I wasn’t taken by surprise when Tom’s alarm rang at 4:00am on Friday June 9, 2023. I was shocked, however, when my photographer got his large carcass off the bed and into action without any hesitation. The reason for his high-octane enthusiasm that morning wasn’t because of his highly anticipated breakfast feed bag at Chet’s Diner, although the two of us knew the food at the small family-owned diner was considered some of the best in Massachusetts. Tom’s excitement was caused by two words – “The Bird”. As a matter of fact, before we left the hotel, my photographer put on his Detroit Tigers windbreaker and popped a hat on his head that featured the Old English ‘D’. Even Bob Moldenhauer got into the spirit of the morning when he unveiled his Detroit Tigers tee-shirt.
During the six-mile drive from our hotel near Westborough to Chet’s Diner in Northborough, Tom and Bob talked about their memories of Detroit Tigers pitcher Mark “The Bird” Fidrych. Although I wasn’t yet a sparkle in Warren Royal’s eyes in 1976, I’ve heard the stories over and over again about my two companions being in the seats at Tiger Stadium for a majority of Fidrych’s 18 home starts that season. As a rookie, Mark Fidrych set the baseball world on fire – not only with his amazing pitching style, but with his on-field antics and charisma as well. During his starts, the tall and lanky right-hander pranced around the mound after every out; he talked to the ball; and at the start of a new inning, Fidrych “manicured” the pitcher’s mound while on his hands and knees. While the Tigers were a horrible baseball team in 1976, “The Bird” finished the season with a 19-9 record, he was the American League’s starting pitcher for the All-Star Game, and he nearly edged out Jim Palmer for the Cy Young Award, which Fidrych would’ve easily won had the Tigers been an overall better team. Every time I listen to Tom and Bob discuss “The Bird’s” amazing rookie season, they always bring up the attendance figures for the 1976 Tigers home games, which they played a part in. During games when Fidrych didn’t start on the mound, the Tigers averaged only 13,843 fans. However, when “The Bird” was scheduled to pitch at home, the Tigers averaged 33,649 people in the seats, including Tom and Bob for most of those 18 games in Detroit.
Even though Fidrych suffered a knee injury during Spring Training in 1977, which eventually led to a shoulder issue that cut his career short and prevented him from ever regaining his rookie season success, “The Bird” has been my photographer’s favorite Detroit player since 1976. For over three decades, Tom basked in the glory of what might have been had Fidrych not been injured; or had Ralph Houk and the Tigers front office not abused “The Bird” for the sake of money. Then, on April 13, 2009, my photographer was at work in St. Clair when he heard over the radio that Fidrych was killed on his farm in Northborough at the age of 54. Every time I listen to him tell the story about that tragic day in 2009, I hear the sadness in his voice as Tom describes how he was celebrating his favorite President’s 266th birthday around noon; then later that afternoon, my photographer heard a news bulletin come over the radio that reported his favorite all-time Tiger was gone. Even now, fourteen years later, Tom can still feel the emptiness in the pit of his stomach when he thinks about that tragic day.
Seven years after Mark Fidrych passed away, a documentary about the colorful pitcher was broadcast over cable television and my cameraman didn’t miss it. That show, called ‘MLB Network Presents: The Bird’, not only brought back a flood of great memories for my photographer, but it also gave him his first look at Chet’s Diner, along with Fidrych’s widow, Ann, and his daughter Jessica. Most of the hour-long show was filmed at Chet’s while a handful of folks, including Ann and Jessica, interacted with the camera as they watched a replay of “The Bird’s” nationally televised victory over the Yankees on June 28, 1976. From that moment on, Tom had set his sights on visiting that small diner in Northborough where he hoped to meet the late pitcher’s family in person. My photographer and I, along with Tom’s wife Vicki, finally made our first trip to Chet’s in 2020, but the place was closed due to the Covid pandemic. Then at 5:30am, on a humid Friday morning three years later, Tom, Bob Moldenhauer, and I arrived in the parking lot of Chet’s – and it was open for business.
