SIBLINGS

Death abruptly interrupts your late life stroll, grabbing you with grappling-hook intensity and staying there beneath the surface, poking you almost daily.

That’s of course if you’re still alive to feel the recurring pangs of your immortality.

Some don’t make it far enough to rock in an easy chair until someone younger helps you get out of it.

You expect your parents to die. 

Doesn’t make it any easier. Devastating when they go at a young age. My dad went first at 53. I was the first one to the hospital. Early afternoon. Saw him savagely fighting for breath as they moved him on a gurney to a room which would eventually be his tomb.

He somehow hung on till early in the morning when the last of my siblings, Joe, made it to the impromptu viewing. Seven children joined my mom as we said goodbye shortly after his nine-year agony with leukemia ended.

My mother went at 74. A doctor gathered us all together in the hospital beforehand to explain how hopeless it was. Joe was shaking his head as the doc spoke. He knew, then we all knew. I kissed her on the forehead shortly after her last panicky smile.

The only people who really know what it’s like to lose a sibling has lost one. Or three.

KATHY

Got the call from my brother-in-law John on an early spring Saturday morning in 2005. When the phone rang, I was heading out the door to coach grade schoolers in a track meet, one of my favorite things to do.

“Kathy’s gone,” he said. His words still linger in the portion of the brain collecting dust and sadness.

She was 13 months older than me, the most loyal person I have ever met. I can remember her once in grade school, taking care of one of my brother Joe’s agitators by sitting on the guy until he lost his will to attack any McQuades.

She simply loved her kin. She was so supportive in whatever her three brothers and three sisters did, from Cub Scouts to sports to crafting to jobs to well, if they did nothing she’d back them. She was also a perfect wall to lean on after rejection.

When there was only three of us kids she was a member of the Belles and Beauxs, baton twirlers extraordinaire. My dad would pile up into the back of the station wagon with push buttons for drive and reverse and we’d be off to watch Kathy in a parade in Hazleton or Scranton or on the Levittown Parkway. 

We wanted no parts of the Beauxs but didn’t mind watching Kathy as one of the Belles. She taught me how to twirl the baton. Haven’t needed that skill but have it just in case.

Much later in her life when she worked for Sears, she once asked me to join her team in a company race. I jumped at he chance to be a ringer, even though it’s clearly a relative term in this case. At stake mostly was bragging rights for her department. So as I started the 5K race, I looked over my shoulder and saw Kathy, who was supposed to be on the running team, meld into the back of the race with the dedicated walking team. She pulled out a cigarette for the leisurely stroll.

Her team won. I was the one sweating and breathing heavy after the race. Kathy wore a wide grin as she put out her cigarette. Her department got a free lunch and a year to gloat.

FRANNY

A bunch of people spoke at Kathy’s funeral. Joe gave a moving tribute. My wife, Denise, gave a short, revealing speech saying how Kathy was the first to welcome her into the McQuade clan. It’s a huggable group but marrying into the family is somewhat akin to sticking your toe into cold water. It warms eventually and both aloof and eager outsiders,  if they have patience, eventually become McQuades. Kathy was the perfect person to open the sometimes creaky door.

  I spoke at my mom’s funeral, remembering her skill at jitterbugging and obsession with soap dishes. I did not talk at Kathy’s funeral. I couldn’t speak. I was a zombie. Denise had to hold my hand on the way into the viewing. That was my big sister. I had avoided most funerals and vehemently hated when friends or family devolved into surprise stuffed strangers in caskets, 

I was able to talk when Franny died. I had matured and painfully I had lived through the agony of losing a sibling.

Here is what I said:

The smile.

That’s the first thing that hits you about Fran. It brightens up the room when he enters.

I told him once that his smile is one of the reasons he had three wives.

Guess what he did when I said that?

Smiled.

His son, Shaun, told me Fran smiled just before he died yesterday.

Doesn’t surprise me.

He smiled a lot the last two weeks. He was all worried about how all his loved ones were saddened by his pending death. He was sorry, he told me.

