Next year's stamps, all together

Don't these look beautiful? They'll be great to have -- one sheet to keep, others to use -- next summer*.

*Assuming the Post Office still exists.

Larry Doby gets a stamp!

This came out a week ago, but I've been quite busy and never got around to writing anything. And now that a hurricane is bearing down on us and I don't know when I'll have power and internet again after Sunday, I figured I don't have the luxury of composing a more elaborate post.

So here it is, the Larry Doby stamp that will be put into circulation next summer, along with three or four other prominent ballplayers (Joe DiMaggio and Willie Stargell have also been announced). I'm definitely getting these, and keeping one sheet for myself. They're quite sharp, I must say.

Helping the Yogi Berra Museum (and myself)

While flipping through Google Reader last night, I came across a post mentioning a rummage sale of sorts at the Yogi Berra Museum at Montclair State. My first thought was, Cool! Glad I checked this post. The second thought was surprise that I hadn't heard about it sooner. (A third, momentary thought was disappointment that I'd not seen it in time to stop by yesterday, but more on that in a moment.)

Were it not for my news alert for the museum on Google, I would've missed it altogether. Our local weekly newspaper, which often has announcements of appearances and programs at the museum, had no mention of it. The only outlets that had it were the previously linked Montclair blog Baristanet and the hyper-local community site Patch.com.

Curious to see what the museum would be selling off, I stopped by this afternoon. On tables set up in the new atrium were photos from former museum displays, a few posters and banners and boxes of assorted Yankees baseball cards (sold in plastic cases of 25, most had  a recent Mariano Rivera showing on one side and an older card -- as old as a 1976 Catfish Hunter and as recent as a 2003 Jason Giambi -- on the other side, though many of the older cards were recent Topps Heritage reprints). Most of what was left was priced from $10-20, and I overheard a teenage employee or volunteer say that they had a lot of good stuff out yesterday. But not wanting to spend too much money, I was happy to have missed yesterday's expanded -- and likely more tempting -- selection.

There were only six of us there when I stopped in: two middle-aged men browsing as I was; the teenaged boy and another employee/volunteer, a middle-aged woman who stood talking with the sixth person, a woman older than she who I quickly recognized as Carmen Berra, Yogi's wife. With Yogi down in Spring Training, I guess she figured she'd stop by to see how the sale was going.

After eyeing the tables of museum-mounted photos -- many showing Yogi in various stages of his life and career, from young St. Louis sandlot player to Yankee rookie to veteran to Mets coach -- I settled on two items and passed on two others. I left behind a black-and-white photo of Paterson-raised Larry Doby in his Newark Eagles uniform ($20; similar to this photo, if not actually that photo -- unsigned, of course) because it was really heavy. Many of the photos from displays were on thick, metal slabs with wide mounting braces on the back, meaning the whole setup weighed several pounds. And because I want to display these things in my basement, with its thin paneled walls, I didn't want to have to deal with hanging too many of them. Next to Doby's photo was the famous one of Bill Mazeroski reaching the plate after his 1960 World Series-winning home run (also $20). Had I seen an image of Yogi in his Newark Bears uniform, I probably would've extended my budget.

The two purchases I did make, each for $10, were of players with New Jersey roots. The first is this 13 5/8-by-9 1/2-inch printout of Doby's 1958 Topps card. Born in South Carolina, Doby grew up in Paterson, played for the Eagles (after a tryout at Paterson's Hinchliffe Stadium) and became the first black player in the American League when he debuted with the Indians three months after Jackie Robinson did with the Dodgers. The image is a paper printout on a foam mount. There's a minor blemish -- it looks like there may have once been a description or something else taped to it -- on his cap, but that doesn't bother me.

For my second item, I did choose one of those heavy, metal-mounted and braced museum display photos. It depicts King Kelly, a Hall of Famer from the 19th Century who played for the Cincinnati Reds, Chicago White Stockings (later the Cubs), Boston Beaneaters (later the Braves) and New York Giants. He was a teammate of Cap Anson on those Chicago clubs and last August was inducted into the Irish-American Baseball Hall of Fame at Foley's NY Bar and Restaurant in New York.

The text reads: "One of four boys from Paterson, NJ to reach the major leagues together, Hall of Fame catcher/outfielder 'King Kelly' was the nation's No. 1 baseball idol in the 1880s." Measuring 13 5/8 inches by 9 inches, it is a heavy item, so I'll probably display it on one of the shelves set in the walls rather than try to hang it. Kelly was born in Troy, N.Y., but grew up in Paterson, playing for some of the semi-pro teams in the city before becoming a full-fledged professional. I bought the photo because of Kelly's New Jersey connection -- and his fabulous mustache. It's a familiar photo, found often, including on his Baseball-Reference page.

