers that that moment would eventually lead to me becoming a small part of baseball history: one of the few people living today who were at Wrigley Field to see the Cubs’ last World Series.
In the 71 years that have passed since then, so much has happened: 12 different U.S. presidents have come and gone, countless wars have been started and stopped and Cubs fans have grown only more and more depressed.
Even though I was a Tigers fan in 1945, this past weekend, when the Chicago Cubs won the National League Championship Series that would take them to that field again, I couldn’t help but think back on that game I attended all those years ago.
It was early October. The sky was that picture-postcard blue. The US flag and Cubs banners flying high above centerfield.
It was a beautiful afternoon.
And, yes. Afternoon. They still played games early in the day back then.
Although the war had just ended, they still played by the wartime league rules, meaning, they didn’t use the traditional 2-3-2 game pattern, but instead the now-uncommon 3-4. And even though the teams didn’t fly then, there were no travel days given.
Train travel had been restricted during World War II to keep train tracks clear for military use. It was not unusual in those days to see a troop train passing by or a freight train with war material. To support the war effort, Major League Baseball had minimized team travel.
So even though the war had just ended, the Series that year didn’t move to Wrigley Field till the fourth game.
I distinctly remember arriving at Wrigley Field with my father that day. Our seats were incredible; they were almost measured-out, midpoint on the first base line, only two or three rows back from the field.
The players were close; and when I say close, I mean hold-out-your-arm-straight-in-front-of-you-and-you-could-touch-them close. It was a thrill to be so near.
When Hank Greenberg — who had just been discharged from military service and was back playing left field — jogged in at the end of one of the Cubs’ turns at bat, the future Hall of Famer was so close that if he hadn’t stopped and turned left to step down into the Tigers dugout, he’d have bumped into the railing right in front of us.
Greenberg was one of the few from the old days playing that day. The others were all gone. Some had retired. Some had been traded. And some, like Bob Feller, Ted Williams, Stan Musial, Yogi Berra and over 500 other players, were off serving their country in World War II — still in uniforms, but without names and numbers.
Because I had only just moved to the area, I wasn’t as familiar with the new guys. But that didn’t matter. I was watching the Chicago Cubs and the Detroit Tigers play in the World Series at Wrigley Field, generally recognized as one of most beautiful ballparks in the land. Nothing could compare to that.
The Cubs had come home to Wrigley for Game 4 with a lead over the Tigers but they lost three of their four games there.
Even though I wasn’t a Cubs fan at that game all those years ago, I can share the sentiment often sung by the beloved, longtime Cubs announcer Harry Caray, for whom “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” was almost a trademark: “Let me root, root, root for the home team…”
This time, 71 years later, it’s the Cubbies’ turn.