Paul Baker with the ‘Book of Golden Deeds Award’ he recently received for community service.
The passing of one year and the arrival of a new one always gives reason to reflect, especially when you’re reflecting over 93 of them. As I waited for the ball to drop, I took a quick trip from a one-room schoolhouse; life on a farm; service in two wars (no, not World War I); an unexpected, unspectacular and unprofitable career in radio and television; an opportunity to meet and write about celebrities; but more importantly, to learn about the persons who have come to mean the most to me: Family comes first, of course.
Welcoming the new year wasn’t quite as exciting as it was for those “young folks” pictured in a local newspaper doing the Lindy. There was a time when I did the same. Today, the Lindy would be supplanted by a stay-in-place rumba. Any Lindy I would do now would have to be prompted by too many martinis and followed by a generous supply of Advil.
While my wife and I watched thousands freeze at Times Square, we indulged in a mean game of Scrabble waiting for the ball to drop. It was a tie. The ball hit bottom and the lights went out at the same time.
On New Year’s Day, I did take time to reflect. I thought of some with whom I had occasion to meet through my work. As always, the name of Helen Keller tops the list. What could be more awakening than have a lady, who couldn’t see or hear, mumble these words to her aide as she felt the foliage of the tree you had helped plant: “It’s so beautiful.”
A close second was a chance to spend a couple of hours across the table from my beloved Judy Garland. I was so awe-struck, I hit the wrong record button while she was being interviewed.
I’ll always be grateful to George Steinbrenner for giving me an exclusive interview about a Yankee deal, although I would have had to delete some expletives.
While I have had the chance to interview more than 30 members of the Baseball Hall of Fame, my most memorable is meeting Willie Mays twice. The first time it was to tape an interview which he agreed to, I think. The second time was one year later on opening day at Shea Stadium. Spotting me in the locker room, he screamed, “Hey, you owe me five hundred!”
I always regret not having sent my 15-minute taping with Casey Stengel to the Hall of Fame. It was classic Stengelese that even Yogi Berra, who was with me, could understand. The director of the Hall, Ken Smith, who asked for it, retired and I never sent it.
I’m sure most people know I’m a golf addict, and so I was happy to meet and interview Hall of Famer Tommy Bolt, one he agreed to because of his friendship with my brother, who made Bolt’s woods for years. Tommy, never one to mince words, summed up his observations on the famous Master’s Tournament by saying it was run by prejudiced snobs.
I point to these famous people because I have come to realize through the years, it wasn’t these figures but the so-called little people — the people I have met and worked with at the local level, the persons I have written about in three books and in columns — that mean the most to me. It was the so-called “little people” who take the most meaningful place in my heart.
One of the greatest compliments I have received came from a former basketball star in the Danbury area. After appearing on the radio sports program I did for 25 years, he said, “Paul, you’ll never know what it means to us guys who played years ago to have another moment in the spotlight.” That’s worth a lot more than the $500 Willie says I owe him.
Here’s a story that may stun you, as it did me.
A friend, Herb Norman, equipment manager of the New York Mets, for whom I had done little, knew my broadcast partner and I had an opportunity to buy the lease of the local cable channel 10. He came to me with $10,000 in a paper bag and said, “Here, no commitments, no collateral, take as much as you need, and go for it.”
I look back with pride in playing a role in the lives of hundreds of student athletes who have earned a college education with funds provided by the Old Timers organizations I help found in Danbury and Ridgefield. I am proud of having led the cerebral palsy radio and TV campaigns for 25 years.
I remember people like Dr. Charles Hamilton, who “forgot” most of his fee for two surgeries and two months of care at Danbury Hospital. I remember Dr. Woodford in Ridgefield treating me when I had scarlet fever and telling my mother if I made it through the night I would be OK. Thank God he was right.
I thank the drivers and fans of the Southern New York Racing Association for allowing me to be their voice for 24 years.
I remember the friends of the 449th bomb squadron, most of whom were lost in unescorted raids of Ploesti. Never have I had a greater honor than to stand alongside Medal of Honor winner Matt Urban, whose exploits would rival those of Audie Murphy.
More recently, I cherish the privilege of telling the stories in a local paper of war heroes like Ed Magdits, and paratrooper POW Ed Wallach, and downed paratrooper Dominic Bedini, whose life was saved by a German army doctor who then had to retreat.
It has been a long road from that one-room schoolhouse in Ridgefield, to Nebraska and Brazil, and Heritage Village. Now the spoken word has given way to the written word.
I have always believed everyone has a story to tell. I’m grateful for the opportunity to write many of them, and appreciate the generous response of the readers.
Safe, happy and healthy New Year to everyone.
Paul Baker, nee Paul Baldaserini, is a Ridgefield native, and a former reporter for The Press more than 60 years ago.