We were the ones who were sorry. Sorry to lose such a nice man.

My brother was salt of the earth, a regular, blue-collar, hard-working guy who could have lived in Mayberry the way he enjoyed simple things like fishing and going to Phillies games.

My brother Joe might sue me for this but Fran was the best looking looking McQuade brother. That smile had a lot to do with that.

I’m so glad how close we grew the last couple years. It started with the brothers annual baseball game but evolved into Friday phone calls with Fran venting about the Phillies and sports from the guys on Daily News Live to the guys on WIP.

His kids all should know he also talked about them a lot. I heard plenty of stories about coaching Tyler and how smart Andrew E. is and how pretty Steph and Noelle are and how crazy but lovable Andrew M. is and how Shaun has grown into a real man and how much that pleased him. And his other kid, Finley, the dog, who he explained is a people person just last week.

His wife, Ruth, should know his love for her was unparalleled and the McQuades all love her enormously. When Fran emerged from his demons she was the person most responsible for keeping them at bay.

Couple quick Fran stories.

Once Joe was chasing after him for something and he went flying down the steps and I was running to try to catch him but all I caught was the tooth that flew out of his mouth after his head bounced off the step.

Fran and I were playing a pickup football game once and I had this interception all lined up and as it hit my hands I got hammered so hard I lost the ball. Fran was the one that hit me, yet he was on MY team.

Joe, Fran and I all played on a recreation basketball team and one game Fran almost started a riot by taking a charge so hard while sticking out his chest that the guy went flying. It had been a real chippy game and we had maybe one sub and the other team had about 10 subs and were much younger. I’ve seen Joe fight and he can handle himself but we would have been killed if the pending fight erupted. As it got close I looked over at Fran, who of course smiled.

Later that season we had a chance to get in the playoff with a do or die game and were down one point with seconds to go when Fran bulled his way into a crowd and got the rebound. Unfortunately the layup attempt hit the bottom of the rim. We all actually laughed out loud at that one.

When Fran was little some annoying friend of Joe’s started to call him Fritz and he hated it so being a wise guy brother I started to call him Fritz too. Eventually he grew to embrace the name but I think I was the only one who called him that. In fact, ”Good bye Fritz,” might have been my last words to him. Meanwhile Fran recently got a Hotmail account and Fran is anti-internet. Guess what his email address is: Fritz McFritz.

A couple years ago Fran got laid off and Denise asked him to put up shelves in my garage and fix our downstairs toilet but we wouldn’t let him do it unless he took money for it. We fought him on this because we would have paid someone else. Anyway, Fran is a perfectionist and he was never happy even when the job was excellent. We started calling him Columbo cause he would start to leave a million times but always spin around with one more question. Then he would go home and call from home with questions like : “Drew are you sure Denise is happy with the handle on the toilet.”

He cracked me up. Boy do I love my brother. And I’m crying as I write this but I’m comforted in the fact that all these kind of memories are etched in my brain and I can conjure them up anytime.

I’m smiling, Fritz. Crying but smiling too.

Kathy was 55 when she died. Fran was 56. In a warped view, I thought the seven of us would go in order so I should have been second. Didn’t work that way. I’m long past my turn now on the conveyor belt which hopefully doubled as an escalator going up. 

Kathy made friends easily so the lines were seemingly endless at her funeral. Not only a giant group from Sears, but a bunch from Bishop Conwell High School and from the neighborhood. She and John were social animals and embraceable. They all came. It was a nice sendoff.

I might have thought it was record-setting until Franny’s funeral. He told his wife Ruth to reserve four hours and he called it correctly. Not only did all three wives show up, but their parents came as well. Franny had a way about him in that maybe you couldn't live with him forever but you could never fully leave him. 

He’s the kind of guy who could be trouble but you just shook your head and smiled after his escapades. And his energy was magnetic.

When Franny was young, one of his friends was a stuffed monkey. He used to drag it around with him but there is no solid evidence that he had it with him during his carvings. 

