A Tribute To John Adams: A Cleveland Legend

Long before I became an Indians fan and long before I set foot in the 216, there was man who brought a large drum to a baseball game. His name was John Adams. Although he shared a name with the second president of the United States, his legacy was not in politics, but rather at the ball park.

In 1973, John Adams decided to bring a large drum to Municipal Stadium. Whenever the Indians came to bat, he pounded the drum. No matter where you were sitting in the stadium, you could hear it. John wasn't planning on bringing it every game he attended, but the Indians realized how valuable he could be and asked him to return. So he did. 

Game after game, John brought that drum. It's steady "thom thom thom" riveting through the ballpark, rallying the boys of summer to make some magic happen. John and his drum were there at many an amazing moment including Len Barker's perfect game in 1981. When the Indians moved to their new home at Jacob's Field in 1994, so did John and his drum. He was there at the heart of it all in the 1995 and 1997 World Series, adding to the already wild atmosphere. 

I first heard of John July 9th, 2004. I had lived in Cleveland for barely a year and was attending my first ever Major League Baseball game. I was there with a large summer camp of 1000 people. In the first inning when the Indians were at bat, I heard a "thom thom thom". I assumed it was coming over the PA system. But I was dearly mistaken. Someone pointed John out to me. As I was seated in the nosebleeds in right field, I squinted through the sun over to the bleachers. There at the top, just below the scoreboard was John, pounding his drum. I thought two things in that moment. The first was how cool it was that they let a guy bring in a large drum and the second was I realized what it sounded like. The heartbeat of the stadium. 

As time went on, I fell more in love with the game of baseball. As I attended more games, I grew to appreciate that piece of the atmosphere. And since John rarely missed a game, if he and his drum were absent, it felt like something important was missing. I've had so many memorable moments at that ballpark and John was part of nearly every one. One of my most cherished was a game from 2009. October baseball was less than a week away and every game counted. I was sitting in the bleachers, a few rows from where John and his drum held down the fort. The game was against the Baltimore Orioles and it was a slugfest. Late in the game, the Indians were down by one run, but they had something brewing. There some crowd pumpers in the lower section of the bleachers, rallying us to start The Wave. We tried three times and each time it would get a little further, but ultimately die out. As we did, John kept pounding his drum. Then the main pumper encouraged us to attempt The Wave one last time. He counted us down. When he hit zero, we went up, John banged the drum, and The Wave rolled. Right as it reached home plate, and with John's rhythm keeping pace, the Indians smashed the ball to center field, scoring two. The crowd exploded, the heartbeat pumped, and those two runs were enough to win the game. What I witnessed was a magical moment and the stuff of legend.

For nearly five decades, John played that drum. And the incredible thing is that in the 47 seasons he played the drum at the ballpark, he only missed about 45 games. That equates to slightly over 3,800 games that you could hear that wonderful drum at the game! That's truly an incredible feat.

Today, January 30, 2023, John Adams passed away as his health was in decline. Who knew that when one man decided to bring a massive drum to a game, that he would become a beloved Cleveland icon. A man who drum beat for sons and daughters, who became fathers and mothers and brought their sons and daughters, who became grandfathers and grandmothers, who brought their sons and daughters and their grandchildren. John and his drum brought joy and many wonderful memories to thousands of baseball fans who walked through the the gates of both Cleveland Municipal and Jacob's Field. A Clevelander would tell you that Cleveland baseball and John Adams went together like peanut butter and jelly. And while his drum no longer plays at the corner of Carnegie and Ontario, it beats on in the memories and hearts of all those who witnessed it in their lifetimes. John Adams, not only a Cleveland fan, but a Cleveland Legend. Rest in peace.

The Story of My Life: Pennsylvania, The Farewell Tour

 "We're moving." Those words shot through me like a stray bullet. My emotional dam crumbled and flowed like the Rio Grande. I was a blubbering mess. The life I had known and so dearly loved for the past 9 years was going to be torn away from me. Through my blurry eyes I could tell my parents struggled to break this news. This wasn't an easy decision for them either. They too would be leaving family and friends and all that they had known and built up over time. 

