My favorite memory of Mike goes back to the years whenl Mike junior my son Ford were maybe seven or eight years old. It ws a hot, August morning in Park Slope and Mike, Mimi Margaret and I were looking at a long day with two rambunctious kids and nothing planned. Maybe a cookout somewhere later. Time was moving very slowly. The boys wanted to know what was happening. Mike looked up and said, "Hey let's go to Boston and see the Red Sox game." My thought was, sure maybe ,someday; you have to make plans, make time, pick a date, and anyway weren't all the tickets at Fenway Park aways sold out before a weekend game? Mike gave me one of his 'are you kidding me' looks, then a big smile. "No, Matt," he said. "Today's game."He looked at his watch. "If we leave now, we can get there before the game starts.'' As a midwesterner from Cleveland, New York and Boston were worlds apart, a major trip. To Miike, Boston was still right around the corner. We piled into the Corcoran's station wagon and were on our way. I remember a very dream-like ,quite ride (rare with Mike Junior and Ford in the ca). Soon, Mike was navigating the small streets around the ball park, finding a parking spot and leading us through a back gate into the dark underpinnings of the stadium. He soon scored for some tickets and led us to our seats a coupe of rows back in the center of the bleachers. Good sets, really, at tiny Fenway Park. I'll never forget seeing that beautiful blast of, green, sun-lit lawn as we cam up and took our seats. We all felt on top of the world. It urned out to be an old-timer's game. One of the featured old timers was Bob Feller, who was the star pitcher of the ClevelandI Indians when they won the world series in 1948. I am 15 years older than Mike, and it tickled him when I told him hat I had been present as a six year old at one of those games and seen feller pitch. As I told Mike about my memories, I remembered a souvenir my father had bought me at the game: a leather wallet with Bob Feller's figure in full high- leg- kick windup embossed in color on the leather. And there was Feller now, tipping his hat at home plate. I could feel the texture of the wallet, lost to me many year ago. II'll always thank Mike, who brought it and my father alive in my memory a second time. .