I Was the Messenger!

Tuesday, October 4, 1955.

Eighth grade class. Early afternoon.
None of the boys paid attention
to the teacher. The seventh game
of the World Series at Yankee Stadium
was on TV and we were sitting in class
in a cloud of unknowing.
All of us were Dodger fans.

I remember the teacher was annoyed—
boys were whispering among themselves.
She said, “What’s the problem?”
Someone said, “We want to know
who won the World Series.”

“Okay, we need a volunteer
to go to the office and find out.”

Every boy raised his hand.
I was seated in the front row because
my last name was first in the alphabet.
She picked me.
I grabbed the hall pass and took off running.

I was the messenger!

Five minutes later,
I burst through the classroom door
with the great news,
“The Dodgers won 2-0!
Dodgers are world champs!”

Every boy and some of the girls
jumped up and cheered.
After losing to the Yankees
four times since 1947,
Brooklyn finally won.

I remember taking personal credit
for this splendid turn of events,
as if it was me
who drove in the two runs
and pitched the 8-hit shutout.
Everyone was happy,
jumping up and down,
and I was the one who brought the joy.