I never met my grandfather, James McGough, as he died 20 years before I was born. But as much as an ancestor I’ve never met could be, he has been an influence on me, and lately, on my writing. He spent the majority of his career as a homicide prosecutor in Kings County, better known as Brooklyn, NY.
A personal remembrance of George Steinbrenner, to whom I owe a great deal. Originally published the day after he passed away. RIP Boss.
Below is one of the original letters that I sent to the Yankees in October 1991, when I was 16 years old. This was shortly after it occurred to me while watching a game from the bleachers that someone might be able to apply to be a batboy, and before I understood it was naive to expect a response. I mailed copies to everyone in the Yankees front office who I imagined might be involved in bat boy hiring, from George Steinbrenner on down to the field manager Stump Merrill. Looking back, my favorite part is the handwritten dual signature line at the bottom — my best attempt at age 16 to project to the General Manager of the New York Yankees that I meant business!
My last trip to Norway, I met a reporter for the Oslo newspaper Dagbladet who was taken aback that an American writer would be so interested in what he imagined to be a local story. I explained that I was there to conduct interviews, not to be interviewed, but he would not be dissuaded. Here’s the resulting article (and a rough English translation):
A New York Times profile published in September 1993, just before I left the Yankees to begin college.
A fun faux baseball card a friend made to help me promote the book when it was first published.