Literally millions of Dodger fans grew-up, as did I, listening to Vin Scully on radio and television, verbally painting a picture of games so vividly that we were metaphorically transported from all parts of the country to Ebbets Field or Dodger Stadium, or Forbes Field in Pittsburgh, or Crosley Field in Cincinnati, or Shea Stadium or Yankee Stadium in New York, et al. He was, quite simply, the Greatest Of All Time, or “GOAT,” as kids today would say.

But on this Memorial Day weekend, I am reminded of Vin Scully the patriot.

During games that Vin would broadcast on Armed Forces Day, Independence Day and, of course, Memorial Day, he would recognized the brave men and women who wore – and wear – the uniform, thanking them for their service; especially when the Dodgers were playing in San Diego with hundreds of sailors and marines in attendance. Games played on these days always brought out Scully’s patriotism, as he respectfully reminded his audience of each day’s significance.

The actual games played on Memorial Day took somewhat of a backseat to the history lessons that Scully artfully and movingly passed along to his listeners between pitches and innings. Vinny had a way of putting baseball into its proper perspective on those occasions when he recounted D-Day, the Battle of the Bulge, and the many other military battles throughout our nations’ history during which hundreds of thousands of Americans made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.

It was during his annual Memorial Day broadcasts that Scully would read “In Flanders Fields,” a thought-provoking and emotional poem written by World War I Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae on May 3, 1915, the day after presiding over the funeral and burial of his friend Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, who had been killed during the Second Battle of Ypres. The poem was written as he sat upon the back of a medical field ambulance near an advance dressing post at Essex Farm, just north of Ypres. The poppy, which was a central feature of the poem, grew in great numbers in the battlefields and cemeteries of Flanders.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
    Between the crosses, row on row,
  That mark our place; and in the sky
  The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
  Loved and were loved, and now we lie
      In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
  The torch; be yours to hold it high.
  If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
      In Flanders fields.

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae (1872 – 1918)

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(Editor’s Note: This is a re-post from May 31, 2022)

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