Virginia Kowalski Obituary

Dear One and All,

It wasn't until earlier today that I learned of Virginia's death and your loss as I was not in the city this past week. Please accept my deepest sympathy. Your mom and dad are in my Masses and prayers as you are as well.

Dan...our deepest sympathy on the loss of your mother.

My deepest sympathies goes out to all of you at this hard time. You are all in my thoughts and prayers.

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Chicago nine that day,

The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.



And then when Cooney was out at first, and Barrows did the same,

A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.



A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.

The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.

They thought, "if only Casey could but get a whack at that.

We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."



But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake;

and the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake.



So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy sat;

for there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.



But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all.

And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball.



And when the dust had lifted,

and fans saw what had occurred,

there was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.



Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;

it rumbled through the alley, it rattled like the EL;



it pounded like the traffic

and recoiled through the flat;

for Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.



There was ease in Casey's manner as she stepped into her place,

there was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.



And when, responding to the cheers, she lightly tipped her hat,

no stranger in the crowd could doubt it was Casey at the bat.



Ten thousand eyes were on her as she rubbed her hands with dirt.

Five thousand tongues applauded when she wiped them on her shirt.



Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,

defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.



And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

and Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.



Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --

"That ain't my style," said Casey.



"Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,

like waves beating the rocks upon Lake Michigans' shore.



"Get him! Get the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand,

and it's likely they'd have got him had not Casey raised her hand.



With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey's visage shone,

she stilled the rising tumult, she bade the game go on.



She signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew,

but Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"



"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"

But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.



They saw her face grow stern and cold, they saw her muscles strain,

and they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.



The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in wait.

She pounds, with cool solace, her bat upon the plate.



And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,

and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.



Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.

And, somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout,



but there is no joy in Chicago --

Special K has graciously bowed out.

Offering our deepest condolences during this difficult time.