I am always drawn to the campus of my alma mater — St. John’s Prep — when I want a peaceful walk without any intrusions; just that beautiful, impeccably-maintained campus, my thoughts and me.
Saturday was one such day. So off I went. My tour took me around the track that surrounds the football field, through the cemetery for Xaverian Brothers who once taught there, and along some other roadways and even parking lots. Anything to get 10,000 Fitbit steps in.
The last leg of Saturday’s walk was past the Brother Linus Commons, where varsity baseball star Peter Frates is memorialized. You may have heard the name.
Pete Frates was a terrific three-sport athlete at The Prep, and he excelled at baseball, both there and at Boston College. A double-eagle, as it were. I thought I’d be watching him someday at Fenway, but it never happened for him. Still, he kept playing in twi-leagues because he loved the game.
One night, he got hit on the wrist with a pitched ball, and he felt the injury took too long to heal. So he got it looked at.
I’m sure there were so many times, over the next seven years of his life, that he wished he hadn’t — even though we know it wouldn’t have made a difference. He had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. ALS. Lou Gehrig’s Disease. At the risk of sounding too foreboding, it was a death sentence. All before he was 30 years old.
Frates — and all people who receive this diagnosis — are left to face the prospect not only of death, but of prolonged suffering. In Frates’ case he fought the disease for seven years, dying on Dec. 9 of last year.
He did not go quietly, and thank God he didn’t. He and a friend, Pat Quinn (who died Sunday at the age of 37), were the driving forces behind the Ice Bucket Challenge, which raised so much money for ALS research. He epitomized bravery.
The disease has taken more than a few people who have meant a lot to me, starting with my cousin-in-law, Jerry Fitzgerald — a terrific man made even more wonderful because he laughed at my jokes (some of them are pretty bad).
There’s Jim Daly, a Prep classmate and teammate on the football field. Dick Kelley was a sports information director at Boston College and one of the nicest guys you’d ever want to meet.
Former Lynn School Committeeman George Mazareas, himself an exceptional basketball player, still fights the good fight, and a few years back, when he was being honored at the Agganis Basketball Tournament at St. George’s, I saw a solitary tear fall down Maz’s face. He just drove home the fact that the victims of this disease know what’s going on with them.
I thought of all this as I stopped to look at Pete Frates’ name stenciled on the turf field. It’ll be there for as long as the field stands. But I’ll bet you Frates, and every other victim of every debilitating, terminal disease, would prefer to be here now, alive. And I’ll bet you if they were, and they had the ability to draw from their real-life experiences, they’d have a few things to say about the people who balk at following simple health directives in the fight to lasso this coronavirus pandemic.
After all, Peter, Jerry, Jim, Dick and George had no say in the matter. Nothing they did, or didn’t do, caused them to get sick. Imagine what they’d say to people who do have a choice, but who defy these simple health directives, go out without masks on, insist on traveling for Thanksgiving, or having houses full of company despite warnings from any competent medical professional to refrain from doing so.
What do you suppose Pete Frates would say to someone who considers wearing a mask an infringement on his/her freedom? Care to speculate?
There are still things I’m thankful for this year as Thanksgiving rolls around. Among them: that I had the privilege of watching Pete Frates play; of playing alongside Jim Daly on the Prep JV team; of kibitzing with Dick Kelley in the BC press box on the few occasions my Northeastern Huskies won a hockey game against BC; of being present when the annual “Maz” Award was announced at St. George’s; and of giving a “roast” at my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary and hearing Jerry Fitzgerald convulsed with laughter. If everyone were like him, I’d be doing two shows a night in Vegas.
Please, everyone, consider the 250,000 people in this country who have lost their lives to this virus. Consider all the victims who have died horribly due to ALS and died horribly of other awful illnesses. Wear your mask when you go outside, and stop whining about it. And while I know this might be an incredibly lonely holiday season for some, those who can, please make the best of the situation with your immediate families, and avoid making this holiday its own super-spreader.
Happy Thanksgiving. And think about what you’ve been given this year. You are nine months into the worst health crisis we’ve had in a century, and, so far, the SOB hasn’t come after you!