He would  carve his name into furniture using whatever sharp objects he could find. Pens, paper clips, the file on nail clippers. Even The graffiti was not necessarily artistic. There would be uneven FRANNYS and FRANS on the bottom of drawers, in the back of chests. No one knows why. He always had this silly, endearing grin. 

He was wearing it on his face when my mom spotted one of his carvings. When confronted he flashed his usual pearly whites and declared, “The monkey did it.”

Right, Fritz, which monkey would that be?

MARY ALICE

Mary Alice died so suddenly and senselessly it hurts every time you think about it. Broadsided on a lonely New Jersey street late at night.

She made it to 60 with so much love for her kids and extended family. Until then she was a survivor, coming out on the other side of some tough relationships with her chin up and a determined spirit. 

Here’s what I said at Mary Alice’s funeral:

Mary Alice was a loud person. 

Loud in a good way. She knew how to have a good time, how to get the wallflowers off the wall and onto the dance floor. She filled a room when she entered, she energized a lame party. She loved life. I had a party once when we lived in a duplex below a landlord who convinced himself he lived with us too and afterward he said “boy, your sister Mary Alice is a loudest woman I ever met.” She had to be. I always thought she was loud because she was in the middle of seven McQuade kids who never shut up and needed to be heard.

When my mother-in-law met my family at my son Dan’s communion party she said to Denise, “One thing about those McQuades they love to have a good time.”  She was referring specifically to Mary Alice.

  Mary Alice was also a beautiful woman of a million faces and hairstyles and hair colors. and outfits. If I always had an iPhone I could have worked up a fabulous photo display of Mary through the years and had it up on a big screen behind me. Imagine all the hits that would get on youtube. It would be robust, full of color and sparkle and in the center beaming out at you would be an attractive woman.

Mary was sweet. It was inherent. Not everyone can be called sweet. No one ever called me sweet wth a straight face. For Mary it was a gift.

Mary was kind and loving and loyal, the best mom and perhaps an even better grandma. It may have been short but those little characters were so fortunate to be wrapped up in grandma Mary’s warm embrace.

Mary was also an unbelievably good sport. When she was about seven she stood up in a roomful of noisy McQuades and announced her inventive but odd mantra. She said “ah ee ah ee soup soup.” Of course it made no sense; it sounded like something the old TV show character Chief Halftown would say but that didn’t stop her siblings, especially her wise guy oldest brother, from ever letting her forget she uttered the silly phrase. When she turned 50, I even made up a soup can with ah ee ah ee on it.

Through it all when Mary should  have said, give it a break you big goofball, or enough already. She didn’t. She always laughed it off.

She laughed loud and it was infectious and it made me laugh back. Mary was larger than life and her loss leaves an enormous void in a family deluged with losses. But I hope everyone can eventually do what I have been doing for far too long now after the loss of my parents, big sister, little brother and now younger sister. 

I’ll hang on to the memories of Mary that make me laugh and I’ll be thankful  she blessed us with her soulful vitality while she was here.

Younger siblings Joe, Mark and Rosemarie are still around for me to appreciate. At any given moment in time, Joe is on a flight to some exotic place, Mark is riding his bike near the beach in Wildwood where he lives and Rosemarie is crafting something.

I am blessed to have them.   

BREAKING SPEED LIMITS

Apr 26, 2006

By DREW McQUADE mcquadd@phillynews.com 

ONLY A COCKY cheetah smirks at the world's fastest human. 

Hyenas might laugh because that's what they do. Cheetahs can back up their arrogance. In research 6 years ago, "The Physics Factbook" determined cheetahs could run three times faster than Michael Johnson, who was the world's fastest human in 1996 when he high-tailed 200 meters in an unfathomable 19.32 seconds at the Atlanta Olympics. It's a good thing the meet was restricted to humans because in another study, cheetahs without adidas were clocked at 70 mph. Hyenas broke 40. Humans jogged a tad under 28. 

Despite the limits of the WFH, fellow humans bow in awe. With thousands of trackheads descending upon Franklin Field for the 112th Penn Relays this week now is a decent time to wonder how fast a man can run. 

