MAXIUM LEROY LAPLANTE 1932-2010

Dear Spike:

Your great grandfather died last Thursday. I’ve sat down every night since then to write you this letter and have not gotten further than a few words.

But maybe tonight is the night.

•••

When I was nine years old, my grandfather took me to the Major League Baseball All Star Game at the Oakland Coliseum. We sat on the first base line, just behind the dugout, one row up from where Hall of Famer Leo Durocher was sitting.

Papa recognized him right away.

“Hey,” he told me. “See that guy right there? They call him ‘Leo The Lip.’”

He exchanged a few kind words with the salty old manager, who shook my hand and gave me an autograph.

That’s about all I remember from the game, which went 12 scoreless innings before Tim Raines hit a two-run triple for the National League in the top of the 13^th inning to end the marathon.

At least, that’s what I read in the newspaper the next day. We left after the 11^th inning, perhaps because Papa caught me nodding off in my chair.

We took the train home, unwittingly got off at the wrong stop, and spent the next hour wandering around the parking lot looking for our car.

All in all, it was a rather unspectacular night, but Papa never got tired of retelling the tale. And over time I’ve come to think of that day as one of the best days of my life, because I’ve come to understand, as your grandfather always did, that it’s not what you do, but who you do it with, that is most important in life.

•••

When you were just a few months old, your great grandparents drove out from California for a visit. As was his habit, Papa had made sure he knew exactly where the nearest Catholic church was — and had the route mapped out so that he could make sure not to be late for Sunday mass.

As luck would have it, the nearest Catholic church to our home is the Cathedral of the Madeline, a 100-year-old Gothic and Romanesque marvel so awe-inspiring that it sometimes makes me wish I was Catholic — which, of course, is the point.

We arrived early and took a place in the back pew. After a few moments, a priest approached and made some small talk with your great papa, who was holding you in his arms.

“Are you Catholic?” he asked.

He needed someone to carry the sacraments to the alter, and he asked your papa to do it.

I’ve never seen a man so proud as he was when he walked, along with you and your mother, down the center aisle of that beautiful church. It was the best gift you could have possibly given to him, and you didn’t even know you were doing it.

•••

Your Great Papa was a good man. He was smart and he was brave. He was funny and he was tough.

He loved a good story. And in lieu of a good story, he’d just tell whatever story came to mind.

He was a kind and decent man.

And he loved you very, very much.

Love,

dad