John Delach

The New York Football Giants played their 100^th Anniversary game on Sunday, September 8 starting at 1 pm in Met Life Stadium in East Rutherford, NJ their home since 2010. It had been quite a summer leading up to this game. In early August, Big Blue held a reception in Madison Square Garden to introduce their uniforms for opening day that replicated those worn by the 1925 team. Also, they wanted to showcase alumni like Lawence Taylor (LT), Harry Carson, Eli Manning, Phil Simms and Otis Anderson who spoke about their times playing for the team.

The late Wellington Mara had initiated and developed the understanding that all former players would always be welcomed back home with the statement, “Once a Giant, always a Giant!”

As the summer progressed, preparations continued. The top 100 players were selected and we fans were told that each group of ten would be identified each Tuesday. A long story, short, the top ten were: No. 10 Andy Robustelli – 9 Sam Huff- 8 Eli Manning-7 Harry Carson- 6 Emlen Tunnell- 5 Michael Strahan- 4 Frank Gifford- 3 Mel Heim- 2 Roosevelt Brown and -1 Lawrence, LT, Taylor.

The sports department of my local newspaper, Newsday, invited Giants fans to share their favorite moments of being a fan. I thought about it and decided to submit my choice. The editor picked mine and this is the version they ran in their paper:

“My son Michael and I attended Super Bowl XLII. I lost track of time at the end of the game, but when Mike lifted me into the air, I knew the Giants had won. ‘Mike, if we had to play these guys (the Patriots) 10 times, how many times would we win?

“Pop, we just saw it!”

In late August, I received a message from the team that I would soon be receiving a package commemorating this anniversary. It arrived on the Wednesday before opening day. The top of the box featured the One Hundred Year’s Logo. One side illustrated the various logos and helmet marking the team’s history while the other side listed the eight years the team was World Champions.

The box contained a two-sided ticket encased in Plexi-glass. On one side was a replica of the first home game ever between the Giants and the Frankfort Yellow Jackets, who eventually became the Philadelphia Eagles. The reverse side depicted what a ticket for the 100^th ticket would have looked like if the Giants still issued carboard tickets.

More importantly, the second box contained the team’s primary gift, replicas of the four Super Bowl rings from 1986, 1990, 2007 and 2011.   

I had to make a decision whether or not to attend this first game of the season. I have been a season ticket holder since 1962 and I decided that I could not miss this game. Hey, I’m a realist. At 80, the long walk to the stadium from where we park is an ordeal. Getting a golf cart  to take this journey is a big help, but the walk from the closest entrance to our seats is still difficult.

Add to that, that our current version of Big Blue is at best, a work in progress. So much is new and untried and our quarterback, Daniel Jones, is suspect at best coming off several injuries. I realized that it’s too important for me to miss this major anniversary. I decided to go into the stadium with my eyes wide open.

Joe M accompanied by his eldest daughter, Emma, picked me up at my house several minutes before 8 am. The temperature was still in the 60’s with the promise that it would climb into the 70’s. An early pre-fall day, and a good day for football. We reached the stadium’s parking lot before 9 am and were joyfully greeted by our Big Blue comrades.

We had a medium sized tailgate with 18 participants that included my son, Michael, his buddy Jeff and grandsons, Drew and Matt. Michael drove down in his newly acquired navy blue 2022 Chevy Silverado. Other participants included Bill W and his son, Mike; Ehab and his daughter, Page; Bruce, his daughter Alexis and a buddy, Goose and a friend and long absent Joe D. and his buddy also joined us.

Food was plentiful and included a prosciutto roll, home-made stromboli, shrimp flavored mac and cheese, sausage and pepper heroes, crab cakes and chicken kebobs.

Bill W. and I decided to call guest services and request a golf cart to take us to one of the entrances. Bill is also a member of the walking wounded. Unfortunately, it turned out we were far from alone in requesting transportation so Bill and I took turns pestering the dispatchers until one finally showed up.  

We had a great time with our happy- go- lucky mates glad to be back. As good as the tailgate was, that is how bad the game turned out to be. The final score was Minnesota 28, New York 6. The Giants fell flat on their faces on both sides of the ball while the Vikings second-hand quarterback, Sam Darnold, once the Jets first-round pick had a career outing throwing for 208 yards and 2 touchdowns. The Vikings capped off the scoring with a ten-yard interception of Jones by Viking linebacker,  Andrew Van Ginkel.

