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RIP Twirling Arms Lady

G-Fafif
Oct 14 2012 09:37 PM

A year ago, we tried to track down Bo Field, a.k.a. the lady who rolled her arms behind home plate during the 1986 World Series, at the request of a friend. Tonight, I received a sad update.

Bo Field, 84, of Kearny, N.J., died on Oct. 13, 2012. Born in Chattanooga, Tenn., Mrs. Field moved to New Jersey 65 years ago, living most of her life in Kearny. She was a waitress at The Arlington Diner when it first opened, for 15 years. She then worked at The Lyndhurst Diner for 25 years, retiring 15 years ago. Known as "The Mets Lady," she was a diehard Mets fan who was well-known at Shea Stadium. She was a season ticket holder who sat behind home plate and was televised many times. She attended many home games and because of her many "cameos" she was asked for her autograph by many people.


The fellow who sent us the news added, "I knew her before I knew who she really was. She was my waitress for many years at the Lyndhurst Diner in Jersey. Her real name was Barbara. Having known her for years, one night, she came into the diner decked in Mets regalia. It was at that moment, in 1996, that I realized I'd known the lady who twirled her arms to distract Bob Stanley."

Edgy MD
Oct 15 2012 04:46 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

Oh, man. A WOR legend.

bmfc1
Oct 15 2012 05:54 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

Bo still lives on as when fans are sitting in the comparable seats, they often make that motion.

G-Fafif
Oct 15 2012 05:59 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

bmfc1 wrote:
Bo still lives on as when fans are sitting in the comparable seats, they often make that motion.


I noticed it last night at Phone Company Park, though it was while the home team was in the field. Bo knew better.

metirish
Oct 15 2012 06:37 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

I wonder how many of these wonderful Mets fans are left, the quirky ones(I say that in a good way), the real characters like this lady.

John Cougar Lunchbucket
Oct 15 2012 07:54 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

The day has long since passed when a waitress could afford behind-home-plate seats. RIP to a woman and an era.

metirish
Oct 15 2012 07:56 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

John Cougar Lunchbucket wrote:
The day has long since passed when a waitress could afford behind-home-plate seats. RIP to a woman and an era.



yeah, and that's my answer too.Sucks.

bmfc1
Oct 15 2012 08:01 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

You'd hope that when they added the padded seats, they would have said "she's a icon... let's offer her the front row at the price she would pay for her current seats" but nobody thinks that way as it would cost them a few thousand dollars.

G-Fafif
Oct 15 2012 08:06 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

The day has long since passed when a waitress could afford behind-home-plate seats. RIP to a woman and an era.


One has absolutely no idea of the lady's personal life or what her financial situation was; for all we know, she was independently wealthy and waitressed for the love of the people she saw every day or night.

But, barring that unlikely scenario, I was thinking the same thing.

Kong76
Oct 15 2012 08:09 PM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

What a lovable memory of her back there. RIP. Twirl on!
I seem to remember reading a long time ago that she and her
family had season tickets for a really long time and as everyone
got older and whatever they just kept moving to better and better
seats and finally only had the one and she did whatever it took to keep
her seat. Might be Mets' urban legend, or I'm just mistaken.

batmagadanleadoff
Oct 15 2012 08:55 PM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

G-Fafif wrote:
The day has long since passed when a waitress could afford behind-home-plate seats. RIP to a woman and an era.


One has absolutely no idea of the lady's personal life or what her financial situation was; for all we know, she was independently wealthy and waitressed for the love of the people she saw every day or night.

But, barring that unlikely scenario, I was thinking the same thing.


I was fortunate to sit in Bo's row for many, many Mets games. Occasionally, Bo would be in attendance, and for a few games, I slid over the few empty seats between us --when they were unoccupied -- and sat right next to her. She was a character, and I say that endearingly. I don't know what Bo's financial situation was, but I know that many of the season ticket holders that sat in the section at Shea on the field level directly behind home plate were of ordinary financial means. They ended up in the choicest seats at Shea because they were the longest tenured season ticket holders and over the years, eventually landed behind the plate based on their seniority. Some of them were original 1962 Polo Grounds season ticket holders. Back then, there were relatively few season ticket holders and ticket prices, even for the best seats, adjusted for inflation, were affordable and accessible to the masses. The season ticket holders of ordinary financial means began to get priced out beginning in the early '90's when ticket prices rose astronomically. In fact, it's likely that in the decade of the '90's, Met ticket prices rose more than those of any other team. But unwilling to part with their prime time tickets, many of those season ticket holders resorted to selling large blocks of their tickets while keeping for themsleves, a small number of games. This was the only way many of those ticket holders could afford to keep their season ticket accounts in their own names. I suspect that those ticket holders are a thing of the past and that they did not make the move to Citi Field. Or if they did, they not retain the Citi Field seating equivalent of Shea's under the netting section.

batmagadanleadoff
Oct 16 2012 07:13 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

Game 6
Peter Gammons

(from Sports Illustrated's 1987 baseball preview issue)



excerpts:

Clemens, finally recovered from the flu that had so weakened him in the playoffs and the second game of the Series, struck out six Mets the first time through the order and had retired eight straight entering the fifth. Neither Clemens nor any succeeding Boston pitcher noticed the big woman in red behind home plate who was trying to distract him by continually rolling her arms, much like one of Gladys Knight's Pips. Whoever she was, she was persistent, because she kept it up until the baseball went through Buckner's legs.