The WFH is no Captain Kirk, so he can't get beamed from point A to point B in 1 second. Jamaica's Asafa Powell, who is arguably the current WFH, zipped 100 meters in 9.77 seconds to set a world record in Athens last year. If you took the time to read this far, Powell would probably be going into his lean at this point. It's mind-boggling to think he can go faster. 

Can he burn 100 meters in under 9 seconds? 

"If they change the rules," answered Dave Johnson, Penn Relays director. "If they can start the clock when a runner actually leaves the blocks as opposed to when the gun goes off and if they let him stick his hand across the finish line and count that instead of his torso. " 

Can the WFH run the 100 in 8 seconds? 

"Why not?," answered Charlie Powell, University of Pennsylvania track coach. "The limits are in your own mind and if you can open your mind things are limitless. You can achieve great things. The human potential is based a lot on what you can believe. The people who work in genetic engineering say when man can conceive it and believe it he can achieve it. 

"There are ethical questions in genetic engineering of course but in my mind there is not a question of limits. As a coach you set goals but you never tell a runner there are limits to how fast he can run. 

"Thank God for Roger Bannister. He proved there are artificial barriers. They said no one could run a 4-minute mile before Bannister. They said no one could long jump 26 feet. They said no one could ever pole vault 20 feet. 

"Can a person run 100 meters in 8 seconds? Why not? " 

Muscles might scream but the mind has the wind at its back. 

"Any time we try to place limits on what humans can achieve, we are proven wrong," wrote USA Track & Field chief executive officer Craig A. Masback in an e-mail. 

"While 9.5 seconds seems way out there given the current group of athletes and below 9 seems impossible, as athletes around the world have access to better coaching, better diets, better tracks and track spikes, better training insights, and all the other inevitable advancements, an athlete will always come along that breaks any barrier we choose to set. 

"Remember that people said a human would die if he ever ran under 4 minutes in the mile and only 50 years later sub-4 minute miles are commonplace. " 

And there are no morticians at the finish line. 

The WFH rep expected to attend the Penn Relays this week is Justin Gatlin, a Brooklyn native and reigning Olympic champ in the 100. The WFH is an unofficial title that often sticks with the Olympic 100 champ even if someone beats his time at another venue. Gatlin is on record he will trim two-hundredths of a second off Powell's mark. 

In track world, mental restrictions tend to be much looser than physical limitations. It's the kind of discussion that keeps the lights burning into the wee hours in the labs of sports medicine men. 

"The answer is yes, there are limits to how fast a man can run," said Dr. Brian Sennett, chief of sports medicine at the University of Pennsylvania. "To tell you what those limits are I'm not exactly sure. The genetic response to the question is based on the performance of the body as a machine. Muscular makeup, nutrition, oxygenation, hydration, training, they all dictate how fast you can run. 

"You are born genetically predisposed to be a sprinter or a distance runner or something in between. There are specific muscle types and fibers within each muscle that come into play. Those with fast-twitch muscles are more likely to be sprinters and those with slow-twitch muscles distance runners. 

"The more slender the build, the more aerobic physique the more likely to be a distance runner. Large muscle mass, more likely to be a sprinter. 

"Plus of course there's the mental side. The classic example of breaking down barriers is the 4-minute mile. There was a time breaking that was unheard of. Now they shatter it all the time. "

Bannister, who once ran at the Penn Relays, would not be so legendary today. Today, there are more Bannisters than legends. The limit to a man's speed is in a state of flux. 

"You take 2 seconds off a mile record and it might be 1/1000 of the time," said Sennett. "With sprinters, you're talking .01. The number has never been fixed. You can't. There's clearly a number there. No one will ever run the 100 meters in 1 second. The record might be leveling out and not likely to go much lower but it will go lower, only the increments get smaller and smaller. Theorists could say 8 seconds. Training styles might allow man to get faster and quicker. If you can change the technique and the training progresses, who knows? Maybe there'll be an 8-second 100. "

It takes me that long to get out of bed. The WFH has no such time constraints. To get a read on the future one need only to look back as a reference point. In 1896, American Thomas Burke won the Olympic 100 in 12 seconds. What a turtle. 

