I remember the first time I went to Fenway Park in Boston with my father to see a Red Sox game. I had watched many games on television, but those of us “of a certain age” remember what televisions were like in 1965 with foil-wrapped rabbit-ear antennas, bulbous black-and-white picture tubes, and fuzzy pictures. When Dad and I came out of the tunnel into the sunshine at Fenway, the outfield grass was the greenest I had ever seen. I was dazzled.
Editor’s note: Part 1 of this series appeared in the June 2021 issue of The Diapason, pages 18–19; part 2 appeared in the July 2021 issue, pages 12–14.