Greenwell struck out, and Johnson had McDowell walk Boggs intentionally. But then McDowell also walked Barrett to load the bases. Johnson had little choice but to bring in Orosco, who would retire 16 of the 18 batters he faced in the Series and should have been the MVP instead of Knight. Here is where Johnson committed his primary strategical boo-boo. The pitcher was scheduled to lead off the bottom of the inning, so with his best reliever in the game and the Red Sox one inning away from a world championship, Johnson should have made a double switch in order to keep Orosco in the game for at least the ninth inning. He could have put Lee Mazzilli or Mitchell in left and put Orosco in Wilson's spot, thus letting the new leftfielder lead off the bottom of the eighth. "Davey forgot," says one manager. "This wasn't one of my better games," Johnson admitted later.

It's far too easy to criticize managers, and very often the critics can't see the forest for the trees. While Johnson can sometimes be an unorthodox strategist, he is usually borne out in the long run by his players' performances. But in this case, he did forget. An inning later he would compound the situation by double-switching Strawberry out of the game, which led to Strawberry's pouting, which led to Strawberry's hotdogging it around the bases in Game 7 to show his manager up, which led to Nipper—who gave up the home run—hitting Strawberry in the back in spring training.


Carter drilled a 2-1 fastball into left field. Next up, Mitchell. When Hernandez was at the plate, Mitchell was up in the clubhouse; he had taken his uniform pants off and was on the phone making a reservation for his flight home to San Diego. "I didn't think I'd be hitting," he told Dave Anderson of The New York Times this spring. "I hadn't hit against a righthanded pitcher all season in that situation. Heep was still on the bench. I figured he'd hit for me, so I went up to the clubhouse." That shows how closely some players follow the game, because Heep had pinch-hit for Santana in the fifth—and was out of the game. When Johnson read Mitchell's quote, he said, "Now I'm even happier about the deal [for Kevin McReynolds]."

Howard Johnson came running into the clubhouse. "Get out there, you're hitting," he hollered at Mitchell. "I hung up the phone, then I slipped my pants back on," said Mitchell, "but I'd taken off everything under them. My jock, my underwear." Mitchell wasn't totally disconcerted. He remembered that when he and Schiraldi had played together in Jackson, Miss., in 1983, the pitcher had told him that if he ever faced him, he would start him out with a fastball inside, then try to get him with a slider away. That's exactly what Schiraldi did, and Mitchell hit the slider for a single to center.


http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/ ... /index.htm

batmagadanleadoff
Oct 16 2012 07:24 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

Game 6
Peter Gammons

(from Sports Illustrated's 1987 baseball preview issue)



excerpts:

Clemens, finally recovered from the flu that had so weakened him in the playoffs and the second game of the Series, struck out six Mets the first time through the order and had retired eight straight entering the fifth. Neither Clemens nor any succeeding Boston pitcher noticed the big woman in red behind home plate who was trying to distract him by continually rolling her arms, much like one of Gladys Knight's Pips. Whoever she was, she was persistent, because she kept it up until the baseball went through Buckner's legs.


Greenwell struck out, and Johnson had McDowell walk Boggs intentionally. But then McDowell also walked Barrett to load the bases. Johnson had little choice but to bring in Orosco, who would retire 16 of the 18 batters he faced in the Series and should have been the MVP instead of Knight. Here is where Johnson committed his primary strategical boo-boo. The pitcher was scheduled to lead off the bottom of the inning, so with his best reliever in the game and the Red Sox one inning away from a world championship, Johnson should have made a double switch in order to keep Orosco in the game for at least the ninth inning. He could have put Lee Mazzilli or Mitchell in left and put Orosco in Wilson's spot, thus letting the new leftfielder lead off the bottom of the eighth. "Davey forgot," says one manager. "This wasn't one of my better games," Johnson admitted later.

It's far too easy to criticize managers, and very often the critics can't see the forest for the trees. While Johnson can sometimes be an unorthodox strategist, he is usually borne out in the long run by his players' performances. But in this case, he did forget. An inning later he would compound the situation by double-switching Strawberry out of the game, which led to Strawberry's pouting, which led to Strawberry's hotdogging it around the bases in Game 7 to show his manager up, which led to Nipper—who gave up the home run—hitting Strawberry in the back in spring training.