Chet’s Diner has been in the same location along Main Street, also known as Route 20, since it was opened by Chet Warren on July 2, 1931. Over the years, the diner has changed owners a couple of times until James and Nancy Pantazis bought the place in 1960, and it’s remained in their family ever since. The Pantazis’ daughter Ann married Mark Fidrych in 1986 and a year later Jessica was born. Following his retirement from baseball, “The Bird” often helped out at the diner on weekends, while his wife eventually took over ownership from her mother. In 2010, a little over a year after her father tragically died, Jessica Fidrych became the third generation of the Pantazis family to own Chet’s Diner.
The moment Tom carried me inside the diner, I noticed a sign hanging next to the side exit door that read: ‘Prices subject to change according to customer’s attitude.’ I figured the ownership either had a great sense of humor or my camera guy better run for the nearest ATM machine. I also saw a few patrons who were already enjoying their breakfast, although they were at tables and not seated on the dozen or so bar stools at the counter. Then I saw her, a younger woman standing at the griddle just behind the well-worn original Formica countertop where the three of us sat. When Tom asked her if she was Jessica Fidrych, the girl answered “yes” without turning around or breaking her well-choreographed cooking style.
As Jessica stood at the griddle and cracked eggs, flipped pancakes, dipped French toast, and chopped veggies with a style that would make Guy Fieri envious, Tom told her we had come all the way from Michigan to eat breakfast at Chet’s and to meet her. When my photographer added he and Bob were at Tiger Stadium for nearly every home game her dad pitched in 1976, and that “The Bird” was his all-time favorite Tigers player, the young Fidrych barely broke a wry smile. But that wasn’t because Jessica was unsociable, it was due to the fact she’s the only cook in the place and her customers needed to be fed. But when Tom mentioned the MLB Network documentary that featured her dad and how the show brings tears to his eyes every time he watches it, Jessica stopped and engaged in the conversation. Although most of the MLB documentary was filmed inside the diner, the young Fidrych said she felt at home with her family and friends there, even though parts of the show became very difficult to shoot because it brought back such painful memories of losing her dad. It had been over 14 years since that horrible accident claimed the life of Mark Fidrych, and I could tell the pain of losing her dad was still fresh in Jessica’s heart. I could see it in her eyes, and that broke my resin heart as well.
From my position on the countertop, where I stood between my photographer’s French Toast platter and Mongo’s plate filled with a Super Omelet, I overheard Tom tell his friend that Jessica reminded him of “The Bird”. Not only did she have her father’s infectious smile, but she bounced around the griddle the same way Fidrych circled the pitcher’s mound after he struck out an opposing hitter. Jessica also seemed to possess the same spit-fire confidence, and carefree attitude that were some of her dad’s finest traits while he sported the Old English ‘D’ uniform in Detroit. But most importantly, Jessica never missed an opportunity to greet one of the regulars by name when they walked through the door of her diner; just like “The Bird” was never too busy, or too famous, to sign an autograph or shake someone’s hand at the stadium.
When my companions finished eating their breakfast, Bob complimented Jessica on the “best omelet I’ve ever had”, while Tom told her about him and Bob being at the same Elton John concert as her dad in 1976. A huge smile appeared on young Fidrych’s face when my photographer recounted how the sold-out crowd at Pontiac Stadium went wild when a message popped up on the scoreboard that read: ‘Pontiac Stadium Welcomes The Bird’. Tom laughed and said Elton’s show was one of the best concerts he’s ever seen, but Ol’ Captain Fantastic didn’t cause the same thunderous ovation “The Bird” had – and “we only saw his name, we didn’t see him”. My photographer finished the story by saying: “That’s the impact your dad had on everyone in Michigan in 1976. He was a great baseball player, but he was more than that in our eyes. Your dad was the biggest rock star in the world to us.”
