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| Bonnie Barnes |
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| Marilyn Douglas |
Marilyn Douglas was in rough shape.
Her last attempt at cancer treatments had produced no results, and she had
finally come to the realization that this would be the last year of her life.
It was the first
week of September, 1974, a work week shortened by Labor Day on Monday and a
funeral on Friday. Yet another member from Marilyn’s circle of Middletown, Ohio
friends, Marjorie Driscoll, had just succumbed to cancer. A day prior to
Marjorie’s funeral, the terminal Marilyn Douglas was overcome by dread.
And then her very
best sporting pal, Bonnie Barnes, another 40-something housewife from
Middletown, was struck by inspiration.
“I didn’t think
she’d have had a good time going to that funeral,” said Bonnie, who was a
tennis star in her youth and had played on America’s biggest stage. “Then I
found out that Chris Evert was playing Evonne Goolagong in the semifinals of
the nationals at Forest Hills. So I thought—Wouldn’t that be something if we
could go see that? That would be something she’d love to do; I didn’t think
she’d have a good time going to that funeral.”
On Thursday of the
darkest week of Marilyn’s life, her pal Bonnie picked up the phone and offered some light. “I called Marilyn and I said—How about going to New York?”
"What?" replied Marilyn. "I’ll
call you back.”
Bonnie kept the
phone in her hand and punched the number to TWA, making reservations on
Friday’s first flight from Cincinnati to New York’s Laguardia airport, a mere five
miles north of the stately West Side Tennis Club, America’s
answer to Wimbledon. “I knew that my brother Barry MacKay would be able to get
us tickets.”
Moments later
Bonnie’s busy phone rang and she picked it up on the
first ring. It was Marilyn, her voice upbeat for the first time in years. “Yes,
I think I’ll do that.”
They didn’t have
much to pack, and getting up with the early rising sun, they drove across the
Ohio River to northern Kentucky and boarded TWA’s 727 for the ninety-minute
flight east. They found the first waiting taxi, and twenty minutes later they
had no trouble locating six foot three inch Barry MacKay, holding two precious
tickets to the best match in women’s tennis.
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| Chrissy and Evonne; Showdown in Queens |
Teen sensation
Chris Evert was the reigning Wimbledon champ, but Australia’s 23-year-old
Evonne Goolagong already possessed a Wimbledon and French title on her dossier.
This would be a showdown of the highest order, young tennis royalty battling it
out on the majestic stadium of the West Side Tennis Club. Threatening skies did
little to dampen the spirits of the two happiest fans on the pristine lawns of
Forest Hills.
Goolagong showed
no respect for the Wimbledon champ in the first set, embarrassing Evert with a
6-0 bagel to open the match. The Florida temptress had no answer for
Goolagong’s movement and clever placement. Up a break in the second set, it
appeared that the Aboriginal Australian would dismiss America’s tennis maiden
in straight sets in her native slam. And then the skies opened.
While an enormous
green and yellow tarp was stretched across the stadium court, the players
scrambled for cover, and Marilyn and Bonnie found themselves underneath the
cavernous stadium, in the deep shadows, riding out the storm together. To some
fans, a blowout match and a rain delay following a pricey flight on short sleep
would cause spirits to sag, but not for these two. Marilyn was never caught
without her sports database, and back in the 1970’s, data lived on print, of
which she carried plenty.
If you looked deep
enough into her shoulder bag you could find the full NFL Draft, the latest
Major League baseball transactions, and a periodical that she never left home
without.
“We found cover,
and sure enough, Marilyn dragged out her Daily Racing Form, which she always
carried with her,” said Bonnie, who happened to own a thoroughbred with a
penchant for upsets. They looked at the next day’s races, which happened to
feature Bonnie’s own filly Sarah Babe, who would be running in Kentucky. “She always
went off at good odds,” said Bonnie, who made a mental note to call her horsey friend
from Kentucky, George Smith.
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| America's Wimbledon, The Stately West Side Tennis Club |
With another half
hour to wait for the maintenance men to prep the court, the two women strolled the
grounds of the venerable West Side Tennis Club, with its open-air dining patio
overlooking the Grandstand court. That is where Bonnie had played Harlem sports
pioneer Althea Gibson more than a decade prior. “We walked around the clubhouse,” said Barnes.
“To think that I had played there before. That was a treat for me.”
