Casey Stengel and Dad

The original title to GIFT TO MY DAD was THE LEADER INSIDE ME.

I write and teach others to write using the power of visualization.

That is, I see pictures in my mind of the story I will soon write about before I ever write the first word.

Film directors think in pictures and it only makes sense.

They are filming in their mind's eye the scene before they ever put pen to paper.

Speaking of pen to paper, I often get asked if I write at a keyboard or in a notebook.

At one time, all my writing was done in a composition notebook and then I had it typed and converted into manuscript form.

In recent years, I have adjusted to the word processor, although few people call it that anymore.

I still speak with a lot of writers who prefer pen and paper to a keyboard, but it is a dying art.

My own dad was the inspiration for a great deal of my thoughts and writing.

GIFT TO MY DAD is a perfect example.

My dad was boen July 10, 1911.

This summer, I will be performing the stage version of GIFT TO MY DAD to audiences for the very first time.

If my dad was still alive, he would tirn 99.

In 1934, dad went to spring training with the then Brooklyn Dodgers.

He would have been 23.

Newly graduated from NYU, a high school graduate of New Utrecht in Brooklyn, dad was one step away from realizing his dream of playing in the major leagues.

Casey Stengel was the Brooklyn manager that season.

You might recall that Stengel became a Hall of Fame manager when he managed the Yankees during their dynasty run from 1949-1964.

Stengel's teams won 7 world championships during that dynasty stretch (Casey was fired after the 1960 season and Ralph Houk won the final two championships of that era in 1961 and 1962).

If you want to read the best book about the dynasty the Yankees enjoyed in MLB from 1949-1964, pick up Peter Golenbock's DYNASTY.

Peter, now living in Florida and stil writing about baseball, will tahnk you for that.

The 1934 season was Stengel's first in Brooklyn and he would last only 3 years there, never winning more games than he lost.

My dad was a first baseman and one day, Stengel walked over to him and asked.

"What's the matter with your arm, son?"

Dad had suffered a football injury and shoulder operations weren't done as a rule in 1934 as they are today.

In 1934, if you had a bad shoulder or arm, you stopped playing baseball and went to work.

You didn't have Tommy John surgery.

Dad knew it wasm't good that Stengel made one comment about his play on the field and a negative one at that.

Before the Dodgers began their lackluster season, Dad was cut and played minor league baseball.

So I guess you can say that Casey was one of the reasons why Dad never fulfilled his dream.

I wondered about Dad as a baseball player.

Over time, that wonder took on a life of its own.

GIFT TO MY DAD became a baseball story and Dad was a player still in his prime.

Once I saw him in uniform in my head, the movie in my mind took on a life of its own and GIFT TO MY DAD was born.

The rest of the story evolved around our love-hate relationship over the 50 years we were father and son.

Dad once told me a story and I will recall it here.

It is not currently in GIFT TO MY DAD, but I would like to see it in the one man show.

I can't wait until that very first performance.

I have delivered hundreds of motivational lectures, especially about my self-published best seller FIRE YOUR BOSS AND HIRE YOURSEF.

But there is something special about going on stage and talking about your Dad.

When Billy Crystal produced and starred in 700 SUNDAYS, the story of his relationship with his dad, I realized that my "DAD" book needed to be written.

And so the visualization and the story began.

Back to that story that Dad told me.

One day, my dad invited his Dad to come to the ballpark and see him play.

His Dad was born in Russia and came to America in 1903, eight years before my Dad was born.

Louis Tartikoff and his wife Maitey, came to America to live a better life than the anti semitism they lived under in Russia.

My Dad and his brother Arthur had the Tartikoff name legally changed in 1930, eighty years ago, to Tarde.

My greandfather never changed his name.

Word was that he feared that the Russian secret police would come over to this country and force him to return with them if he gave up his Russian name.

Tarde isn't a bad name.

My ex-wife likes it so much, she intends to keep it even if she remarries,

She's a story for another day, but we are still talking about my Dad here.

So dad invites my grandpa Louis to the ballpark and Dad comes up to take a few swings in the batiing cage before the game begins.

My Dad hits the first pitch over the center field fence, some 400 feet away.

Grandpa jumps to his feet, screaming like a madman.

"Way to go son, A home run!"

A fan grabs grandpa's suit jacket and tells him to sit down.

"Relax," old timer. It's only batting practice.

Grandpa is embarassed and sits down, as Dad looks up in the stands and shakes his head.

During the game, Dad puts a charge into a fastball and sends the ball in the very same flight as he did in pre game batting practice.

The ball again clears the outfield fence, smashing into one of the cars parked beyond the perimeter of the outfield wall.

The crowd goes wild, admiring the heruclean blast.

Grandpa sits silently.

As Dad rounds the bases, he sees that there is activity beyond home plate.

The fans are trying to get grandpa to his feet, so he can join in the applause.

As Dad crosses the plate and is engulfed by his teammates, grandpa shouts out.

"Son! When are you going to start the game!"

Dad must have had quite an intersting relationship with the man he called his Dad, born in 1884.

Each time I saw my dad talk to his Dad, it was yelling and screaming and little love that I could see.

That sets the scene for the story of my Dad and me, which is now the book known as GIFT TO MY DAD.

I hope I have included enough background that makes you want to read it.

If you do, someday soon you might see me speak about it in my one man show.

Come back to my blog and see where all of this goes.

It has been quite a ride, but in many ways the train has just left the station.......