Hall of Famer

Just about every summer, my family spent ten days in Illinois. There were always two stops on the itinerary: first, Quincy, to visit my grandparents and second, Springfield, to visit my Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick.

When it came time to go back to school in the fall, my 'what did you do this summer?' speech always touched on the fun my family and I had in the Land of Lincoln. With a descriptor of just about the smallest kind of dot on the map, it took stories of Spring Lake, the best lunches in the world, and Maid Rites to help pronounce the stature of Quincy. Although Springfield got a star instead of a dot and although most of my classmates knew it was the Capitol, I was the only one who knew what made Illinois' star shine. It was this little white house and the two people that lived in it.

There, you could find a freezer in the basement lined with the most perfectly shaped miniature chocolate chip and snickerdoodle cookies. In the morning, there was homemade coffee cake - and I always got just the slice that I wanted - one with a pecan on it instead of one with a cherry. In the house, you felt like you were surrounded by all-stars. My cousins, Bob, Dan and Ted, who had all grown up in this house, had been city and then state champions year after year. There were baseball trophies lining shelf after shelf in the room where my brother stayed. This was also the home of my cousin, Jane, a ballerina, gymnast, and cheerleader. My idol. I dreamed of the day when I could be as light as a feather so a cheerman could throw me up in the air on the Marquette basketball court just like her.
   
Everyday, Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick would take us to their pool which had a sky high diving board. And with their encouragement and support, I gained the courage to dive off. When we went to mass, they always got up before Communion to help the priest pass out of the hosts. They were big time. And everyone knew them. And outside in their yard, was a field of dreams - a perfectly manicured lawn where everyone had a chance to bat, where my Uncle Dick, the announcer called every play, and where sister, brother and I were coached to be champions. 

I remember stepping up to bat - the big red bat that is. Uncle Dick would say, 'here comes the slugger.' I just loved that. He would call every ball until I made contact, slamming the little wiffle ball as far as I could. 'Oh my - there it goes.' My sister would run after it to try to prevent a home run, throw it into the plate, where my brother and I would collide League of their Own style, waiting for Uncle Dick's call. 'Safe!' I felt like I was on my way toward becoming the best Sacred Heart Softball player the league had ever seen.

When the game came to end in my mind, I would run inside to help Aunt Ann with dinner or play a game with my sister. But for my brother and Uncle Dick, the game went on. This is when it got serious. The Cardinals and Pirates were in extra innings, and my Uncle Dick would continue calling every play as he pitched and my brother swung the bat, hoping to hit it over the house, into the street. As much as it probably hurt him, he would always give the Pirates the win, and they would come in for dinner, congratulating each other on a game well played.


In a little bit I'll be heading back to Springfield to say goodbye to my Uncle Dick. He passed away last weekend after a long fight against strokes and ensuing medical complications. 

Beyond being a highlight of every one of my summers growing up, my Uncle Dick was a mathematician, an educator, a leader, and manager. He was a brother, husband, father, grandfather, and friend. He was a comedian and an avid sports fan. And he was one of the best coaches that the great state of Illinois has ever seen. Simply put, he brought the best of out of people. And he leaves a legacy of amazing players - a roster full of all-star Meckes' behind. A team that in my mind will always be unbeatable.

Heaven's Hall of Fame is waiting, Uncle Dick.

Lo.