When they returned
to the stadium for the resumption of match play, Goolagong had taken
one of her
characteristic “walkabouts,” and suffered a service break immediately. Back on
serve, Wimbledon champion Evert was tenacious, forcing a second set tiebreak
with her laser beam backhands down the line. She captured the tiebreak,
leveling a match that prior to the rain delay, appeared to be a foregone
conclusion.
Bonnie and Marilyn
leaned forward and fully absorbed the match of the tournament, the two
brightest lights in women’s tennis, battling on America’s grand stage. Leading
4-3 on serve in the ultimate set, Goolagong snuck into net and snared an easy
volley over the unsuspecting Evert, snatching the only break of the set. She held over
the demoralized Evert, and leapt for joy on the damp grass. The two young superstars
shook hands from across the net as the ladies from Cincinnati grabbed their
belongings.
Less than an hour
later Bonnie and Marilyn were having dinner on the TWA return flight, still
buzzing over the gripping match. Marilyn reached deep into her handbag and
pulled out that day’s sports section from the Cincinnati Enquirer. There on the
cover was a large picture of Reds pitching ace Don Gullet. Sparky Anderson's Reds would be
hosting the first place Dodgers, skippered by the flamboyant Tommy Lasorda, in a showdown for National League supremacy. Gullett (15-9) would be facing Dodgers’ stopper Don Sutton
(13-9) in a much-anticipated duel. Cincinnati trailed Los Angeles by three
games heading into a three-game series at Riverfront. Pennant fever gripped the
region, and it seemed that all of southern Ohio and northern Kentucky adored
the Reds, known nationally as the Big Red Machine.
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| Best of Enemies: Sparky Anderson and Tommy Lasorda |
Of all her sports
passions, baseball reigned supreme on the top of Marilyn’s chart. She and
Bonnie both saw the headline, looked up from the paper and made eye contact at
30,000 feet. This night would not be ending any time soon.
Marilyn had a
circle of well-connected baseball friends at home, and she made a bee-line for
the pay phone while Bonnie collected her car. They jumped into the wood-panel wagon, and seventeen
years before the film Thelma and Louise, these two women accelerated onto the
freeway, determined to live out their own adventure. Marilyn’s phone call paid
dividends at the box office, and they soon found their seats in the first deck,
behind home plate, smack dab in the middle of a pennant race. “We had a good
view,” said Bonnie. “We could see the whole game.”
The Reds had the most
dynamic major league lineup of the 1970’s: Rose, Morgan, Bench and Perez, with the flamboyant flamethrower Don Gullett on the mound. The hated Dodgers were in town
to settle the National League West once and for all. Bonnie looked for a hot
dog vendor while Marilyn settled down to the business at hand. She took out a
sharp pencil and began to fill out the lineups.
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| Murderers Row of MLB: Cincinnati's Big Red Machine |
“Marilyn loved the
Cincinnati Reds, and she loved to keep score,” said Bonnie, the memory still
fresh 43 years later. Marilyn grimaced as she shaded three Dodgers runs in her
scorecard, minutes after sitting down. The anti-Christ Steve Garvey had turned
around a Gullet fastball, depositing it 400 feet away into the bleachers, and
L.A. jumped to a 3-0 lead. But the Reds had a full nine innings to stage a
comeback, and these two friends would be cheering hard until the 27th
out.
The Reds pecked
away every inning at L.A.’s future Hall-Of-Fame pitcher Don Sutton, collecting
seven hits and three walks. In the third inning, the Reds dynamic second baseman Joe Morgan worked out a walk and then swiped second to ignite the locals. But Morgan expired on the basepaths, and as was so often the case in Sutton’s career, he
weaseled out of each jam through seven innings; the Reds stranded a whopping 15 runners this night. Marilyn dutifully filled out every hit, run, and error,
rooting intensely throughout this compelling contest. Finally, in the eighth
inning, it appeared that Sutton and the Dodgers had finally lost their grip.
Little known Reds
infielder Dan Driessen opened up the bottom of the 8th inning with his
second hit of the night, a line drive pulled to right field that cleared the fence, a
home run! Bonnie and Marilyn hugged amidst the revelry, as the Reds had shaved
the lead to 3-1. Marilyn got back to scribbling and shading her scorecard; it
would be a busy inning.