Carter drilled a 2-1 fastball into left field. Next up, Mitchell. When Hernandez was at the plate, Mitchell was up in the clubhouse; he had taken his uniform pants off and was on the phone making a reservation for his flight home to San Diego. "I didn't think I'd be hitting," he told Dave Anderson of The New York Times this spring. "I hadn't hit against a righthanded pitcher all season in that situation. Heep was still on the bench. I figured he'd hit for me, so I went up to the clubhouse." That shows how closely some players follow the game, because Heep had pinch-hit for Santana in the fifth—and was out of the game. When Johnson read Mitchell's quote, he said, "Now I'm even happier about the deal [for Kevin McReynolds]."

Howard Johnson came running into the clubhouse. "Get out there, you're hitting," he hollered at Mitchell. "I hung up the phone, then I slipped my pants back on," said Mitchell, "but I'd taken off everything under them. My jock, my underwear." Mitchell wasn't totally disconcerted. He remembered that when he and Schiraldi had played together in Jackson, Miss., in 1983, the pitcher had told him that if he ever faced him, he would start him out with a fastball inside, then try to get him with a slider away. That's exactly what Schiraldi did, and Mitchell hit the slider for a single to center.


http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/ ... /index.htm



G-Fafif
Oct 16 2012 11:01 AM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

Outstanding re-find from the archives, BML. Obviously the Red Sox pitchers were lying.

Obviously.

Lefty Specialist
Oct 16 2012 12:16 PM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

Man, Twirling Arm Lady brings back memories. You wonder if somehow, somewhere, for one brief moment, she distracted one Red Sox pitcher just enough to change the course of Met history.

I like to think so.

G-Fafif
Oct 16 2012 01:45 PM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

A comment left on FAFIF -- incredible stuff:

I was lucky enough to call Bo Friend my friend.

The first time I attended a game with Bo was on May 1, 1981. Rusty hit a two-run shot in the second, but the Mets fell to Ozzie Smith and the brown-and-mustard-uniformed Padres, 4-2.

Bo didn’t forget me when baseball returned from the strike that summer. And she remembered me every year after that. I have a shoebox of ticket stubs and lifetime of memories to prove it.

Her seats. Oh, those seats. Before Bo, I had never made it past the mezzanine. Now I had a better view than the on-deck batter.

Bo would bring me pages and pages of press notes. She’d hand out gumballs designed like baseballs. The Mets logo dangled from each of her ears. Pete Flynn and Jimmy Plummer always made it a point to say hello to her. Future NBAer D.J. Strawberry would sit on her lap and eat ice cream out of a batting helmet.

Long before her twirling arms made her a celebrity of sorts, I thought Bo possessed special powers. She seemed to will twin killings, shouting “DP! DP! DP!” loud enough to induce groundballs that ultimately went from Tavares to Flynn to Kingman.

The anticipation of Bo coming to get me for a game blew away anything Santa could ever possibly generate. The ride over to Shea was as exciting as the game itself. Bo and her husband, Bob, whom she adored even more than the Mets, would pick up me and my friend in Rutherford and head on Route 17 North, Route 80 East, and the lower level of the GW – talking baseball and the Mets all the way. While on the Harlem River Drive, she taught us to hold our breath when we passed the other stadium in town. And as sure as Piazza always would come through in a big spot, she’d yell out “Big Shea! Big Shea!” once her home away from home came into view from the Grand Central.

Bo treated each of her 81 games a year like it was her last, thriving off of the fact that anything was possible in baseball. “It’s not like watching the same John Wayne movie every time where you know the ending,” she’d say.

After some games, we’d take the elevator up to the Diamond Club for burgers and fries. “Is that the actual ’69 World Series trophy, Bo?” She wouldn’t hesitate to stop Ralph Kiner or Bob Murphy mid-stride so I could meet them. One Friday night before an Old Timers Day, she asked Ed Charles if he would hit a home run for me. The Glider, taking a quick break from gliding adult beverages down his throat, lifted me over his head and said that not only would he hit a homer for me, but he would hit one off of Diamond Vision.

For those scoring at home, Charles tapped back to the mound.

If the Yankees were playing on our drive back to Jersey, she’d tune in their game and root against them just as hard as she’d root for the Mets. If they weren’t playing, she’d turn the dial to WNEW-AM and listen to the wonderful standards she first heard growing up in Tennessee.

Bo never flinched when a foul ball came screaming at the fence before her. She sang each word to the “Star-Spangled Banner” and – when the Expos were in town – sang each word to “Oh, Canada.” And, oh, how she loved and lived to root, root, root for the home team.