"The next breakthrough will be genetic engineering," said John-son. "The scientist will tell you we're near the limit. One statistician will tell you the points on the curve are flat; another will tell you it's just a straight line with no end point. A sprinting coach will tell you you have to go beyond the limits of the human mind. "

Scientists and statisticians alike might tell you the curve on the graph is a dotted line with openings for dreamers to slip through. 

"I don't know what the next horizon is on training," said Sennett. "I heard talk of a coolant device to reduce core temperatures in a human which will improve muscle recovery. "

Sounds like something you put in your car. On your mark, set, start your engines. *

AGENDA

What: 112th Penn Relays

When: Yesterday through Saturday. 

Where: Franklin Field, 33rd and Spruce. 

Schedule: Today: Men's decathlon final; women's heptathlon final; Tomorrow: College, high school girls events; Friday: Colleges, high school boys events; Saturday: High school, college championships, Olympic development, USA vs. World. 

Ticket office: 215-898-6151. 

Web site: Thepennrelays.com

Honorary Carnival Referee: Herman Mancini, 93, Relays Chief Clerk of Course, whose 68-year streak at the meet ends due to health issues. 

Notable names competing: (No relations): Mike Schmidt, Tom Jones, Keith Jackson, James Brown, Romulus, Marcus Allen, Joe Greene, Jackie Gleason. 

Unique names: Tyler D'Amore Doo, Pinky McBurrows, Hello Eugene, Kojo Tweedie, Nohjay Nimpson, Lady Comfort, Man Child. 

Longest name: Nutthawut Orataiwaiwattanakul, a senior from St. Raymond High School in the Bronx. 

Numbers : 883 high schools, 233 colleges, 127 clubs. 

Food: Out-of-towners looking for Philly staples can get a cheesesteak for $6.25 and a soft pretzel for 2.75 at the concessions stands. 

Flavor: The Jamaicans as usual will provide talent, especially in high school athletes on the track and enthusiasm in the form of green and gold flag waving frenzied fans in the stands.

RELAYING IT ON THE LINE
Running the 4x100 successfully takes near perfect planning

Apr 23, 2013

BY DREW McQUADE Daily News Staff Writer mcquadd@phillynews.com

A PERFECT 4 x 100 meter relay explodes with the gun, maintains speed around the curves, accelerates on the straightaways and ends in the infectious euphoria of raised arms, plastered smiles and bear hugs.

It's also a fantasy.

"There is no such thing," said LSU track coach Dennis Shaver about the flawless relay.

St. Augustine believed there is perfection in anyone who even unreservedly chases the ideal. He was also known as St. Augustine of Hippo so there is a good chance he was not a sprinter. But his philosophy of perfection would describe any coach.

Hundreds of them will be chasing relays without blemishes this week as the Penn Relays get into full swing Thursday at Franklin Field. Since no one has been able to clone Usain Bolt, the mad scientists of track have to work with what lesser humans bring with them into their lab.

"First thing you do is analyze the pool of athletes you have," explained Shaver. "The fastest ones, the ones with kicks. Some run turns better. Some run straight better. The group has to perform under significant pressure.

"How successful you are has a lot to do with where you place them. "

Shaver, who will be bringing a strong team to the Relays as usual, has been practicing his craft for years with considerable success so he knows how to move his chess pieces around the board.

"For the leadoff leg I usually use my best hurdler," said Shaver, whose women's teams have won seven SEC outdoor titles. "Someone who is explosive and frequency oriented. The turnover is more important there. You need a great starter.

"The second leg I use my best 200-meter runner. The athlete's 100 is great but 200 is out of sight. With 20 meters lead in and 20 meters on the other end, the athlete runs more than 100 meters. If it's done right it's 116 meters and the athlete has to be strong over the total distance.

"The third leg has to be good at taking and giving, a good turn runner with frequency of steps. No long strides.

"The anchor has to be cool, calm and collected. Can't go early. Often the second best 100-meter runner, the anchor has to have great sprint mechanics. Can't tie up.

