Pennies From Heaven
Pennies from heaven.
(based on fact (almost))
by
Clem Mason
(age 16+)
(wc
In 1975, Gerald Vondenberg at age 49, began pushing his hot dog cart along Lansdowne street next to Fenway park. He would arrive two hours before each home game and stay one hour after peddling his ware. He made his best profits when the weather became cooler in the late summer. But his money always ran out long before the return of baseball season and he had to find odd jobs to put food on the table. It was not an easy life; being married and raising two children. His wife Mabel never complained though. Being an eternal optimist, she always said when they needed it, pennies would fall from heaven.
“It’s going to take more than pennies to help us through another winter,” he growled.
Mabel smiled. “It’s symbolism. I’m not talking about ‘pennies’ as in a penny. I’m talking about a little miracle here, a little miracle there; pennies from heaven.”
“Woman, you’re daft.”
She waved him off. “Someday you will see what I’m talking about,” she promised.
One day in mid May of 2001, just after Gerald had turned 75 years old, he wrenched his knee pushing the cart back from Fenway. It laid him up for two weeks. All he did in convalescence was complain bitterly about all the money he could be making at the ball park.
“You know that we’re going to lose the house when I can’t push that cart no more,” he said.
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that right now if I was you,” she said.
“Yes? And when would be a better time to worry about it?” he asked.
Mabel paused. “How about the second Tuesday of next week?”
Gerald snorted. “Woman, you’re daft.”
She patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Pennies will fall from heaven. Now is the time to relax and mend.”
Mabel soothed him as best she could. None-the-less, she saw him pushing his cart soon after. It was obvious he was in great pain, but in his mind, it had to be dine. Mabel hurried out to help the stubborn man push his cart.
Gerald paused a moment when she fell in beside him. He frowned. “And what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to help you push the cart,” she said brightly. “You stubborn, old fool.”
He smiled, his eyebrows raising. “That’s right kind of you, madam. It will be much better with you along.”
Later that day, Mabel said she wished she would have come along to help sooner because it got her out of the house. She loved the out doors as her flower garden would attest to that.
Together, they sold many hot dogs; more than usual in fact. Gerald made note of it.
“We’re selling more today than I normally do. I wonder why?”
Of course, Mabel took the credit. “It’s because a woman is peddling the hot dogs and customers will sooner buy from ‘mom’ rather from some grumpy, old man,” she said assuredly.
He paused a moment to ponder this scenario. He shrugged. “You may be right.”
“You know I’m right,” she assured him.
“Yeah? And what makes you so smart?” he asked with a smile and a nudge. “Pennies from heaven, love of my life,” she said.”
From that day forward, Mabel would help push the cart to Fenway park. However, it was still caused Gerald much pain and on June 23rd, Gerald made his announcement before they left for the day. “This is going to be my last day, old girl. I can’t do this no more,” he said sadly.
“Maybe I can do it,” she said.
He scoffed. “Right! I’m going to sit at home and let you push this cart all by yourself all the way to Fenway. And I’m suppose to feel good about it?”
“Well, love of my life. What else would you suggest?” she asked.
“Well, maybe pennies will fall from heaven today and all our worries will be over.
She gave him a fake punch on the shoulder. “Now you’re talking.”
It was getting late in the game when Gerald heard a great roar come up from the crowd and when he looked up, a ball came flying over the green monster, clearing by some twenty feet. It bounced once in the street and he instinctively grabbed it as it came by them. His reaction surprised even him. He smiled, holding the ball for Mabel to see. She too was surprised.
Just then, a bunch of men came running towards them, franticly searching every nook and cranny. He quickly hid the baseball in the cart and stood back.
One of the mob ran up and grabbed the front of Gerald’s shirt, jerking him around.
“Hey, old man. You see a ball come over the fence,” he asked with wild, menacing eyes.
Gerald tried to pull free of his grip. The man was too strong in his rage.
“A baseball?” Gerald gasped.
The stranger snorted and shoved him away. He ran off, looking franticly in all directions.
Soon the street was bare once more and they were alone. Gerald looked at Mabel and shrugged. She looked frightened. “It’s okay,” he said.
“But that man… He..”
Gerald waved her off. “When a ball comes over the fence, they go crazy. It is worth a lot of money, I think.”
Mabel thought a moment and a smile crept on her face. “Pennies from heaven.”
Gerald’s eyes grew bigger. “If I could sell this ball, we might make enough money to keep the house for awhile longer.”
She nodded.
Just then, a young, well dressed man came running down the street. He stopped rest to their cart, panting from his effort.
“Pardon me, sir. Did you see that ball come over here? Manny Ramirez cranked that sucker clear over the green monster,” he said excitedly. Then he composed himself and extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Buddy Thomas. I’m a sports reporter for the Boston Globe. If that ball went as far as I think it may have, it could possibly beat Ted Williams old record.”
“Ted Williams?”
The young man frowned. “Ted Williams holds the record for the longest ball hit out of Fenway park. Over 500 feet. I can’t believe you don’t know about it. Manny’s hit could beat that mark.”
Gerald shrugged. It meant nothing to him except the fact that he had the ball in his possession.
“Well, I saw it and I can pretty well show you where it first hit,” Gerald admitted.
The reported got real excited. “You can? That’s great. Where?”
Gerald lead him over to the area where the ball landed. It didn’t take long for the young man to find the scuff mark made by a National League baseball. He marked the spot and stood up. “Now, whoever has that ball is going to become a very rich man if he can prove that is the ball Manny hit.” His eyes glazed over at the thought of it.
Gerald cleared his throat. “Maybe I can give you that ball, sonny.”
Buddy’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “Do you have the ball?”
He nodded. “In my cart,” he said, pointing.
The reporter was beside himself. He ran to the cart and waited for Gerald to show him the baseball.
He retrieved it from it’s hiding place and handed it to the reporter.
He in turn held the ball out in reverence, turning it over and over. He frowned. “What should I do now?” he asked himself. He held it up. “This is the ball, right?”
Gerald patted his arm. “You can trust me, sonny. It’s the ball.”
Mabel stepped forward. “What is going to happen now, Mr. Thomas?”
The reporter looked at her strangely. “And you are?”
Gerald apologized. “I’m sorry. This is my wife Mabel. I’m Gerald Vondenberg.”
They all shook hands.
“Well, I could run a piece in the paper and ask for offers to buy the ball that beat Ted Williams record. My boss will love the idea, I’m sure.” He handed the ball to Gerald. “In the mean time, I think you should keep it in a safe place.”
Mabel placed her hand on the reporters hand. “What safer place than in your hands?”
He smiled at her trust in him. “Thank you. Thank you very much, Mabel. May I call you Mabel?”
She nodded.
“Great. Let me get your name and address and I’ll be off to make you rich and famous.”
When the young man left, Gerald and Mabel looked at each other and smiled. “Pennies from heaven,” the both said together.
As it turned out, the ball was determined to have fallen one foot short of Ted Williams record. Therefore, it only brought a $190,000, final bid.
The end
If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, then please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing. 66021-0213
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