“Moooo-kie. Moooo-kie.”

“Let’s go, Gary!”

“Get tough, Teufel.”

“Here we go Mets. Here we go.”

“Go get ‘em, Doc!”

“Hubie doobie do.”

“Now, Foster. Now!”

But my favorite was when she taunted Philadelphia’s Randy Ready all the way back to the dugout after he whiffed for the third time.

“Randy wasn’t ready. Randy wasn’t ready. Randy wasn’t ready.”

She’d cry after the last home game each year, and then immediately begin counting down the days to the next home opener.

Today feels like all 50 season finales rolled into one.

You see, I was lucky enough to call Bo Field my friend.

cooby
Oct 16 2012 02:17 PM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

Lefty Specialist wrote:
Man, Twirling Arm Lady brings back memories. You wonder if somehow, somewhere, for one brief moment, she distracted one Red Sox pitcher just enough to change the course of Met history.

I like to think so.



Yeah :)

Mets – Willets Point
Oct 16 2012 02:31 PM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

If I knew how to make an animated GIF I would make one of Bo Field twirling her arms. I loved her boater too.

themetfairy
Oct 16 2012 02:45 PM
Re: RIP Twirling Arms Lady

G-Fafif wrote:
A comment left on FAFIF -- incredible stuff:

I was lucky enough to call Bo Friend my friend.

The first time I attended a game with Bo was on May 1, 1981. Rusty hit a two-run shot in the second, but the Mets fell to Ozzie Smith and the brown-and-mustard-uniformed Padres, 4-2.

Bo didn’t forget me when baseball returned from the strike that summer. And she remembered me every year after that. I have a shoebox of ticket stubs and lifetime of memories to prove it.

Her seats. Oh, those seats. Before Bo, I had never made it past the mezzanine. Now I had a better view than the on-deck batter.

Bo would bring me pages and pages of press notes. She’d hand out gumballs designed like baseballs. The Mets logo dangled from each of her ears. Pete Flynn and Jimmy Plummer always made it a point to say hello to her. Future NBAer D.J. Strawberry would sit on her lap and eat ice cream out of a batting helmet.

Long before her twirling arms made her a celebrity of sorts, I thought Bo possessed special powers. She seemed to will twin killings, shouting “DP! DP! DP!” loud enough to induce groundballs that ultimately went from Tavares to Flynn to Kingman.

The anticipation of Bo coming to get me for a game blew away anything Santa could ever possibly generate. The ride over to Shea was as exciting as the game itself. Bo and her husband, Bob, whom she adored even more than the Mets, would pick up me and my friend in Rutherford and head on Route 17 North, Route 80 East, and the lower level of the GW – talking baseball and the Mets all the way. While on the Harlem River Drive, she taught us to hold our breath when we passed the other stadium in town. And as sure as Piazza always would come through in a big spot, she’d yell out “Big Shea! Big Shea!” once her home away from home came into view from the Grand Central.

Bo treated each of her 81 games a year like it was her last, thriving off of the fact that anything was possible in baseball. “It’s not like watching the same John Wayne movie every time where you know the ending,” she’d say.

After some games, we’d take the elevator up to the Diamond Club for burgers and fries. “Is that the actual ’69 World Series trophy, Bo?” She wouldn’t hesitate to stop Ralph Kiner or Bob Murphy mid-stride so I could meet them. One Friday night before an Old Timers Day, she asked Ed Charles if he would hit a home run for me. The Glider, taking a quick break from gliding adult beverages down his throat, lifted me over his head and said that not only would he hit a homer for me, but he would hit one off of Diamond Vision.

For those scoring at home, Charles tapped back to the mound.

If the Yankees were playing on our drive back to Jersey, she’d tune in their game and root against them just as hard as she’d root for the Mets. If they weren’t playing, she’d turn the dial to WNEW-AM and listen to the wonderful standards she first heard growing up in Tennessee.

Bo never flinched when a foul ball came screaming at the fence before her. She sang each word to the “Star-Spangled Banner” and – when the Expos were in town – sang each word to “Oh, Canada.” And, oh, how she loved and lived to root, root, root for the home team.

“Moooo-kie. Moooo-kie.”

“Let’s go, Gary!”

“Get tough, Teufel.”

“Here we go Mets. Here we go.”

“Go get ‘em, Doc!”

“Hubie doobie do.”

“Now, Foster. Now!”

But my favorite was when she taunted Philadelphia’s Randy Ready all the way back to the dugout after he whiffed for the third time.

“Randy wasn’t ready. Randy wasn’t ready. Randy wasn’t ready.”

She’d cry after the last home game each year, and then immediately begin counting down the days to the next home opener.

Today feels like all 50 season finales rolled into one.

You see, I was lucky enough to call Bo Field my friend.


That is a whole clip of bullets of cool!