It's been quite a few years since obituaries by Robert McG. Thomas Jr. made their way onto the NYT obit pages, (Mr. Thomas passed away in 2000.) but Mr. Gasparre would easily have been a subject of one of McG's inibitable obits of the people who were never elected, acted, sang, won Nobel prizes, commanded armies, wrote books or music, or did any of the many things the people who get those tribute obits do. He got you to your seat after you showed him your stub, and did it for over 50 years.
Mr. Kilgannon sung of Mr. Gasparre's fortitude in 2015 when the Mets made the World Series and everyone was asking him for tickets. From that story, linked to the Tweet of his passing, we learn of a singular man who witnessed a lot of very bad and very good baseball.
I do not write obituaries, but I'd like to think Mr. Thomas might start off..."Mr. Gasparre, a teen-age tap dancing hoofer who once teamed with Anthony Benedetto (Tony Bennet) performing in clubs in Astoria earning $10 a show, and who later became a decorated WW II infantryman who fought at the Battle of the Bulge, who worked for the post office delivering mail in the Byrant Park area, and then who became a senior usher at Shea Stadium showing fans to their seats ever since Shea opened in 1964 (now Citi Field), is now finally off his feet, having passed away at 95." Something like that.
Anyone who has ever gone to ball games for as long as I have knows that ushers and ticket takers at Shea and Yankee Stadium were of a certain congregation. They were mostly Italian-American men who belonged to the same union—which one escapes me but it was for ushers only.
First, generally, you needed a ticket to get in. But depending on your appearance, attitude, and overall decorum, you might be able to find yourself seating in a better seat than your ticket was for if you waited a few innings and negotiated with the usher at the head of the aisle a gratuity to be offered in cash—folding money—that would allow your butt to take over an empty seat seat from a ticket holder who wasn't going to show up.
There's been a bit of kibosh put on this practice, emphasizing to the ushers that no tips are allowed, and bribes to allow someone to seat themselves in a better seat is not a very good idea for continued employment.
But that is now, and there was a then, especially when a scrum of us left the Blarney Stone at 32nd Street and Madison Avenue, and through Eddie the bartender's contact with an usher who was a solid customer, we could walk up to a designated turnstile at Yankee Stadium and pass through—with no ticket—to be picked up on the other side of the border and be directed to an empty media box waaay down the left field line and watch the game, albeit with no seat.
This was accomplished for the 1977 and 1978 playoffs and World Series home games. We saw a lot of baseball history for $5 a game.
My guess is the usher who engineered the infiltration of Yankee Stadium is no longer with us, but his name was Charlie, who in his usher uniform, bow tie and cap reminded everyone of Star Kist's Charlie the Tuna. We forever referred to him as Charlie the Tuna.
This also worked at certain Jet games at Shea when decent seats were obtained for a similar $5 donation. The football we saw was not as good as the baseball we saw.
My father was at Don Larsen's perfect game, and there is no souvenir ticket stub. Whether my father got in with his boss with a ticket or not, I can ask, but no one will answer.
We were there in 1977 when Reggie clouted three homers on three first pitches from three different pitchers, and a World Series was won. I was there thanks to Eddie and Charlie the Tuna. I have no ticket stub.
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