Enough was enough and I decided to leave during the third quarter when golf carts were usually available. Michael joined me and, fortunately, he found an empty cart just outside the gate where we exited. 

The ride home was a typical slog especially getting on to the George Washington Bridge, but thankfully, traffic remained free of other ordeals. The following Sunday the Giants lost their second game to the Commanders in DC, (formerly known as the Redskins) by a more reasonable score of 21-18. In Week 3 late breaks came their way as they beat the Browns 21-15. Buckle up, 2024 may turn into roller coaster of a season.              

On Sunday, September 8, the same Sunday that the New York Football Giants opened their 100^th football season, Ed Kranepool, an original member of the New York Metropolitans (Mets) passed away from cardiac arrest in Boca Ratan, Florida.

The Mets had drafted “Young Ed’ directly out of James Monroe High School in the Bronx when he was 17-years old. He joined the team on September 22, toward the end of their 1962 season He played at their temporary home in Manhattan, the Polo Grounds, in 1962 and 1963 before moving to brand new Shea Stadium in Flushing Meadows, Queens in April of 1964.

“Kranepool grew up a Yankee fan in the Bronx, but he took a detour to upper Manhattan and Queens where Mets fans got to embrace him as a hometown boy of their own – one whose modest personality and baseball resume fit the underdog franchise.”   

Assigned No. 21, he began his career playing first base as a defensive replacement for the aging Gil Hodgers who would go on to become his manager. Kranepool’s early participation in the Mets line-up gave him the dubious distinction of being part of this team that lost 120 games in 1962, a record that still stands.

“He was still a Met when he retired after the 1979 season – leaving as their all-time leader in games played, by far, with 1,853.” Columnist Neil Best wrote this f/or Newsday’s September 10 edition. His obituary included a photograph of Kranepool with fellow 1969 World Champion Mets, Cleon Jones and Art Shamsky,  taken during a 2019  spring training outing.

Best quoted Jones: “I just spoke to Ed last week and we talked about how we were the last originals, still alive,  who signed with the Mets. The other 1962 guys came from other organization. Eddie was a big bonus baby and I wasn’t. He never had an ego and was just one of the guys. He was a wonderful person.”

“Kranpool’s statistics were modest. He finished with 1,418 hits, 118 home runs and a .261 batting average. In the championship season of 1969, he had 11 home runs, 49 RBIs and a .238 average.”

“Kranepool failed to live up to the potential star status predicted for him, but he was always valued as a bridge from the teams dreadful early years to the breakthrough in 1969. For example, when 44-year-old Hall of Fame pitcher Warren Spahn joined the Mets in 1965, Kranepool gave him his No. 21 and switched to No. 7, the number the big lefthand hitter wore for the rest of his career. “

My connection to Ed Kranepool was simple but disconcerting; he was born on November 8, 1944 and I was born on February 22, 1944. That made him the first major league baseball player who I realized was younger than me, a fact I found depressing especially at my tender age of 18 in 1962.

R.I.P. Ed Kranepool.

When Vincent Sombrotto’s died in January of 2013, his death was promptly reported in an obituary in The New York Times. Mr. Sombrotto was 89 and died in St. Francis Hospital on Long Island. His obit explained his claim to fame. It read in part, “Vincent Sombrotto, who was a rank-and-file letter carrier, led a wildcat strike that shut down post offices across the country in 1970, prompting President Richard M. Nixon to call out the National Guard…”

Those were crazy times, starting with Michael Quill’s face off against newly installed Mayor John V. Lindsay on New Year’s Day, 1966. The results he achieved for his members of the Transport Workers Union, (TWU) with the strike that lasted 12 days that saw him thrown into jail and killed him less than a month later, influenced other union leaders of municipal workers, quasi-city workers and others. They took to the streets as strikes seemed to spread like wildfire through the 60’s and 70’s until at one point forty different unions went out on strike in one calendar year.

