I was too sad to even cry about it. I didn’t feel like

going to school, but I went anyway. I didn’t say anything

to anybody. I felt real sad but didn’t feel like crying any

more, or maybe I just couldn’t anymore. When I got to

biology class, Jonathan came up to me, looking serious,

and said, “I heard on the news this morning that they’re

going to bring Bobby Kennedy’s body to St. Patrick’s

Cathedral in New York City on Friday to lie in state. I

think we should stop by there and pay our respects before

we go to the twi-nighter.” I didn’t know what to say. I

was surprised Jonathan was talking to me, but I couldn’t

understand what he was talking about. I had never heard

of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and Jonathan mentioned it as

if he went there all the time. I wasn’t sure what he meant

by “lying in state,” but I figured that was what they did

when a famous American died. I guessed it was part of

the grieving process.

“I wish I had gone to the Doc’s funeral,” Jonathan

said, “but it was way too far away. I wish I could have paid

my respects to the Doc. But I guess that’s how it goes.”

I didn’t want to make a big deal out of Jonathan

talking to me, and I was caught so off guard that all I

could say was “Yeah, okay, Jonathan.” I stared at him for

a long time. He didn’t smile. He wasn’t scowling either.

He just had a dead-serious expression.

Jonathan didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.

I didn’t really have anything to say to anybody, but as

the day wore on, I began to feel a little better. I thought

maybe it would be neat to pay my respects to Bobby

Kennedy. I figured that was what you did when somebody

you cared about died. Just thinking about doing it kind of

made me feel better. Of course it was something Jonathan

would think of. Did that mean we were friends again now

that we were even?

I got ahold of Phil, and he said it would be all right

with him if we stopped off to pay our respects. I told

Frankie, but Frankie wasn’t too keen on the idea. He said

he’d always liked Bobby Kennedy because he had long

hair and liked to climb mountains and stuff, and Bobby

wasn’t an old stuffed shirt like LBJ or Richard Nixon. But

then I told Frankie that if we went to the cathedral, we’d

have to leave at about noon and cut our afternoon classes.

Frankie’s eyes lit up, and he said, “Now you’re talking.

Yeah. Come to think of it, I always do feel it’s a good idea

to pay your respects to the dead—especially when you do

it on school time.”

Friday was a nice day—bright, sunny, and warm. I felt

a lot better about things. It seemed as if we were headed

on another of Jonathan’s adventures. We’d be heading

into New York, and I had no idea where the heck we’d be.

Jonathan would be leading the way—just like old times.

I told my parents we’d be going to St. Patrick’s Cathedral

to pay our respects to Bobby Kennedy before the Yankees

games, and my mother didn’t seem to care. As a matter of

fact, it seemed she thought it was a good idea. Of course,

I acted as if I knew right where St. Patrick’s Cathedral

was, as if I went there every week or so to catch a quick

novena. My mother said, “Say a little prayer for me.” I

didn’t think she really cared that much about Bobby, but

I thought that if she had had the chance, she would have

gone down to Washington to pay her respects to JFK

 during his funeral. My mother didn’t care much about

politics, and whatever she had cared about had faded away

when JFK died.

We took the New York bus from downtown and made

it to the Port Authority in a little less than an hour. When

we got off the bus, Jonathan, of course, took the lead,

as he always did, and this time, none of us had any idea

where the heck he was going, so we made sure we stayed

right behind him. It wasn’t that hard this time because

Jonathan wasn’t going at his usual breakneck speed—I

guessed because we really didn’t have any deadline, since

it was only about one fifteen, and we had until five before

game time. I also thought Jonathan was holding back

because of the somberness of the occasion. We all were a

bit excited about cutting school and being in the big city,

but Jonathan remained somber, and he kind of set the

tone for our day. As we went down grimy Forty-Second

Street, Jonathan made no attempt to check out any peep

shows, even though Frankie tried to get us to stop.

“Hey, we’ve got all afternoon,” Frankie said. Jonathan

stopped and gave Frankie one of his best scowls. “All

right, all right,” Frankie said. “I know it’s not appropriate

for this somber occasion.”

We headed on up through the city. When we got to

Times Square, we made a left and headed up Seventh

Avenue. It was hot, so of course, Frankie wanted to stop

for an Italian ice.

“It’s okay on such a somber occasion, isn’t it?” Frankie

asked Jonathan sarcastically. Jonathan gave another scowl.