So there we go: Building my New Jersey baseball archive piece-by-piece, never knowing where the next thing will come from.

There used to be a ballpark: Hinchliffe Stadium

Bordering Maple Street, Paterson

Here, the ghosts of past indiscretions -- others' indiscretions -- still play. Tucked into a corner of Paterson, New Jersey, stands a massive stadium now overgrown with more than just grass and weeds. Trees sprout from the bleachers, shrubs grow on the benches. It should be hard to miss, such a huge multipurpose arena that stretches two blocks in one direction. But it's nestled into a hill, never appearing more than a story high, tucked behind a four-story school that looms over it like a fortress.

Not far from another corner lies one of New Jersey's great natural and industrial landmarks, the Great Falls of the Passaic, a spot of historical significance in the life of Alexander Hamilton and in the industrial history of America. But from the falls, Hinchliffe Stadium looks like another abandoned industrial relic, a dilapidated warehouse complex or a facade fronting a high school football field.

At one time, that's what Hinchliffe was, home to Paterson Eastside High School teams. It's where Larry Doby played before the Newark Eagles signed him, setting the stage for his Hall of Fame career that began with the Cleveland Indians.

Grafitti and turnstiles

Now, the stadium lies in crumbling decay. A walk down Maple St. allows for a peak into vandalized restrooms and gated entryways, the white of the stadium walls nearly blinding in the sun, yet splashed with the color of graffiti on nearly every open space within arm's reach. Curiously, the spray-painting Picassos seemed to have left the outside facade as pristine as the day the stadium opened, 75 years ago this September, when a coordinated effort under the cover of night could clearly have allowed an adept artist the opportunity to leave his mark there as well. Perhaps they did, only to have their efforts plastered over, but it is inside where their work remains, giving Hinchliffe the appearance of a plausibly functional structure upon first glance, saving its true identity and sad state of decay only for those who take the time to venture closer.

Hinchliffe Stadium ticket windows

The ornate tiles marking the ticket windows and the bronze reliefs of track and field athletes of various pursuits preserve time and tag the stadium as a great multi-use facility, one that regularly and easily hosted baseball, football, soccer, track and field, boxing, concerts and any number of other forms of entertainment and recreation. It's not hard to imagine passing by the gates on a hot summer night 50 or 60 years ago and hearing the roar of the crowd flow over the walls into the streets of Paterson.

I walked the length of Maple St. along the outer wall of the stadium. At the parking area at the bottom, I took the path that led to the overlook at the falls, the stadium blending into its surroundings more with each step I took. Looking back from the falls, the stadium was a simple white wall running up the block, a grove of trees stretching to meet it at the lowest corner. As I returned to my car, I followed a path at this point and found the lower end of the stadium closed off by merely a chain-link fence. Here my view was uninterrupted, save for the metal strands of the fence and the piles of brush and the growing weeds and saplings along the boundary. I stood at the far turn of the track, a light dusting of snow covering the Astroturf field, a blue shipping container somewhere near midfield, perhaps abandoned after a cleanup attempt or maybe the last remnant of what could have been the stadium's last, most recent purpose: storage, or a parking lot of sorts.

There used to be a ballpark

There is a movement backed by New Jersey's representatives in Congress to have the Great Falls Historic District established as a National Park, Hinchliffe Stadium included. Perhaps someday, the stadium can be cleaned up, renovated to an extent, re-opened for tours or maybe even games once again. Any refurbishment would serve as an adequate reminder, a fitting tribute to those who performed there, from Doby and Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige to Duke Ellington and Lou Costello and the high school students who played on that field for decades.

Today, if you go there and look out on the overgrown field and dilapidated bleachers, you can imagine the ghostly figures rounding the bases, the fans leaping to their feet to cheer, the sun sinking behind the school on the hill to the west. Hinchliffe Stadium feels old. It feels important and poignant, yet it also feels dirty and disgusting, the acrid smell of decay and neglect -- of disrespect -- having seeped into the cracks in the concrete and overwhelming what remains of the structure. What could be a venerated landmark in the history of New Jersey, the progress of America, instead remains just another boarded-up relic, another glaring example of disrespect and neglect.