When Jessica Fidrych heard the passion in Tom’s voice and saw the emotion in his eyes, she disappeared into a back room and came out with a pair of books for my companions. She said the coloring books were created in 1996 and featured the story of her dad’s first Major League victory. The moment became even more special when my photographer asked Jessica to sign his book. I laughed to myself when Jessica replied in her thick New England accent: “You want my autograph? I’ve never signed an autograph before in my life.” I agreed with Tom – Jessica was very much like her father; just a regular person who didn’t see themselves as anything special. But to the three of us, Jessica Fidrych was very special. After all, she was “The Baby Bird”.
When we walked out of Chet’s Diner at 6:20am, my photographer left with more than a full stomach and a coloring book. Tom had a bounce in his step and a huge smile on his face after meeting Jessica Fidrych, the only child of his favorite all-time Detroit Tigers player. I had to admit, I was spellbound by his stories about “The Bird” as well, even if those tales were nearly five decades old. In my opinion, and I know my photographer and Bob would agree, a statue of Fidrych should be erected at Comerica Park and his Number 20 should be retired to honor the once-in-a-lifetime rock star ballplayer affectionately known as “The Bird”.
We left Massachusetts behind as we made our way towards Rhode Island and the ‘Sailing Capital of the World’ known as Newport. My photographer and I last visited Newport in July 2017, but Tom and Bob hadn’t been to that city together since their Declaration of Independence Tour in 1991. While I had already visited a few of our scheduled sites six years earlier, there were a couple of places on our agenda, including our first stop, that had my head wiggling with excitement.
After Tom drove through downtown Newport, we headed south past numerous mansions, the beautiful harbor, and a yacht club that was chock-full of rich people’s sail boats. And when I say rich, Newport was once the childhood stomping grounds of Jacqueline Lee Bouvier, the young woman who married Senator John F. Kennedy in the town’s historic Catholic Church. But our first stop had nothing to do with JFK or Jackie, but instead was a site associated with Kennedy’s predecessor, Dwight Eisenhower.
When my photographer stopped our Explorer on a section of grounds within Fort Adams State Park, he carried me up to a very impressive three-story Victorian mansion that featured a wraparound porch. It turned out the mansion was built in 1873 and was once used as the commandant’s residence at Fort Adams. But in August 1958, when President Eisenhower came to Newport for a summer vacation, Ike, Mamie and his entire entourage moved into what became known as Eisenhower’s Summer White House. Ike spent parts of two summers in the home, first in 1958 and again in 1960, and not just for the view or to hang out with rich people. Eisenhower was an avid golfer, albeit a poor golfer, and the commandant’s residence was just down the road from the exquisite Newport Country Club.
Although the historic house wasn’t open for tours during our visit, Tom and Bob spent over twenty minutes walking the grounds, while I spent some time on the porch posing for pictures. On most weekends during the summer, the Eisenhower House is used for public and social events, including weddings and receptions. I think if Royal Bobbles ever created a Sally Hemmings bobble head, I would consider getting married in Newport, Rhode Island myself.
I like Ike, and I also liked our visit to his ‘Summer White House’ at Fort Adams State Park. But there was another mansion in the neighborhood that was once used as a ‘Summer White House’ as well, and that was the Hammersmith Farm located just a ‘Happy Gilmore tee shot’ from Eisenhower’s place. Although I was able to get a close look at Ike’s place, there was no possible way of getting anywhere near the privately owned Hammersmith Farm, unless of course, the three of us trespassed with the likelihood of going to jail.
When Tom pulled the Explorer off to the side of Harrison Avenue, we could see the historic childhood home of Jacqueline Bouvier in the distance. Even though the front of the mansion was partially obscured by tall trees, we could still see some of the 28-room main house as it rose up above the fenced pastures where young Jackie rode her horses.