Phil bought one too, but I stuck to Jonathan’s code of

abstention. 

We passed a go-go bar that advertised “Hottest

Lunchtime Dancers.” Frankie stopped and said, “Hey,

I’m getting real hungry.” Then he tried to look through

the partially open door. Jonathan didn’t even turn around

to scowl but seemed to speed up his pace. I stopped and

went back to get Frankie.

“Come on, you maniac,” I said. “Jonathan’s the only

one who knows where the heck we’re going.”

“Yeah? Well, I think he’s the maniac,” Frankie said.

“Come on,” I said as we turned to head up Seventh

Avenue. We saw no sign of Jonathan or Phil. The street

was crowded with people, and I dodged around, looking

for Jonathan.

“Hey, T. J., buddy,” Frankie said, “don’t go panicking.

I know my way around the city like the back of my hand.”

“Sure, Frankie,” I said. “Like the time you almost got

lost forever in the subways until Jonathan rescued you.”

“Hey, that was below ground. I’m an above-ground

person. I ain’t no mole, you know, and besides, I wasn’t

really lost down there, just a little confused. You know,

there’s no stars or heavenly bodies down there to guide

you. Speaking of heavenly bodies!” Frankie stopped to

check out some girl in a miniskirt.

“Cool it, Frankie,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We got to Fiftieth Street and still saw no sign of

Jonathan, but I heard Phil yell, “Hey, come on!” He was

waving for us. We ran to catch up with Phil.

“Where’s Jonathan?” I said.

 He’s up ahead.” Phil pointed. “See him over there?

I don’t know what got into him, but he’s really moving,

and he won’t stop for nothing.”

“Well, let’s go,” I said, and the three of us took off

after Jonathan.

When we crossed the street, we lost sight of Jonathan.

I was ready to panic, but Phil seemed to have things under

control.

“I think he went thata way,” Phil said, and he pointed

up Fiftieth Street. We headed up the block.

When we got to the corner, Frankie yelled, “Holy

smokes! Look at that!”

There it was: St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the biggest darn

church I had ever seen in my life. I was no expert on

churches, but it was one heck of an impressive sight.

“Hey, I wouldn’t even mind going to church if our

church looked like that,” Frankie said.

“You Catholics sure do get carried away with your

religion.” Phil had to put in his two cents.

We crossed the street, and there was Jonathan. “Well,

you boys finally made it,” he said. “And I see Frankie

didn’t get lost.”

“Don’t get smart, Jonathan,” Frankie said. “So what

was the big rush for?”

“Look.” Jonathan pointed to the front steps of the

cathedral. A trail of people went up the stairs and through

the immense doors.

“So big deal. There’s a little line,” Frankie said. “Let’s

go hop in line.”

“Be my guest,” Jonathan said, and he let Frankie lead

the way. As we made our way to the front of the cathedral,

we saw that the line trailed out and up toward Fifty-First

Street and turned the corner. We turned the corner, and

there was the line. Frankie swung out toward the street to

see if he could find the end of the line, but it was nowhere

in sight.

“Holy macaroni!” Frankie said. We followed the line

down that street and up the next street and up and down

several streets until we finally got to the end.

“This is absolutely amazing,” Phil said in the

understatement of the year.

“I can’t believe how long this line is,” I said.

“Holy macaroni,” Frankie said.

It was the longest line I had ever seen. It reminded me

of some of the lines at the World’s Fair, but even they were

not nearly as long as this one was, and at least at the end

of those lines, you got to go on some neat rides. Here, we

were just going to church.

Despite all our amazement, Jonathan remained silent.

When he finally did say something, he said, “The line for

the Doc down in Atlanta was just about as long.” I didn’t

know how the heck Jonathan could know how long the

line was for the Doc, but I guessed Jonathan had his own

way to calculate.

As we took our place at the end of the line, Frankie

went out to the curb and looked up ahead. “Holy macaroni

with marinara sauce,” Frankie said. The line was moving

slowly but decently. I had no idea where we were headed

or how the heck we would get to our destination. I guessed

Mickey Mantle’s Last Home Run | 185

only Jonathan had any idea about that. It was about two

o’clock, and we tried to estimate how long the line would

take. We had another destination, and I, for one, sure as

heck didn’t want to miss a chance to see the Mick in a

twi-nighter. Of course, I was fully prepared to miss a few

innings if I had to in order to pay my respects.