I wasn't thinking about that. I couldn't think. My world had exploded. I had been an emotional wreck before, but I saw no end to this chaos. That is until I was informed it would only be for a year. I slowly calmed down and the waterworks began to dry up. Even a year was devastating, but it was better than anything longer.

The next few days my focus had shifted. It was still going to be a few months before we moved, but all I could think about was how I was going to break the news to people and how my last few months were going to look drastically different. So began the farewell tour.

The soccer season had recently ended, but Craagen and I had become closer friends like Jordan before him. We were going over too each other's houses, sharing our passion for hot wheels cars, and attempting to talk in goofy British accents. Then one afternoon, my mom invited him and his mom over for the day. Craagen and I spent most of the day creating our own adventures outside. Eventually we were playing with hot wheels cars outside with my brother Nathaniel. I wasn't planning on telling Craagen the news then, because I hadn't figured out a way to do so. I was also hoping that his mom would tell him so I didn't have to. I don't know what prompted him to say it, but Nathaniel suddenly blurted out that we were moving. I froze and didn't speak. Craagen freaked out. It was a very brief freak out, but one I was not prepared for. Thankfully it left as quickly as it came and it wasn't long before we went back to doing other things, but the first hammer had been swung.

One night my grandparents were bringing me home from a day at their house. I thought it was odd my grandmother was coming because normally it was just grandpa and me when taking me home. At some point in the ride, Grandma mentioned my parents wanted to talk to them about something and asked me what it was. My confusion eroded quickly because now I knew why she was coming along. I didn't want to prematurely break the news so I shrugged it off. As soon as we got to the house, I let Mom and Dad know we were here and then immediately ran outside to play. I don't know how that conversation went, but I didn't want to be anywhere near the living room that night. I believe I did make an appearance to say goodbye for the evening, but that was it.

One of the much harder goodbyes was to the Bishop family. We made our annual spring trip down to Virginia and per the norm, stayed at their house. Even though we saw them twice a year, we spoke with them frequently over the phone and I still considered Wesley as one of my best friends. At some point, my dad broke the news. Going from 1.5 hours away to 7.5 was surely going to change things. The details of that trip are really foggy for me, but there is one thing I'll never forget. When we were leaving, Brian came out to send us off after we had already said our goodbyes. As we piled into the van, he said goodbye again and then he said "the Bishops love the Watkins." Then as we drove off, I turned and looked out the back window. That man did not leave his driveway and return to his house until we were fully out of view. That was also the last time I saw him for at least 10 years and I wouldn't see Wesley again for eleven.

Most of the remaining goodbyes to my friends were not as intense. It was a repeated pattern of me breaking the news and getting looks and moans of disappointment. The only ones I actually did not say goodbye to were Abby and Krista. They had actually beat us to the punch and moved first. As I write this, I am now realizing a left out a chunk of crucial story involving their move. 

Their dad was a pastor at the church up the street from our house and the house they lived in was part of church property. We had spent so many hours in all four seasons having adventures in their yard and the big field behind their house which had become such a huge part of my childhood. So when their dad got relocated to pastor another church, their move was a big bummer. It was like a piece of the neighborhood went missing. Another pastor and his wife had moved in and they were such a sweet, young couple. Their names were Mark and Amy. They did not have any kids, but they allowed us to play in the field behind their house whenever we desired. Plus Mark was a big Eagles fan so that was awesome.

After Abby and Krista moved we didn't see them again until one fateful day. The night before my mom hinted that we would be going to someone's house the next day, but wouldn't tell us. I tried my best and guessed every name I could think of, but was still wrong. Then, on that sunny and cool Autumn day, we piled into the van and eventually pulled into a driveway of this house that I could not recognize. As I was still wondering who could live here, the front door popped open and Abby stepped out. We exploded in pure joy. We spent the entire day at their new house doing kid things and catching up on the time lost. And while that was a wonderful surprise and an incredible day of fun and friends, when we left their house that day, that goodbye was the last as this was the era before social media, smart phones, and the internet as we know it today and when we moved, we simply lost touch.