In 1940, when Jackie was 11 years old, her mother divorced “Black Jack” Bouvier and married Standard Oil heir Hugh Auchincloss, Jr. who owned several estates, including the Hammersmith Farm. Following Jackie’s marriage to Senator John F. Kennedy on September 12, 1953 at St. Mary’s Catholic Church in Newport, the newlywed’s wedding reception was held at the Hammersmith Farm. During their time as President and First Lady, JFK and Jackie returned to Newport and used the Auchincloss estate as their ‘Summer White House’. In late September 1961, President Kennedy signed his historic Peace Corps Act while in the main house. Two years later, on September 21, 1963, JFK spent his final weekend ever in the state of Rhode Island – the President was assassinated in Dallas just two months later.
Not wanting to risk being arrested, shot at, or chased by dogs, Tom had me stand on the short stone fence along Harrison Avenue where I saw the historic mansion and Jackie’s horse pastures directly behind me. As I posed with the Hammersmith Farm in the distance, I wondered whether or not the mansion, and its grounds, would ever be open to the public again like they were in 1991 when Tom and Bob last visited the farm.
Once we had finished our haphazard visit to the Hammersmith Farm where we couldn’t get anywhere close to the grounds where John and Jackie Kennedy’s wedding reception took place, the three of us headed for the church where their nuptials were held on September 12, 1953. However, on our way from one JFK site to another, Tom insisted we stop and pay tribute to a Frenchman who had a great view of Newport harbor.
In 1934, a monument was erected in Newport’s King Park that honored General Jean-Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, comete de Rochambeau, a key commander of the French forces who helped the Continental Army defeat the British in the Revolutionary War. Without the aid of the French, there’s a very good chance the Americans would’ve lost the war and we’d have the Queen’s ugly mug on our money instead of the Presidents. When Tom set me on the statue of Rochambeau, I not only had a great view of Newport Harbor and all of the rich people in their sail boats, but I also thought about Thomas Jefferson who had introduced the French fry to America.
The three of us had visited a handful of sites on that Friday morning, all the way from Northborough, Massachusetts to Newport, Rhode Island, and it was only 9:15am when we arrived at St. Mary’s Catholic Church where the Kennedy’s were married. When a lot of people travel, they are barely awake and out of their hotel rooms by nine o’clock. Then those same people visit one site before they sit down for lunch and maybe one site before they sit down to dinner, and then it’s time for them to get to another hotel. But thankfully, that’s not how Tom, Bob, or I roll!
The wedding ceremony of Senator John Fitzgerald Kennedy and Jacqueline Lee Bouvier on September 12, 1953, which was held in the majestic brownstone church in front of me, became as close to a British Royal Wedding as had ever been held in America before or since. Well, everyone was led to believe the wedding was the beginning of Camelot. It turned out Jackie wanted a small wedding, and she planned on wearing a modern French wedding dress that better suited her figure. But the conniving, authoritarian, manipulative, Hitler worshipping groom’s father, aka Joseph Kennedy, Sr., had other plans. The sinister elder Kennedy dictated the wedding would be a grand spectacle and the publicity would get his son one step closer to the White House. Thanks to Nazi Joe, the small ceremony featured 20 people in the wedding party, 800 invited guests inside St. Mary’s Church, and 1,200 people were invited to the reception. And as far as the design of Jackie’s wedding gown? Ol’ Joe had the final say on that as well. At one point, Jackie confided to a friend that she “felt like a lampshade” in the gown, but since the groom’s old man was footing the entire bill for the wedding, she went along with everything Joe said – including marrying his son who continued to see other women throughout their courtship.
As I stood in front of the double wooden battened door at the west porch entrance of the church, it was as though I could see Senator and Mrs. John F. Kennedy emerge from the building following their wedding ceremony. Smiles enlightened their faces, although JFK’s face was a bit scratched from a trademark Kennedy touch football game he had played the previous day. As I looked at the two newlyweds amongst the throng of people gathered outside the church, it was easy to see both had genuine feelings for each other. However, in their hearts and behind the scenes, both JFK and Jackie knew they weren’t ready for marriage, at least to each other. But thanks to Nazi Joe, the show went on as he had planned; and America’s Camelot had begun.
