Bonnie and Marilyn

                       

Bonnie Barnes

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 27^th 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 8^th 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 9^th 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.

"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.