It seemed that everyone who was a “union man or woman” joined the cause in those days of rage. Sanitation, police, fire, ambulance services, hospitals and even ballerinas from the American Ballet Theater took to the streets one even wore her slippers on the picket line. Umpires picketed Yankee Stadium; cemetery workers engaged in a hunger strike. OTB clerks, prison guards, tug boat operators, milk truck drivers, school bus drivers, and Triborough Bridge and Tunnel Authority (TBTA) toll collectors all walked. Albert Shanker led the teachers out in a series of nasty strikes that pitted minority-controlled community boards against his United Federation of Teachers (UFT) culminating in a 36-day strike commencing at the start of the school year in September of 1968. Beyond material gains, the strike brought Shanker dubious fame thanks to a line in the Woody Allen movie, Sleeper: “(That) the world as we knew it had been destroyed by a mad man named, Albert Shanker who got a hold of a nuclear device.”

Another outrage to the citizens in a seemingly endless chain came in 1971 when bridge tenders belonging to Victor Gotbaum’s District 37 of the Municipal Employees Union opened all 27 draw bridges in the city before locking the doors, removing fuses and walking off the job after throwing their keys into the waters they guarded before leaving their posts. The chaos they left in their wake was insane. Only 7,000 of Gotbaum’s 400,000 members, actually went out but his 2 ½ day-rant included other vital workers at sewage treatment plants, garbage disposal terminals and school cafeterias. 

But Vinnie and his gang were different. They were federal employees. As the strike spread from Manhattan and the Bronx across the land, it tested President Richard M. Nixon’s patience and on March 23, 1970, five days into the strike, he announced on television: “(I) just now directed the activation of the men of various military organizations to begin in New York City, the restoration of essential mail services.”

As members of various units in the 42^nd Division of the New York National Guard, we reported to the armories where our outfits were housed. Bill Wilson went to the Armory on 18^th St. where his unit, the famous “Fighting” 69^th was housed. Geoff Jones reported to his outfit, Company B, 42^nd Maintenance Battalion at the Kingsbridge Armory in the Bronx and Bill Christman and I journeyed to an armory in Hempstead, Long Island, the home of Company C of the 242^nd Signal Battalion. For the next eight days, these were our places of work until the strike was settled. Of the four of us, only Bill Wilson actually delivered mail on an assigned route in lower Manhattan. So little mail was sorted at the GPO that delivering it would take him less than an hour each day allowing Bill to go off to his regular job as an insurance broker while still in his army fatigues before returning to the armory.

Bill Christman remembered our greatest accomplishment: “Putting up a volley ball net between two deuce-an-a-halves (Two and a half-ton trucks) and that our First Sergeant, Sgt. Peter Stegle commented, ‘Once the postal workers envisioned us invading their work places, they figured they better settle.”

We never left the armory and when the strike ended, Sgt. Stegle ordered us into formation on the drill floor to address us before dismissal. He reminded us that although we never left the armory, “Those who stand and wait also serve.” As he finished these remarks one soldier let loose in a stage whisper, “Ah, the motto of Burger King.”

Vinnie’s passing reminded us, the veterans of the great mail crusade, of the joy he inadvertently brought to us by calling that wildcat strike. Unbeknownst to any of us, embedded in our National Guard contract for service with Uncle was a provision that, if we were ever Federalized by order of the Commander-in-Chief, we would have a reduction up to one year of our six-year commitment regardless of the duration of being Federalized.

Thank you, Vinnie, thank you and Milhouse!

Only one obstacle remained, the governor of the state of New York. It seemed we also had a separate contract to be part of a State Militia, But Nelson Rockefeller turned out to be a player and he dispensed us from this commitment. Thank you too, Rocky, your wealthiness.

 I don’t recall recruiters trying to get many of us to re-up; that would have been too funny and a waste of time.

But I do know that like other aging vets of the great mail crusade, the next time I put a stamp on an envelope, I’ll think kindly of ole Vinnie.

September 2024

Lt. Gung-Ho

“Oh, we’re the boys from 242, we’d like to say hello to you, hello, hello, hello.” That was our little song that we used as an introduction during summer camp as we arrived at another unit’s  head-quarters to hook them up with telephone cables allowing them to talk to the rest of the 42^nd Rainbow infantry Division.

Allow me to step back at this point. The use of the word ‘rainbow’ has been coopted by the gay community in the same manner that the word, ‘gay’ itself was coopted to identify that community. The 42^nd  Division was formed when America entered World War I by recruits taken from almost every state in the union, sort of a rainbow across America. Hence the name.