When I last visited St. Mary’s Parish on July 17, 2017, my photographer opened the two west entrance doors and we walked unescorted into the historic church where I posed for a handful of photos. But this time, when Bob tried to open those same doors, they were locked shut. Mongo also tried the north entrance as well, but he ended up with the same results. When both attempts to gain access to the front of the church failed, the three of us headed east on William Street with the hopes of finding an opened door at the rear of the building. After we passed the rectory, which had postings on the door to not disturb the occupants, we made our way around the garage area and found a large, stone building that turned out to be St. Mary’s School. At first, Bob discovered the entrance door to the school was locked; that is, until he pushed an intercom button. As if by Devine intervention, the door magically unlocked, and we walked inside the building. Our unbelievable and incredible luck seemed to still be with us. The three of us went up and down several sets of stairs with the goal of finding another human being who might guide us into the church, but we saw no one. As we stood near what appeared to be a kitchen, Mongo said aloud: “Somebody buzzed us into this building. Wouldn’t you think same person would investigate to see what the strangers were doing wandering around the place?” At one point, after nearly ten minutes of the “blind leading the blind” around the interior of the school, we ended up in an outdoor courtyard where we saw what seemed to be the back of the church. Unfortunately, with no way of gaining access to the historic place of worship where the Kennedy’s were married, the three of us knew it was the end of the road.
When we arrived back at the Explorer, which was parked along Bellevue Avenue in front of the International Tennis Hall of Fame, we noticed the sky had grown dark and there was an obvious threat of rain in the vicinity. Although we had finished our Presidential sites in Newport, we still had one place of interest left to visit – the grave of William Ellery, located in a historic cemetery known as the Common Burying Ground. It took roughly ten minutes for us to make the one-mile journey to the cemetery, and that was due to road construction in downtown Newport. However, once we finally got to the location along Farewell Street where Tom figured we could enter the cemetery, more construction equipment had blocked the gated entrance. We needed to find another way to get onto the burial grounds and we had to find it quickly as raindrops began to hit the windshield of our vehicle.
Tom drove us around the block in search of an alternate entrance, which was when Bob got directions from a groundskeeper working in the adjacent Newport Island Cemetery. The worker’s verbal instructions were perfect, and we finally got into the pair of burial grounds just as the rain fell harder. The Common Burying Ground was established in 1640 and features the largest number of colonial era headstones in the country. As a matter of fact, it also boasts the largest number of colonial African American headstones in the country as well, which was known by the locals as “God’s Little Acre”. With over 5,000 graves in the side-by-side burial grounds, we needed to find only one – and that turned out to be a bit more difficult than we had first anticipated. Then, out of nowhere, I heard my two companions say in near-unison: “There’s Ellery’s grave over there – I see the iron fence around the plot.” We made it, even though the journey had a few bumps in the road. While we weren’t able to park very close to the gravesite, it did stop raining just as Tom carried me towards the fence-enclosed plot. Good fortune was once again on our side, or at least we thought it was.
So, who was William Ellery and why did Tom feel the need to have me stand on his grave? Ellery was a local lawyer, merchant, and then became involved as a clerk in the legislature of the Colony of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. But when statesman Samuel Ward died on March 26, 1776, William Ellery took Ward’s seat in the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. Not only did William Ellery sign the Declaration of Independence on August 2, 1776, his signature was penned very large on the document as well. As a matter of fact, only John Hancock’s famous signature was intentionally signed larger. The D of I was not Ellery’s only claim to fame, however, as the Newport native also signed the Articles of Confederation in November 1777. The funny thing was, at least to me, dipping his pen into an ink well wasn’t William Ellery’s only talent – he fathered a total of 17 children during his two marriages, which was second only to Signer Carter Braxton’s 18 kids. When our nation’s Founding Father William Ellery passed away at the age of 92 on February 15, 1820, only four of his colleagues survived him. They were William Floyd (died on August 4, 1821), Thomas Jefferson, John Adams (both died on July 4, 1826), and Charles Carroll, who was the last surviving Signer when he died on November 14, 1832.
