Back in early 2004, I finally got the call I had been dreading. My father had fought a 12+ year battle with cancer, but that fight was coming to an end and he didn’t have much time left with us. My mom asked if we could arrange to fly back to see him one last time.

My brothers and I all planned to head back to Chicago at the same time, so we could have our family together. My uncle (Dad’s little brother) helped to get us tickets for a White Sox game in mid-April, and we figured that would be a great thing for just a dad and his sons to do to build one lasting memory.



My dad had been a Sox fan his whole life. When I was growing up, you were either a Sox or a Cubs fan, never both. We were all indoctrinated at an early age that we were a White Sox family. From the success with LaRussa in the 80s, to the “we were certain to win the World Series” strike in the 90s, the Sox were very much just a common part of my childhood.



Seriously, my dad was Sox crazy. We have a brick from when they tore down the old Comiskey. He was a true Chicago man too. “Vote early. Vote often” When the fan All Star voting was going on at the park, he’d go to the game with a straightened out paper clip, and then grab a stack of ballots and just sit in his seat and punch through the chads for every White Sox player on the ballot. Once he finished a stack, he’d turn them in and grab another. The late 90s/early 2000 teams were generally lean years. You could always get tickets day of game, and I have vivid memories of him in the outfield seats, stacks of ballots spread out while he worked tirelessly to stuff the vote for “his guys”.



My brothers and I hadn’t all been to a game together with my dad in a very long time. And this was a fun team. My uncle had called ahead, and asked if we could get some help getting my dad into the stadium. My dad was now confined to a wheelchair, but didn’t want to get a handicap placard. The team told us to just tell the parking attendant who we were and they’d take care of it.



April baseball in Chicago back then was often cold and lightly attended. We got to the game early, so we’d have enough time to get my dad into the stadium and seated. We assumed we’d maybe get 3 innings before needing to take him home, but were still really looking forward to one more afternoon at the ballpark.

When we arrived, the lot attendant directed us right to the front spot outside the press entrance! This was great, as not only do we not have to go far to get in, there was no line. Because they even let us enter through the press entrance. And that was when the White Sox organization took things to another level for us.



When we got inside, their community affairs rep met us and gave us each a bag with a program and some other souvenirs. Then she asked if we wanted to get some pictures. When we said yes, she told us to hold on for a minute, and then went back into the stadium. 1 minute later, she emerges, and she is with Harold Baines! Baines was one of my dad’s favorite players of all time, and now was an assistant coach. My dad was even wearing his Baines jersey. Harold came over and posed for a few pictures, and signed my dad’s jersey. They even gave my dad a Baines bobble head.



Then Harold told us that there was a better place to take pictures, and wheeled my dad into the tunnels. As we passed by the White Sox locker room door, Ozzie Guillen walked by, and Harold called for him to come out for a minute. At first, Ozzie told him he needed to get the team ready for the game, and then he looked up and saw us. He immediately turned out, came out in the hall, signed the programs, and chatted with my dad for a couple of minutes. Then Harold told him we were going to get pictures, Ozzie shook everyone’s hand and wished us well before returning to the locker room.



Harold then proceeded to push my dad’s wheelchair all the way out to home plate. He had one of the staff take pictures with him and then again with just our family right at home plate. Around this time, the community affairs manager and a security guard had returned. We thanked Harold for the pictures and his time, and then she informed us that she was getting us better seats. The security guard was going to take us to the players’ family lounge in the meantime to keep warm and wait for the swap.

The lounge was, as you would expect, another excellent experience. We got to hang out and watch warm-ups, and stay warm while we waited for the game to start. Plus all the hot dogs we could eat! After about 20 minute, as players were getting ready to take the field, the community affairs rep returned. She handed me new tickets, behind home plate. She also told me Frank Thomas had wanted to come meet my dad (I had on a Thomas jersey which Baines had seen and apparently told Frank about), but since he couldn’t, she gave me a baseball he signed for us instead.



Then we wheeled my dad out to our new seats. They were wonderful seats, top of the concourse right behind home plate.

In the middle of the third inning, when they normally put up trivia or ads or other thing on the scoreboard, they only put up one thing, and left it up the entire time. It was an amazing experience, all done for a fan and his sons, for no reason other than they could.

Small postscript – the team also had a gift pack that included White Sox blankets and other team merchandise to help keep warm. They tried to deliver it to us at our original seats, and never found us (since we had been moved). Instead of just giving up, they called our house, got our address, and mailed them to us after the game.

My dad made it through the entire game too.



Thank you, Chicago White Sox, for giving a family a one last great memory.

My dad died a few weeks later. This was the last thing we got to do together as father and sons. None of us will ever forget it.