Walter worked across the street from Murph’s corner bar.

When he first started working there, the bar was called Mertz’s and Walter only went there for lunch once in awhile. When Murph bought the bar he left the big Mertz’s sign up for a while out of respect for Mertz. Then he really like the way the M looked so he just painted over the ertz and painted in an urph.

Now Walter was at Murph’s just about everyday.

Got there about 11:40 most days, ordered the special usually, or a grilled chicken sandwich. And of course the beer. Michelob on tap, in small glasses. Everyday, just about.

Walter didn’t make it back to work at lot of times these days. Sometimes he just made it back for an hour. He was still a great worker though, and somehow got to work everyday at 7:00. Nobody could be trained to do what he did, when he retired the company was going to have to shell out some big bucks for a fancy new computer system to do what Walter did, so they tolerated him, looked the other way.

And if you saw Walter between 7 AM and 11:30 you would never know. He was always ready to help, taught all the youngsters there on their first job the ins and outs. But if they saw him in the afternoon, they knew that’s when Walt needed his space, no questions at that time please.

Wasn’t always like that. Walt went to the Mets games with the wife and daughter or watched them on TV; WOR, then WWOR with that smug McCarver, then got a cable hook up for MSG. Then the daughter got married and moved west. The wife got the big C. She went quick. Walt missed her something awful. Then he started going to Murph’s.

Kid behind the bar tried to meter the beers out at first; he thought Walt might be a problem. But after a while he got to know him and he took care of him. Kept the small glasses coming, buying him back until he would put the last one up which Walt would sip once then announce its time to leave.

But a lot of days, he didn’t hit the beers too heavy. Kid was also a Mets fan and he liked to ask Walt about the old teams, the players he heard about. A few of the other regulars would always tilt an ear and ask questions. Walt knew the game, he knew the team. Coached some softball for his daughter, she was a hell of player.

So this day he sat at the bar just sipping and got a bag of chips which he tore open first at the top, then down the side and picked the chips up one by one. Did it that way so his fingers wouldn’t get all greasy and crumby.

Kid wanted to know about Seaver, saw this was a good day so asked.

“What do you want to know?” asked Walt. Kid wanted to know why they traded him to the Reds.

“That’s a short story” Walt started “so I’ll tell the real story about Mr. George Thomas Seaver, the way I remember it, if you start increasing the buying back action here, getting’ a little cheap in your old age”

“Here you go Walt, you know I always take care of you”

“Seaver was the best reason to be a Met fan. Not just a great pitcher but a great competitor, the guy always wanted to win, it oozed out of him. Guy like that you sometimes wish was a position player, Centerfielder or Shortstop with all that fire.

But man he could pitch. Back when pitchers were pitchers and the only guy that got Tommy John surgery was Tommy John. He took the ball and didn’t want to give it up until the game was over.

Today, the pitchers don’t even toe the rubber any more, up there doin’ some kind of pirouette barely scratching the mound. Seaver would dig a hole against the rubber and push off with those big legs of his and get really low. He’d scrape his right knee against the mound, have a dirt patch there.

What movement on the pitches. Late movement, everything fast. Came from his hands, huge for a man his height. There were games that you wouldn’t even see foul balls against him, he was that good.

Went 25-7 in ’69, got one fourth of his teams 100 wins. After they win the World Series, he negotiates his contract for the 1970 season himself. $80,000 for one year, seems unbelievable now, but its true. Ollie Perez gets $12 mil a year, makes my head explode.

I was a kid then, read it in the Daily News. My Dad brought it home everyday. It probably taught me how to read. Loved the baseball stories. No computers then, no Metsblog, no instant gratification like you have today. Everybody sending out a tweet everytime a player farts.

Read the game story the next day, then read the Dick Young column. In the winter I read his column first, then just started to read it first all the time. The inside scoop, stuff you never hear other places. Simple to the point writing, gotta admit I really couldn’t wait to read it everyday.

Then in 1977 Dick Young wrote the column about Seaver. Said some stuff about his wife and family. You didn’t know if it was true or not, but you had to figure Seaver was going to be pissed when he read it.

Then before you could think about it again, there he was tearing up on TV at a press conference. June 15, 1977. Can’t believe I still followed the team after that.”

The room was quiet for a while.

“Sorry Walt, here’s another beer”

“No Thanks Kid, I gotta go, I owe someone a visit. Take care”

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