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An old friend
148 Cherry Street
Stockbridge, Massachusetts
October 21, 1922
Fr. James Callaghan
Cathedral of the Sacred Heart
823 Park Avenue
Richmond, Virginia
Dear Father Callaghan,
Your letter was a wonderful surprise, and I am very sorry I have taken so long to reply to you. It arrived right as we were about to leave on our season-ending road trip, and when we returned, it was time to pack and head for home.
I appreciate your continued interest in my career very much. I remember what a big base ball fan you were when I was playing in Richmond, and I remember with special fondness the way you welcomed me to your parish. I was away from home for the first time, and was far lonelier than I would ever have admitted at the time. You remind me of the priest who served my parish at home in Massachusetts when I was a boy, Father O'Reilly, who would play catch with me in the field behind the church and encouraged me to pursue my dreams of playing professional ball. He also reminded me to attend Mass, which I can proudly say I have done as regularly as I can.
Our season ended in a disappointing fashion. I suppose I became spoiled by all our pennants and trips to the World Series, but it still feels empty when our season ends in September. We finished six games behind the Tigers, who went on to lose the World Series to the Giants. The Giants have won the last two Series, and I read in the Sporting News that it is being said that New York has supplanted Boston as the center of the base ball universe. My teammates and I are determined to reverse that trend, of course, but the last two years we have fallen a bit short.
Bill Carrigan, the fellow who used to come to Mass with me at Sacred Heart, has just retired from his career as an active player. He managed the Providence club in the Eastern League, and he would like very much to continue in the game in that capacity. I believe he will make as fine a manager as he did a player, and I would not be surprised to see him reach the major leagues as a manager soon.
You are certainly not alone in following Babe Ruth's hitting feats. I see them on a daily basis, and they never cease to amaze me. I do believe the ball is livelier than it used to be--here I am, hitting almost twenty home runs myself this season, when I used to hit fewer than ten. On the other hand, Ruth hit nearly forty this season; nobody else hit as many as twenty-five.
There are players in the minor leagues who are hitting thirty home runs a year now, and soon they will be reaching the highest levels of the sport. They take big, hard swings at any pitch they like, and while they hit lots of balls over the fence, they also miss lots of them, too. I wonder sometimes how the sport will change when more batters with this approach reach the major leagues. I suppose that a man who hits ten home runs a year will no longer be called a slugger.
I fear I have taken too much of your time, so I will close my letter now. I hope all is well with your parish, and that you will continue to keep in touch.
Sincerely,
Pat O'Farrell
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