The Return of Johnny Dugan...the Epilogue

              Please scroll to the posts below to begin at the beginning of the Return of Johnny Dugan. 

Johnny Dugan rolled down the window and breathed in the fresh air. He could hear the chugging sound of a freight train off to the west. Off to the east, the sun was coming up. It was going to be a beautiful Colorado day.

It was the last day of February, and Johnny motored toward Pearl City. He was in a hurry to get home. Johnny had left San Diego two days ago. The last headache he remembers having was the previous summer in Baxter Hollow. He shook his head and thought the game would have given any coach a headache.

Johnny purchased a lakefront cottage, just two miles north of the Harrington House, only a twenty-five-minute drive to Pearl City College. Quiet and secluded, and no more than a five-minute walk from his back door to the shoreline of Lake Mary. He gave up on the old Falcon and traded it in on a slightly used 1968 Ford Mustang.

The fall semester at the college had been a learning experience for both his students and Johnny. But the students endured, and so did he. Johnny couldn’t wait to get back to his classes for the spring semester. Dean Johnson had been kind enough to give him the time off, long enough to take care of his business with Dr. Stone, and for his three-day trip to Baltimore.

Dr. Stone advised Johnny to fly to Baltimore. “It’ll give you closure, Johnny.”

Johnny had agreed. After all, Dr. Stone had been right all along, about everything.

Johnny’s first stop in Baltimore was at Third Street and Sycamore — the Baltimore Home for Boys. He didn’t recognize the place. The building had been remodeled, and Sister Amelia answered the door as Johnny pushed the button three times.

“It used to be,” Sister Amelia said. “We have a new name now. It hasn’t been called a “home for boys” for ten years. We have both boys and girls staying here. We extend our support all the way to the twelfth grade and have sent eighty percent of our students to college. We’re one of the top private schools in Baltimore.”

Johnny was impressed. “What do you call it now?”

“Why, we’re known as the Dutch Dugan Academy for Learning.”

“What is your name, son? If I may ask?”

“Johnny Dugan.”

“I thought so. Come with me.”

Sister Amelia led Johnny into the library. “This is where our students have their quiet time…their time to rehash their day and prepare for tomorrow’s lessons. We call it the ”O” room.”

Johnny crossed the room and ambled over to the portrait above the fireplace. It was a picture of Dutch Dugan on the dugout steps in his Baltimore Orioles uniform with a little boy standing next to him, Johnny O Dugan.

“I believe it was two years before Dutch became ill,” the Sister said. “He came to us and donated quite a sum of money for us to remodel this building and set up a learning center for disadvantaged youth. His final instructions included the building of this wing in honor of his adopted son, Johnny O.”

Tears streamed down Johnny’s face.

“We’re all baseball fans here — all the Sisters are. It broke our hearts to hear of Dutch’s passing, and we were shocked when we heard what happened to you. Dutch was so proud of you.”

The following day, Johnny had made his arrangements to tour Memorial Stadium, Dutch’s home in the 1950s, where he had served under Paul Richards. Johnny eased into a seat, forty rows above the Orioles’ dugout. The stadium was practically vacant, except for a few workers milling around, working on the scoreboard.

In two months, the stadium would be complete, and a new season would be underway with manager Earl Weaver at the helm. The Orioles were the defending American League Champions, losing the World Series in 1969 to the amazing New York Mets.

Johnny closed his eyes and listened. He could hear Dutch’s voice echoing throughout the confines of Memorial Stadium.                                                 

Johnny’s final stop in Baltimore was at the East Lawn Cemetery. He placed some flowers in front of Dutch’s gravestone. The name engraved on the stone: Dutch Dugan, 1888-1967, along with two baseball bats joined at the handles with an inscription written below: The hitting coach of the Baltimore Orioles.

*****

Johnny glanced out the window once again. Last spring, on a cold and windy day, he took a cloth out of the glove compartment and cleared off a spot so he could see the mileage sign ahead.

The same sign had just appeared on the side of the road: Pearl City, five miles.

On this day, not a cloud in the sky.

Johnny sat back and took the next turnoff into Pearl City.

“We are home, Dutch. We are home.”