On this particular afternoon, our leader, Sargent, Mike M led us into an outfit assigned to us. Besides Sgt M, we had our driver, Jorge , and six cablemen. I was joined by my cousin, Bill, the other Bill, with whom I went through basic training, Freddy B, Rico R. and Steve B. Our job was to install the cable. But, Sgt M, Bill and Freddie all worked for NY Telephone so they did the important work while we did the heavy lifting.

We followed Sgt M into this unit’s camp to locate where our cable was to be hooked up to their telephone equipment. Admittedly, none of us were dressed in full working uniforms. Most of us wore hats, but most of us wore only tee shirts, this being a hot day at Camp Drum.

Suddenly, a 90-day wonder, a newly minted ROTC college trained Second Lieutenant full of piss and vinegar began berating Sgt. M on our lack of dress discipline.

We boys stopped doing anything so we could watch this show. We were all familiar with Sgt. M. He was a quiet man who never raised his voice in anger or used obscenities or lost his cool.

Sgt. M listened to Lt. Gung-Ho and took in his bluster and abuse. He said nothing in response until L:t. Gung-Ho finished his admonition. Quietly Sgt M came to his point and simply replied,  “Lieutenant, it appears to me that you do not wish to be able to talk to the rest of the army. Fair enough, that’s your choice. Boys, back on the truck, we’re out of here.”

Sgt M turned and walked away and we followed him. The Lieutenant, (now renamed) Lt. Dumb ass remained where he was as Sgt. M jumped back in the cab and we climbed into the cargo bay. Suddenly, Lt. Dum ass came to the realization of what was happening and how badly he had screwed-up. He sprinted  after SGT Martin practically begging him to come back. Martin, accepted his apology, ordered us off the truck so we could hook them up to the rest of the army. We didn’t sing our little ditty as we finally pulled out of there, but we now had a juicy story to tell everyone else in Charlie Company.  

Riot Control

Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated on April 4, 1968 in Memphis, Tennessee causing race riots to breakout across the country. Our armory was located in Hempstead, NY, a prominently Black community. Hempstead was not immune to the riots that followed but we were not activated to protect lives or property as we had not received any training in riot control.

But the authorities did note the proximity of our armory to the troubled zone and it was decided to have us participate in anti-riot maneuvers. Of course, even the Big Brains in the National Guard realized that it wouldn’t be wise to let the community know that we were undertaking this training.

They selected an old Navy training base located in Sands Point a trendy upscale community on Long Island’s Gold Coast. And so, on a warm Sunday in June we made our way to this dormant field  that would eventually become the site of Helen Keller Center for deaf and blind students.

One side of the field faced out onto Middle Road, the main drag though Sands Point. We came off our two and a half ton trucks commonly called “Deuce and a half.” We were dressed like we were going to war. We carried unmounted bayonets, gas masks, web belts, entrenching tools, helmet liners canteens and our M-1 rifles. Both companies, B and C that were assigned to the Hempstead armory formed up into our respective formations.

Our officers decided that one company would play the soldiers and the other company would play the rioters. After two hours, the roles would be reversed. C Company would begin as the rioters and we were instructed to stack our rifles and all other equipment, remove our hats shirts and all other gear that we placed neatly on the grass.

The trucks drove off to a parking area close to the shore and tape was used to construct make-believe blocks. We were told to act like rioters and the action quickly deteriorated to a joke. We sat down blocking the make-believe street and nobody knew what to do.

When we reversed the roles, we quickly discovered that being a soldier was far lee comfortable. We were ordered to fix our bayonets and put on our gas masks. We were hot and sweaty and again, the rioters blocked the street forcing us to stand there and wait.

One irony, as the afternoon went by pretty girls and pretty boys drove up Middle Neck Road and parked their Vets, T-Birds, BMW and Mercede convertibles along the side of the road to watch the soldier men do their thing. They seemed to be having a good time until they got bored and drove off only to be replaced by a new set of rich kids.

We finished about 4 PM, picked up our make-believe blocks, reboarded our trucks and headed back to the armory. We never heard another word about that Sunday and, fortunately, we never were called out to play law and order.