West Palm Beach, Fla., retirees have embraced the Astros as their team.
WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. — The ’55 Brooklyn Dodgers. The ’56 New York Yankees. The ’60 Philadelphia Phillies. The ’68 New York Mets. They join Sam Milham at his living room table in dozens of old programs and vivid memories.
“My whole life has been around sports,” he said.
Wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers cap and shirt, with his baseball keepsakes from the1950s and 1960s laid out before him, Milham, 79, relives in his condo moments he experienced in person from attending more than 1,000 sporting events, mostly in New York City.
He still identifies as a Brooklyn Dodgers diehard. He recites the 1955 starting lineup. He’s upset that Gil Hodges is not in the Hall of Fame. He feels lucky to have seen every legend of the era play — Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, Stan Musial, Jackie Robinson, to name a few. He remembers being 17 and hearing the organist play “Auld Lang Syne” when he sulked out of Brooklyn’s final game on Sept. 24, 1957.
“I can close my eyes … I’m at Ebbets Field right now,” he said. “I can smell the hot dogs.”
So close yet so far
Milham has to use his imagination to bring back his baseball past, but he feels closer to it than spring training games less than 10 minutes away. He is one of more than 14,000 residents at Century Village, which is three miles from the Ballpark of the Palm Beaches.
Milham is disappointed that the Astros, after three years in West Palm Beach, have not capitalized more on the retirement community’s lifelong baseball fans.
“They’re not doing enough,” Milham said.
Unlike other spring training sites, the $150 million facility, which the Astros share with the Washington Nationals, did not design easy ways for senior citizens to enter on game days. There is not a separate entrance for bus brigades or parking spots near its gates. For seniors able to drive themselves, many wind up in a handicap lot that requires they make a long walk or wait for a cycle of golf carts shuttling four to five fans at a time. It costs $10 to park on the grounds, whereas Roger Dean Stadium, the spring home of the Cardinals and Marlins located 25 minutes away in Jupiter, has free parking.
“You have to be sensitive to the fact that businesses need to go to these lengths if they want these people to come,” said Joel Leichter, 83, a litigator of unemployment hearings, who lives seven months of the year in Century Village. “The message might be they’re not willing to make the kind of accommodations that seniors need.”
The ballpark designated three spring training games against the most popular visiting teams, including the Mets and Red Sox, for Century Village-only ticket prices from $26 to $30. The final one is Wednesday, when the Astros face the Yankees.
“A lot of people here are on a budget,” Leichter said. “It’s just too expensive. The Astros ought to look at that and say, ‘Are three games enough?’ ”
Milham, a first-generation Syrian and son of a door-to-door salesman, grew up in the 1940s sitting on a stoop, with a soundtrack of ballgames on the radio. After a career in food sales and two divorces, he became a snowbird. He settled in Florida permanently in 2016. He lives alone.
“I don’t really live in Florida,” he said. “I live in Century Village.”
The community operates like its own world. It is more populous than some Florida counties. It has its own Walgreens, publishes its own newspaper (the UCO Reporter) and runs its own 1,100-seat theater, where the average show costs $10. Tony Orlando was $15.
“We live here like we’re rich, but we ain’t,” Milham said.
He got to live out a dream by writing sports columns for the Reporter and broadcasting an online talk show recorded with other residents — he finished shows with the signoff: “Take two and hit to right” — but had to stop those and other hobbies because of health issues. Back pain keeps him craned, as if ducking beneath a door frame. He stays active mostly through lively conversations.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ve got 10, 15 guys lined up.”
Meet the gang
Milham headed to the pool and sat at a shaded table that quickly sounded like a row of loudmouths in the bleachers. Most of the guys were from Brooklyn, have Italian blood, and fluently speak in zingers. Instead of hushed discussions of crime and how to thinly slice garlic, these Goodfellas enjoy arguments about baseball.
Joe Arpiano, with his golf shirt splayed open to reveal a gold chain over his chest hair, introduced himself and stated his age, 79.
Mike Vaccaro, 78, gave up baseball when the Dodgers left for Los Angeles.
Rosco Ranelli, noted that he grew up in Pittsburgh and is 68, to which Vaccaro quipped: “Oh, young puppy, here.”
Louie The Chin, another Brooklynite, was a late arrival. He threw down a pack of Marlboros, took off his shirt, and readjusted a leather flat cap that matches the texture of his bronzed skin.
“Hey, tell ’em your prison number,” Sam said to Louie.
When someone prompted Louie to discuss his stickball lore, he said: “That was a long time ago.”
“Everything that happened to us was a long time ago,” Milham said.
Andy Montrone, 81, a diminutive and pucker-faced New Yorker, is a dead ringer for Joe Pesci.
Almost everyone at the table had attended an Astros spring training game. They took advantage of bus rides Century Village covered.
Ron Rice, 62, had the most positive experience: “I used to go to Roger Dean Stadium, but this is so close. You can’t beat it.”
Waiting to be wooed
But the Ballpark of the Palm Beaches left them with a lot of complaints. The walk is too far. The golf carts are too small and take too long. Parking should be free. There is too much sun exposure. And, chirped Montrone, “It’s figh dollas for french fries, figh dollas for a frank, figh dollas for a soda, and eight dollas for a hamburger.”
The Ballpark of Palm Beaches has sent the director of ticket sales to attend monthly delegate meetings at Century Village and offered several buy-one-getone ticket promotions, but these measures have not been enough to make residents feel wanted.
“Before you can write old people off, you’ve got to make an effort to go after them,” Milham said.
At another table by the pool, Margaret Manaco, 81, said she enjoyed going to watch the Astros two years ago, but she is indifferent about making another trip.
“Where are the Astros from anyway?” she asked.
It might make more sense for Houston to prepare for the regular season than compete for an out-of-state fan base that has long been devoted to the Cardinals, Mets and Yankees. But that is a loss for a resident like Milham. He has one less place to channel his baseball passion and inspire others to enjoy the game.
“Everyone knows I got the bus trips started,” he said. “We had to do a lot of fighting to get it.”
Yet Milham never took advantage. He has not attended a game in five years. He would love to see the Astros turn a double play and would pay the regular price of admission. Physically, he is not up for it.
He usually drives less than one minute from his condo to the pool, but he had decided to make his recent visit on foot. He craned more with each step until he stopped in the middle of the parking lot. The sun beat down without cloud coverage. He felt short of breath. He managed to make it to the front seat of his car.
“You see why I don’t go to the ballpark,” he said, gritting his teeth.
Century Village is filled with characters, but their issues are serious. Spring training ball can be another comfort that some need. Milham, a diabetic, regathered himself in his car and made it back to his condo.
He did not leave it for the rest of the afternoon. At night, sports talk radio helped him fall asleep.