Comiskey Park
When in 1973 I first went out there, not as a child with my
dad or grandfather (Papa Lou), but in my twenties and alone, I felt at home,
and I felt the memories. It was the way people looked and acted out there
and the way the park looked that instantly attracted me.
Life had taken it's tole both on the park, with it's peeling bricks forming the outer arched walls, and many of it's fans, although they appeared to share a common dignity and energy that knew no age. These fans who came to the park seemed to share a common experience or should I say experiences. There were other things being done out there besides watching the game of baseball. And there was something out there in the park that allowed them, myself included, to relate to each other, to willingly accept each other. Perhaps it was a way in which such common experiences bond us together. To be part of the crowd or lost in the crowd seemed so easy.
Perhaps we all came out there to celebrate tradition, to remember or to pass on what at some time in our lives we were given, the experiences and the memories. Yes, I believe in some way we try and pass on these things.
Tom Harney
October 9, 1994