"If they can run down an opponent when they are behind that's a big plus. "

A program with the good bones of LSU attracts a high-quality talent pool. It might recruit four high school stars who all ran the last leg. Getting the anchors to swim and not sink while singing kumbaya takes a psychological coach who knows both tracks and couches.

Egos are much harder to train than arms and legs.

Shaver's 4 x 100 anchor last year was Kim Duncan, who handed off that responsibility this season. Outsiders believe anchors are the stars and the other legs are also-rans. That's why they are outsiders.

"Kim was our anchor and we won the NCAA," said Shaver. "Now she runs the second leg. She has no problem with that. If you teach the athletes and get feedback, talk to them, fully communicate what might be in the best interests of the team they'll respond.

"You get them to believe in the kind of things that will give your team the best chance to be successful. Once they buy into that, ego is not that big a deal. "

Let's say for argument's sake the egos are checked as they enter the stadium and picked up later on the podium. That takes care of four members of the relay team. What about No. 5?

The baton has no ego, no brain, just sits there and contributes nothing. A necessary evil. It might be great at conducting symphonies in the hand of a guy wearing a tuxedo but it can create all sorts of discord when it slips out of the hand of a guy wearing a singlet.

It can ruin a perfectly decent run when it bounces on the track as the relay team members writhe in agony.

"It's not the No. 5 member of the relay team; it's the No. 1," Shaver said.

If only competitors could just tag each other in the exchange lanes. It would cut down on red faces and heads in hands.

"No, then it would lose the drama," said Penn track coach Steve Dolan. "I like the baton. You have to get it around. It creates excitement. "

Check back with him after one of his team's exchanges comes up empty-handed. It happens to the best of teams, as Olympic quartets, full of men and women of ungodly speed, have learned.

In the 2008 Beijing Olympics both USA 4 x 100 teams dropped batons in the last exchange in the finals.

"Maybe someone has a voodoo doll of me, " said anchor Lauryn Williams, who also was involved in a botched handoff in the Athens Olympics 4 years earlier.

No voodoo doll was ever found but emotional scars were everywhere. Passing a baton seems oh so simple in theory. If you are standing still with nothing at stake maybe.

"It's better if there is a synchronized movement of the baton through the zone," said Dolan. "The challenge is there is a short window to get the baton through the zone without decelerating.

"The one coming in has fatigue. The one going out is accelerating. You want to maintain the speed through the zone. "

The exchange zones can be chaotic with multiple teams arriving at the same time, with elbows flailing and feet kicking and hands outstretched trying to make a connection amid the deafening background music of primal screams from the stands.

"Focus," said Dolan. "You can't lose your focus. You can't let the loud crowd noise or converging teams force you to leave early or late and throw everything off. "

There is a grade-school team in Northeast Philadelphia, which once used a dented baton it nicknamed "Sunny. " It had other, less cheery monikers when it fell to the ground. No one wanted to hang with "Sunny" on those occasions.

"The last thing we always say before the relay team runs is, 'Remember to get the stick around the track,' " said Dolan.

In a perfect world, those words are heard.

Agenda

What:The 119th Penn Relays

When: Tuesday through Saturday

Where: Franklin Field on Penn campus, 235 S. 33rd Street, between Walnut and South Streets.

TV: USA vs. the World live, NBC on Saturday from 1-3 p.m. Additonal coverage on Universal Sports, Saturday, 3-5 p.m.

Website: ThePennRelays.com

Tickets: General admission is $18. Check the website for reserved seating or call 1-855-UofPTIX.

Security: Additional measures are in place in the wake of the bombings at the Boston Marathon. Backpags are only permitted for participating athletes. Coolers, glass bottles and cans will not be permitted.

Tuesday: CYO night, 6-9 p.m.

Thursday: High School Girls, College Women; Nighttime Distance Races, 10 a.m. to 11:30 p.m.