As I've mentioned numerous times throughout this series, we were part of a church. That meant we were involved with a lot more people. The were all told one way or another, but there was one day that was turned into a "farewell" gathering. Nearly everyone who met in Al & Sue's house and the other group we were connected with in Lancaster, PA, met up in a huge park halfway between the two. We had a morning gathering and then ate together. Afterwards, while the adults chatted, us kids spent the rest of the day having a blast on the massive wooden playground found there. Remember that Kid's Kingdom park I mentioned in previous chapters? This one was built the same way but it was twice the size. The coolest feature was the giant Noah's Ark boat that you could climb inside and go on the upper deck. We pretended to herd it full of animals and navigate the flood waters for however long we though it took. We maybe also fended off vicious pirates. Maybe. 

The last memory I have of that day was where we were all gathered again under a pavilion. My Dad was addressing everyone explaining their reasoning for the decision and all that led up to it. I did not pay too much attention to reactions as I was hoping he would wrap it up so I could go back to playing with the little time I had left. But I waited as best as I could. It was still hard to listen as we were telling people who were basically family that we were leaving, but as far as I could tell, they understood. They knew what a life of following the Lord meant as they themselves lived it. 

I want to end this chapter on one final memory. One that was a simple moment at a simple time, but it left an impression on me forever. One warm, beautiful, and tranquil summer night, a bunch of people were invited over to Melinda's and Joanna's for dinner. Going over there in the evening was a rare treat as we would usually stay half the day and leave before dinner. It was a packed house that night. After dinner, all the kids rushed outside to enjoy the last few hours of daylight and let our minds run wild. 

We played hide-and-seek, multiple variations of Tag, and whatever else our juvenile minds could come up with. At one point during a game of intense Tag, something awful happened. I was wearing one of my favorite shirts. It was a Jeff Gordon shirt that was entirely rainbow colored like the paint scheme on his racecar. The shirt was practically new at this time. My previous hiding spot had been compromised and I decided to get a head start by creeping out of the woods and behind Mike's (the girls older brother) pickup truck. I waited for my pursuers to set their course and when the moment was right, I bolted. Then I heard a sound that made my heart drop. It was the sound of carefully twined threads being mercilessly ripped apart. Being a kid and not being spatially aware most of the time, I caught the corner of my oversized shirt on the corner of the tailgate (which was open) and it tore a nice sized hole in the shirt. I was devastated. 

I stopped playing the game and went to my mom in a state of wreck. Most anything in those days would set me off and this was one of those things that would do it. My mom was shocked, but after taking a look said she could mend it. Her words of hope helped dissipate my emotions and brought back my will to return outdoors. I walked out the front with a renewed drive to play again, but as I did, I took notice of the summer sun setting in the farmer's field in the distance. Something inside of me told me I should go sit on the nearby hill and watch it set. The crazy thing about that was is that in all the years I had spent at that house, never once did I pause, sit on that hill, and take in the view. But that night I did.

I could hear the laughs, shouts, and cries of my siblings and friends still playing all over the property. Yet, there I sat on that hill, watching the summer sun slip away. I was silent as the slight breeze swept over me. My thoughts could've been bleak, but they weren't. I was replaying moment from many great memories I had here. Letting the moment wash over me as the world seemed to come to a complete halt. I so badly did not want that sun to set as I was in awe of the scene and all it was doing for me in that moment. I think for the first time since I had gotten the news that split my world in two, I had an overwhelming sense of peace. And in that moment, I was grateful. Grateful for all that I had, for all the people in my life, for all the memories I made, and for that moment. It wasn't long before the fireflies began dancing and glowing in the evening sky. Leaving me with a wonderful memory and hope.