As the three of us stood outside the iron fence that guarded the Ellery family plot, I heard Bob say something to my photographer that really hit home. He said: “You know, the last time you and I were here together was in June 1991 and we were only in our early 30s. We’ve made it back, but now we’re in our late 60s. Nearly all of our entire adult lives have gone by between the two visits – it sure makes you stop and put things into perspective.”
Unlike when they visited in ’91, the iron gate to the Ellery plot was locked, which made it very difficult for my photographer to set me on the Signer’s sarcophagus. But he did; Tom took the chance and reached through the iron bars of the fence as he carefully set me onto the grave marker, even though the surface was slippery from the recent rain shower. Had I slipped and fallen off the marker, or had my photographer accidently dropped me, my days of travelling to Presidential sites may have come to a screeching halt.
During our longer-than-anticipated visit to the Common Burying Ground, we had dodged the raindrops at the grave of William Ellery in Newport, Rhode Island. Throughout our entire visit, some of the wetness on Ellery’s sarcophagus was caused by my tears, not by the precipitation. The Sacred Signer was the consummate Patriot, having spent most of his later years of life dedicated to the fight for liberty. And what did he get for his efforts? The British didn’t forget Newport’s native son had signed the Declaration of Independence – in December 1776, British soldiers seized the town and burned Ellery’s family home to the ground. Even after the soldier’s vengeful and merciless act, Ellery didn’t stop serving our new nation. After he borrowed money from friends to help pay his expenses, William Ellery continued to serve in Congress. While most important people travelled by carriage during those times, Ellery preferred to travel by horse – which was how he earned the nickname “Congressman on Horseback”. William Ellery rode around the countryside as he visited his constituents, all the while he continued his unsuccessful quest to end slavery in the new nation.
It was twenty minutes past the hour of ten o’clock and time for us to get out of Dodge in our Ford. As Tom drove over the scenic Newport Bridge, which is 11,247 feet in length and is the longest suspension bridge in New England, we were afforded a final panoramic look at the city where JFK was married. As a matter of fact, while we traversed over the span, Bob tried unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of the historic Hammersmith Farm where the Kennedy’s wedding reception was held.
In my mind, I figured we had seen the last of the JFK sites for the day, and maybe for the entire trip. But little did I know, I was being taken to school that afternoon – the private Choate prep school attended by young John Kennedy from 1931 until he graduated in 1935. As we neared the end of our 100-mile drive from Newport to Wallingford, Connecticut, the sky had once again become ominous, and the threat of rain was a definite possibility. Would we get drenched at Choate? Would I be forced to stand in the future President’s muddy footsteps at JFK’s school? Come rain or shine, I knew I’d rather be a mucker than a mudder – and maybe, just maybe, I’d end up on the cover of the Rolling Stone!
** THIS POST IS DEDICATED TO JESSICA FIDRYCH FOR TAKING THE TIME TO LISTEN TO MY PHOTOGRAPHER’S GOOFY STORIES, AND FOR BEING SO MUCH LIKE HER FATHER. **
Our breakfast at Chet’s Diner was amazing and it was fun to see/hear your interaction with Jessica. Once she served all of the very early morning customers, she was very gracious and accommodating, posing for the picture and getting the Mark Fidrych books for you. I know how long you had waited for this day and how excited you were to finally meet Jessica, and you were not disappointed. Neither was I!*
It was wonderful to be back in Newport, RI with you. Not getting into the church was certainly disappointing and I cannot believe that we couldn’t find anyone who would let us in.
I cannot believe that it was 32 years ago that we had been there together! But the boys were back in town.
I can’t wait to find out what happens at Choate School!
*I wonder if Jessica played softball!
Oh, that’s right, I forgot about the softball comment…she bristled when I asked her if she played sports in high school. hahahaha All in all, it was an amazing visit. I should’ve asked if she talked to her spatula before whipping up a batch of pancakes!