When I was a kid…we had a daffy WWII vet who sold the “number”-fueled Daily News outside a wonderfully filthy go-go bar. One night a drunk cabbie ran him over flatline. He was never replaced.
As a kid one of my daily destinations was the entry into our subdivision at the corner of Hoover Avenue and whatever that length of Cherry Street was called that week (Bella Vista?). There, every morning, no matter the weather — rain, snow, sleet or sun-drenched — I found a new gift to unwrap. I could count on it being something different every time I went. Sometimes it would contain a surprise or two. And, as I opened this present each day, I knew it would contain exactly what I wanted.
On that corner was, of course, a street box with that day’s newspaper.
...The box scores were better.
As a boy, I clipped box scores — mostly just Yankees box scores — and pasted them into a spiral notebook, one for each season. I would also clip the standings and jot little notes in the margins about the schedule ahead (“Need to win in LA!”) or hitting streaks (“Kevin Maas homers again!”). My diligent clipping lost its zeal each season as the Yankees faded from the race, and it was rare that I clipped a box score after the standings showed they were “eliminated.”
...The newspapers that stood sentry here have retreated, surrendering the corner.
The box that opened up to a career is gone.
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