The following was written by Brooklyn public bus driver Marty McGuire the first spring after the Dodgrs left Brooklyn for Los Angeles (1958).
Well, folks, here I am, Marty “Flatbush Flyer” McGuire, your trusty B74 bus driver, with a heavy heart this spring. Ebbets Field, our beloved ballpark, stands silent as a tomb. No crack of the bat, no roar of the crowd, just the wind whispering through the empty seats. It feels like a piece of Brooklyn’s soul has packed its bags and flown west.
Every day, my B74 used to rumble down Flatbush Avenue, packed with Dodger faithful. We’d pick up folks from Canarsie and Kensington, hear their excited chatter about the day’s starting pitcher. Sunset Park folks would climb aboard, decked out in blue – some even sported Jackie Robinson’s number 42. By the time we reached Park Slope, the bus buzzed like a hive, a sea of hopeful faces.
And then there was Ebbets Field itself. Stepping off the bus, you were greeted by the vibrant shouts of hotdog vendors and the sweet smell of popcorn. Kids chased pigeons in the outfield, mimicking Gil Hodges’ legendary glove work. Inside, the air crackled with anticipation. You might even spot a Dodger striding down Bedford Avenue after batting practice, a friendly hello exchanged between player and fan. Duke Snider grabbing a coffee at Lindy’s on Flatbush? Roy Campanella sharing a laugh with kids outside Nathan’s on Coney Island? These were the sights that made Brooklyn buzz.
Now, the “Boys of Summer” play out west, and all we have are the echoes of cheers and the fading memories of those magical summer nights. Sure, there’s talk of a new stadium, but it won’t feel the same. Ebbets Field wasn’t just a ballpark; it was a community center, a place where Brooklyn came together.
But Brooklyn’s a tough borough. We’ll find new ways to cheer, new heroes to root for. Maybe someday, baseball will return to Brooklyn. Until then, I’ll keep driving my B74, hoping to catch a glimpse of a blue Dodgers cap or hear a wistful tale of those glorious days at Ebbets Field. Those memories, at least, no one can take away.
Here’s to you, Brooklyn. Here’s to baseball. Here’s to hoping for a summer a little less blue.
Sincerely,
Marty “Flatbush Flyer” McGuire
P.S. Speaking of memories, how can I forget some of the characters who made Ebbets Field what it was? You had yourSalty Susans down by the third-base line, their transistor radios blaring and their scorecards perpetually damp from tears of joy (or despair). Then there was Crazy Irving from Bay Ridge, who’d paint his entire torso blue every game day and lead the crowd in off-key renditions of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” Those were the folks who brought the energy, the heart and soul of Ebbets Field. We’ll miss them all.