So even though Alzheimer’s has taken so much from
her, my hope is that Mom will enjoy reading this and find a happy memory and a
smile in here. Same for people who know Mom or have a mom like her.
Where do you start, though? How can you capture such love
in one post? After lots of thinking, writing and deleting, you realize, you
can’t. Especially when your mom is Eileen Gosman.
So, instead, let’s share a story from when Eileen, Bobby
and Mikey were young. You google the name Billy Jo Robidoux, and you start
reflecting on a great All-Star write-in ballot campaign.
Growing up, one of my favorite activities was going to
Brewers games. In 1986, my brother Mike and I were huge fans of the aforementioned Billy Jo
Robidoux. His last name rhymed with Joe and the PA announcer would draw every
syllable out; it became quite the sensation at the old County Stadium.
On the day we were handed our first All-Star ballot of
the year, we were crestfallen that Billy Joe's name did not appear. It didn’t
matter that he hit an anemic .227 or only managed one homer and 21 RBI. Mikey
and I decided to orchestrate a write-in campaign.
Our endearing but flawed plan ran up against an
unfortunate handwriting reality. There wasn’t much room to write such a long
name on the ballot. Mike was off the hook because he was just learning to
write, and I had no ability, then or now, to write his name legibly in such a
confined space. So we asked Mom, who had the family’s most impeccable
handwriting, and she was a willing and enthusiastic partner.
For the next month, we fed Mom a steady stream of
All-Star ballots that we secured from ushers and fellow fans. Mom, fearing
neither arthritis nor carpal tunnel, dutifully accepted each ballot and
enthusiastically wrote his name in her best cursive.
A First Pitch
For many years, Mom wrote a beloved column in the Whitefish Bay Herald titled “Baywatch.” When
she first got the column, she asked the previous columnist if she could keep
the name. His reply was classic. “I don’t think I have a patent on it.”
Mom wrote about all the happenings in Whitefish Bay as
well as her family. Writing a column a week was sometimes stressful and I teased her from time to time. When she would finish writing a column, I asked her what
she was writing about next week and the week after.
I knew she would always find topics and one of them was
writing about the Whitefish Bay Little League.
One year, to express their thanks, the head of the league
asked her to throw out a ceremonial first pitch. This induced the same type of
terror in Mom that I experienced trying to write Billy Joe Robidoux in such a
short space.
She didn’t know what to do so I said we should practice.
We played catch a couple of times, similar to all the times she played catch
with Bobby and Mikey when we were little. She was as nervous throwing out that
first pitch as if she was given the ball for the Brewers in Game 7 of the 2018
National League Championship Series. She didn’t throw a strike, but I told her it
was better that her columns were on targets than her tosses from the mound.
Unwavering Support
The Brewers of my youth were rarely a competitive team;
the games often dragged on and on into the night. Mom never complained, though.
Nothing made her happier than seeing Bobby and Mikey happy and she sat
through countless three-hour games.
What about the result of that write-in campaign you ask?
It was not a success.
Robidoux finished millions of votes short of the
necessary number to overtake far more deserving first basemen who were already
on the All-Star ballot. Billy Jo was out of baseball in a few years and his
Wikipedia page now notes that he is umpires high school baseball games in Rhode
Island.
Fortunately, over the years Mike and I began making much
better choices for our All-Star votes.
We knew, though, that whatever our choices were, for the
All-Star game and for other things of more consequence – we had the unwavering support and love of
our mother.
And for that we are forever grateful.
Happy Mother’s Day to our Mom and all the Moms out there.
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