Talk:Tom Ferrick (baseball)

An e-mail from his son
After editing this article, I sent an e-mail to his son, Tom Ferrick. He sent me an e-mail in response containing the following information. I cannot add it to Ferrick's article, as it is unsourced, however, it is worth a read:

i made a $50 donation to wikipedia;s campaign to honor the work you did on my father;s biog.

it is a token payment, but just a way of saying thanks.

some additional detail:

my father was a child of poverty, born in the South Bronx in 1915, to a young mother. His father died in 1924. It is said from stomach cancer, though that it hard to confirm. He grew up in an extended Irish family headed by his grandfather, who worked for many years as a doorman at the Metropolitan Museum of Arts. My father had a younger brother, John, but as the eldest he was judged wild and sent to the seminary for high school (not uncommon in those days to send an 8th grader away.) I do not know how his talent for pitching was discovered. At one point, in the early 30's, the Yankees wanted to sign him and his uncles (some of whom were only 10 years old than him) refused. He was below the age of 18 and so he had to comply.

But, the minute he did turn 18, he signed with the Giants.

they sent him south to minor league teams and he performed extremely well as a starting pitcher. Then, he injured his shoulder. Whether it was from over use from a manager or for other reasons, he never did say.

I so remember, very late in his life, him telling me a story about how he was named player of the year at one of his southern minor league teams (this could have been virginia or mississippi) and the reward was that they passed around a cigar box and people tossed in coins to reward the player.

After all the money was collected, my father sat on the side of the field and counted it and realized they had collected enough for him to take a bus home, to New York, to be with his twice-widowed mother. I don't know much much it was. the folks in the stands were as poor as the player.

But, they threw their dimes and nickels into the box to honor him.

And it made his trip north possible.

He remembers this when he was 82, in a nursing home, when the trap door on his memory suddenly opened in the week before he died.

they were different days for baseball

Again, thanks for your efforts in improving the biog.

TF — Preceding unsigned comment added by 71.3.221.58 (talk) 21:02, 8 January 2012 (UTC)