Big Hair and Plastic Grass

Grandpa Fred

Pardo Frederick DelliQuadri, my late, beloved maternal grandfather, would have turned 100 today.

Grandpa Fred was first hero, my staunchest advocate, and truly one of the most influential people in my life. Along with unruly eyebrows and a penchant for napping in front of the television, we shared a love of cartoons, sports, history, war films, Italian food and making slightly risqué lyrical substitutions to popular songs.

Grandpa Fred may have looked like a Mafioso, but he was actually an academic who served as the dean of four major schools of social work, including Columbia University. The welfare of the world’s children was of great importance to him, which I suspect had something to do with having grown up extremely poor in a very large family. (His parents met and married in Pueblo, Colorado after emigrating from Italy around the turn of the last century.) He spent eight years as the U.S. representative to the executive board of UNICEF, a position which took him to all over the world and caused him to cross paths with a number of legendary leaders; I distinctly remember a horse-tail flyswatter in his office that had been given to him by Jomo Kenyatta. In 1968, he was appointed chief of the U.S. Children’s Bureau by President Johnson. (I had a major meltdown in the Oval Office during his swearing-in ceremony, though that’s a story for another time.)

For all his intelligence and accomplishments, Grandpa Fred was also incredibly unpretentious; it was not at all uncommon to see him mowing the lawn in a “gardening uniform” that consisted of a white undershirt, Bermuda shorts, black socks, dress shoes and a Panama hat. He had a down-to-earth charisma that drew people to him, and made them feel immediately at ease; I didn’t realize it at the time, but I learned so much about how to talk to people — and how to really enjoy and appreciate my interactions with them — from hanging around him at his office, at cocktail parties, and at the “19^th Hole” lounge of his country club. And, of course, I learned so much about the joys of cooking from the many times that he enlisted me to help him make his famous spaghetti sauce and meatballs…

Some of the happiest memories of my childhood are of the summers my sister and I spent at our grandparents’ house in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. At night, Grandpa Fred would tuck me in with tales of his amazing life — which included shining shoes for a living while he was in elementary school, working in the WPA camps in the late 30s, and serving in the Navy during World War II. In the morning, I would inevitably be awakened by the soft “thunk” of a balled-up sock against my cheek; I’d open my eyes to find him standing in the doorway of my bedroom, a stockpile of sock balls in the crook of his arm, and a big, delighted grin on his perpetually 5 o’clock shadowed face.

In the summer of 1976, my burgeoning interest in baseball gave us even more common ground. We watched Mark Fidrych beat the Yankees on “Monday Night Baseball,” placed quarter bets with each other on the outcome of the All Star Game, and dozed off together during numerous Braves broadcasts on WTCG. He returned from one business trip that summer with a special present for me: the first issue of The Sporting News that I’d ever seen — the one with Johnny Bench on the cover. I think I memorized every stat and box score in that issue before the summer was over…

Grandpa Fred passed away thirteen years later, at the age of 74, and it’s hard for me to believe that he’s now been gone for over half of my life. He still visits me in dreams from time to time, though, and I can still feel his spirit with me whenever I’m watching a ballgame or cooking up an all-day batch of red gravy. And I still often find myself cracking up like a ten-year-old over his rewrite of the Tin Pan Alley standard “By the Light of the Silvery Moon,” which went like this:

By the light of the silvery moon

You will eat a rotten prune

Then you head for the bathroom

Who left the top down?

Mommy, Mommy

Get the sponge

It’s all over the place

I sure do love and miss you, Gramps. Thanks for everything.

Rusty Kuntz Unavailable For Comment

Today is Pete LaCock's birthday, which is practically a national holiday in some of the social circles I frequent.

I always liked LaCock when I was a kid (er, wait...), both for his name and for the fact that his father is Peter Marshall, best known for hosting The Hollywood Squares — though I recently discovered that the elder LaCock (yes, that's the family name) also made a bravura appearance on a spectacular 1982 episode of CHiPs that featured Donny "Ralph Malph" Most as a Gene Simmons-esque rock singer called Moloch.

I met LaCock five years ago at Cubs Fantasy Camp, and found him to be a good-natured gent with an excellent sense of humor, especially in matters pertaining to his last name. He also told me some amazing stories about hanging out at his dad's place in the early 70s with Paul Lynde and Charles Nelson Reilly, who would often joke that young Pete was "playing for the wrong team," if you get my drift.

But I'm sure what all you 70s baseball fans really want to know is: Did Pete LaCock ever face pitcher Dick Pole?

And thanks to the Baseball Reference website, I have determined that it did in fact happen — though only once, on May 29, 1978. LaCock, who was playing first that day for the Kansas City Royals, batted against Pole in the first inning of what would eventually be an 8-2 victory over the Seattle Mariners at Royals Stadium. The Royals had already touched Pole for three runs, but LaCock failed to further beef up the score, flying out to left for the second out of the frame. On this day, at least, the Pole was mightier than LaCock.

New Stuff For A New Year

This is Terry Forster, a man of many interesting distinctions, including being the last American League pitcher to steal a base in a regular season game before the introduction of inter-league play (October 3, 1972) and the player with the highest career batting average in 50 or more at bats (.397). He's also the only player to be called a "Fat tub of goo" on national television by a prominent late-night talk show host, and the only one to record a novelty rap single as a response. To read more about "Fat Is In," Forster's ill-considered attempt at chart glory, check out my latest "Bloop Hits" piece for Fox Sports' Just a Bit Outside site.

Speaking of Bloop Hits, did you know that the tragic Red Sox heartthrob Tony Conigliaro recorded five singles? Yeah, I didn't either, at least until I started doing research for THIS Bloop Hits piece. I knew about "Playing the Field," but the man clearly had quite the stylistic range, even if his vocal range didn't quite keep the pace...

I also wrote a Bloop Hits on "I Love Mickey," the 1956 "duet" between Teresa Brewer and Mickey Mantle. It's interesting to me that "I Love Mickey" was the only hit of Brewer's long career that she had a hand in writing. It also wasn't even the most insane-sounding thing she ever cut.

Finally, I shook off the cobwebs accumulated during my happiest Christmas ever by writing a piece for Rolling Stone on this year's Hall of Fame inductees. Though I mention in it that Pedro Martinez may well be the first player with a Jheri curl on his HOF plaque, I somehow spaced on the fact that Rickey Henderson already beat him to it. Well, that's Rickey being Rickey for ya, but I still hope that Pedro's plaque lets his soul glo...