Friday: High School Boys & Girls, College Men & Women Olympic Development Events, 9 a.m to 7 p.m

Saturday: College Men & Women, High School Boys, USA vs. The World, 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Field events: Pole vault, long jump, high jump at Franklin Field; hammer, discus, shot, javelin outside stadium, over the bridge , take a right past tennis courts and down to fields.

Scrapped: Men's decathlon due to lack of competitors.

Getting there: Public transportation recommended. Limited parking at garages at South and Convention, 34th and Chestnut, and 40th and Walnut.

Weather: Events go rain or shine on all-weather track. Events might run up to 10 minutes ahead of schedule.

Wall of Famers: Among those going in are Alberto Salazar, who ran a Relays record in the high school 2-mile run with a time of 8:53.7 in 1976 and Michelle Bennent, from Cardinal Spellman (Bronx) High School (1987) and Villanova ('91), winner of seven Relay Championship of America watches.

Names: As usual Frank Bertucci provided a plethora of names competing, although Ben Franklin, who has participated in the past, is not expected to run in buckled shoes on his home field this year. Others competing include Gaby Go, which is her plan when the gun sounds, and the headline writer's nightmare team from Pennsbury High - Uche Onuoka, Husniyyah Rogers, Worada Sanghanphet and Sarah Hludzinski.

Numbers: There are more than 22,000 entries. The 3-day attendance is likely to top 110,000 for the third year in a row.

By Drew McQuade

The Vet held its last Sunday service yesterday, dramatically disintegrating into a pile of rubble and dust. All those home runs, touchdowns, foul balls and fumbles swiftly fading into a future parking lot.

The Vet is dead, yet I can dig it up and dust it off whenever I want from the shelf in the back of my mind. There are decades of collective memories of the former home of the Phillies and the Eagles but it’s the personal ones that truly grab you. They can be awakened anytime in vibrant colors and emotional warmth.

For me, there are two such pieces of eternal fabric.

In 1976, I took my ailing dad to the Vet as the Phillies hosted the All-Star game. It was gut-wrenching to see my fragile father, a skeleton of the strong, yet sensitive man who raised me, labor up those long ramps to our seats in left field. The former Marine drill instructor, who was decorated for bravery in World War II, moved as if his legs were made of the same material as the surface below him.

I went to grab his arm to support him. He waved me off with a nervous smile.

There was no need for feeble toughness. For a couple hours, my dad put his daily struggle with mortality on hold. When we finally made it to our seats, we had a ball. Father and son eating hit dogs, cutting up the players and some of the strange characters selling concessions. 

It didn’t matter that from our angle we really couldn’t see the home run ball hit by Phillies’ slugger Greg Luzinski. It landed somewhere just below us. We craned our necks in vain. Without binoculars, the mammoth Luzinski rounding the bases  was no more than an ant with an eating disorder.

I was able to smile momentarily when we left the Vet that day, the last time we went there together. I wish he could join me for a day at the ballpark now.

In 1995, I took my 12-year-old son to the Vet for a playoff game between the Eagles and Detroit Lions. We climbed to the 700 level but before we sat down we had to pass through an impromptu inspection from a massive guy dressed like a Viking, not the Minnesota kind; the kind named Thor. 

For a moment, Thor and I almost squared off because my blue Penn State jacket looked like Detroit Lions’ garb through his blood-shot eyes.

My son and I had a ball. The Eagles annihilated the Lions. We hugged and high-fived perfect strangers all afternoon. The highlight to my son was the reaction to defensive back Barry Wilburn’s touchdown after an interception. A fan was tossed through the air a couple rows before bouncing off the ground and instead of checking for injuries, he immediately conducted a painful, futile search for what was left of his cup of beer. Then he cheered anyway.

If it wasn’t so much fun, it might have been scary. All those inebriated crazies united in glee.

I was able to smile deeply when I left that day. We’ve been back plenty of times. We’ve been to the Eagles new home and we have tickets to the Phillies new home.

There is nothing as pure and as pleasurable as taking your dad or your son to a game. The Vet was just a building. Anytime I want I can still see it. My dad and my son are sitting beside me. They’re laughing hard.