Reds centerfielder Cesar Geronimo singled, and Dodgers’
manager Lasorda had finally seen enough, signaling for his bullpen ace
Mike Marshall. Marilyn got it all down on paper, including a subsequent walk to
pinch hitter Terry Crowley, which brought the winning run to the plate in the
form of Ken Griffey. Marshall’s screwball confounded the elder Griffey, however, and
Marilyn etched in a backwards “K” in the designated scorebox, signaling a
called strike three to end the inning.
She
was lost in her work, health issues notwithstanding. Her scorecard meticulously
logged every movement unfolding on the diamond before her. It is impossible to
know if she sensed a parallel between her own life an that of her beloved team this night: both dealt a terrible blow much too early, both fighting on despite dire
circumstances.
In the bottom of
the 9th inning, Reds superstar Johnny Bench battled for 10 pitches
before being plunked on the arm, happy to trade a bruise for his ticket to first base. One-on
and one-out in the home team’s last frame. The Reds fans began clapping slowly,
in unison, trying to will another homer to tie the game.
Popular first
baseman Tony Perez would not be the hero this night, striking out for the
second time to bring the Reds to their last out. Up came Driessen, the hero from the last
inning. A 23-year-old from Hilton Head, South Carolina, Driessen was enjoying
his first season as a full time player with the Reds. He was nearly anonymous
in a lineup stocked with future Hall-of-Famers, but at this moment, all 51,000 fans
were pulling for this dark-skinned man from the deep south.
The Dodgers crafty
Marshall fed him a diet of screwballs, but Driessen kept fouling them off,
prolonging both his at-bat and the life of his team. On the twelfth pitch,
Driessen cued the ball along Riverfront’s synthetic turf. It appeared to pick
up speed as it bounded into left field between Dodgers shortstop Bill Russell and third baseman
Ron Cey. Bonnie and Marilyn joined the packed house in a spontaneous dance, jumping and jiving as the game had taken on new life. A
potential game-ending ground ball had escaped danger, and resulted in the tying
run on base.
Deep into a
September pennant chase, the home-town Reds were running out of games in which
to catch the Dodgers. A loss would expand LA’s lead and click off another
precious calendar date. Driessen’s gutsy plate appearance had halted the
clock, adding another at-bat to their game, and their season.
Up next was the
mercurial George Foster, the man who could swat a ball 500 feet in one instant,
and look helplessly overmatched the next. Sadly for the packed house
in Riverfront Stadium, on this appearance Foster was the latter. When he meekly
swung and missed at Marshall’s final offering, the Riverfront party abruptly ended. Bonnie
waited patiently for Marilyn to add up the totals and make her last scorecard entries. It was her last pennant race, and she would not leave before crossing
every t and dotting each i.
It was a somber
ride home for the two best friends, the morning adrenaline replaced by the pendulum swing of harsh
realities. It was midnight when Bonnie dropped off Marilyn at her home on
Fleming road. Their bond, already strong before this remarkable day, had
intensified. Bonnie walked her to the door, a full 18 hours after picking her
up.
“That was a pretty
good day Marilyn,” said Bonnie.
“It was wonderful,”
said Marilyn.
And with that
Bonnie returned to her car and drove home. She made one last mental note before
shutting her eyes on a night for the scrapbook.
When she woke up
at nine, she picked up her bedside phone, punching out a long distance number
she knew by heart. By two o’clock the results were in from the third race at
Latonia Park in northern Kentucky. Sarah Babe had won outright, at the long
odds that Marilyn had dug out of the Daily Racing Form during that rain delay
under the Forest Hills Stadium. Bonnie hadn’t forgotten to place bets for both
of them that morning. Although they didn’t need the affirmation, Marilyn and
Bonnie were winners that weekend, and every dollar spent on their sports
fantasy—the plane tickets, the cab fare, the meals and the baseball
tickets—were covered in full by their winnings at the track.
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| "Sarah Babe," Bonnie and Marilyn's Meal Ticket |
Marilyn Douglas
died of cancer 11 months later. The Make-A-Wish foundation would not be founded
for another five years, but its premise was fulfilled on that magical day in
1974. Instead of attending a funeral for a friend that was to be her destiny in
less than a year, Marilyn mingled with sports royalty in New York and lived
through a lusty pennant race in America’s heartland, all financed from
following up a hunch on a hot horse. Make-A-Wish, indeed.
