The Man Who Made Me a Baseball Fan

Abraham “Bob” Tubin with Red Sox second baseman Mike Andrews at Fenway Park in the early 1970s. Tubin was making a donation to the official Sox charity, The Jimmy Fund, on behalf of his fellow Boston Herald truck drivers.

To my Grandpa Bob Tubin, every Red Sox player who wasn’t Ted Williams or Yaz was an overpaid bum or “primadonna,” but the TV was always on Channel 38.

I used to fall asleep on his couch and get woken up when Butch Hobson or George Scott would go deep.

Awesome that he got to see the 2004 Sox win the World Series before he died. Here he is with 1967 second baseman Mike Andrews, making a donation to The Jimmy Fund from his fellow Boston Herald drivers.

Andrews went on to become president of The Jimmy Fund and my grandfather went on to turn his grandson into a baseball fan. He would have LOVED the World Series victory last night!

When the Red Sox took bribes…

Abraham "Bob" Tubin discreetly hands over the cash to Red Sox star Mike Andrews.

Speaking of Red Sox Opening Day, I coincidentally just stumbled across a copy of one of my favorite family photos of all time — my Grandpa Bob with 1967 “Impossible Dream” second baseman Mike Andrews.

The picture looks like he’s handing over some money to treat Andrews to a few Fenway Franks. The stack of Fives and Ones — even in 1969 or 1970 when this was taken — hardly made my grandfather come across like Donald Trump or Daddy Warbucks. He was a delivery driver for the Boston Herald and drove a cab on his day off to raise money for The Jimmy Fund, the official Red Sox charity for cancer research.

Mike Andrews later became the chairman of The Jimmy Fund.

But as nice as all that philanthropy stuff is, the real reason I love this photo is because Grandpa Bob is solely responsible for brainwashing me to be a Red Sox fan. I still can picture myself as a 9-year-old dozing off on his living room couch as Butch Hobson or George “Boomer” Scott went deep.

In later years, he became disgusted by player salaries and called them all “primadonnas.” But he still watched.

You can read more about my amazing Grandpa Bob here.

And if you’d like to send your own bundle of cash to The Jimmy Fund, it would be most appreciated!

If this photo were taken today, my grandfather would have been posing with Tim Wakefield and Clay Buchholz.

UNSUNG HERO: Grandpa Bob delivered wisdom, heart, the Herald

Bob Tubin

THE WORKING STIFF – By Darren Garnick
“Grandpa Bob delivered wisdom, heart, the Herald”

The Boston Herald — March 15, 2006
**
If you’re ever lucky enough to approach your 90th birthday, do you
think you’d fondly reminisce about the job you have now? Do you think
you’d even remember the names of your co-workers?

In his words, circulation driver Abraham “Bob” Tubin proudly
“schlepped” newspapers for the Boston Herald from 1949-1979. One shift
would change the Revere native’s life forever. On a rainy Saturday
night in 1954, his truck was slammed from behind by a drunk driver,
burying him in an avalanche of newspaper bundles.

This was a few years before Ralph Nader taught the world about auto
safety. No protective cages separated the drivers from their cargo.
The accident left Tubin with a lifetime of excruciating pain and
seemingly endless hip and hernia operations. Astoundingly, in
retirement, he’d often mention how much he loved his job – how he
would show up early and leave late just to hang out with the guys off
the clock.

Tubin was my Grandpa Bob. He died last Tuesday at age 88 after a long
bout with heart and respiratory problems.

Grandpa carried his Herald ID in his wallet for the rest of his life.
Sandwiched in between family pictures and his subway pass was also the
tattered business card of the late Joe McLaughlin, a star columnist
for the Herald Traveler in the 1960s and 1970s.

The popularity of McLaughlin’s “Tell it to Joe” column — which
resolved a wide range of readers’ problems — gave him celebrity
status in the city. The Herald plastered his face on the side of
delivery trucks and on billboards. Although it was extremely unusual
for loading dock “grunts” to socialize with the newsroom elite, my
grandfather and McLaughlin became close friends.

Their friendship stood the test of time. According to retired
circulation driver Tony Luongo, many of the Herald columnist’s buddies
disappeared once he lost his tremendous clout. “Everybody liked Joe
McLaughlin when he could do something for them,” Luongo says. “Bob was
one of the few guys who visited him during his darkest hours.”

Grandpa delivered toys to orphanages for the “Tell it to Joe”
Christmas drives. Thank you letters from the Jimmy Fund describe him
as the “spark plug” behind the Herald Traveler drivers’ annual
collections. He also generated additional buzz (and dinero) each year
by driving a donated taxi for a day and giving all his fares and tips
to charity.

He was a huge fan of “Take Your Child To Work Day” decades before it
became trendy. Son Bradley often joined him on his newspaper route,
usually punctuated by a triple-decker grilled cheese sandwich and a
mocha ice cream frappe. Years earlier, when he ran a Revere Beach
hamburger stand called “Sloppy Joe’s,” he proudly displayed his
daughters Iris and Barbara on the counter top. The girls thought they
were sitting on a throne.

Revere Beach was his second home. It is where he courted his future
wife Beatrice (“Grandma Bea”) when the shore was brimming with dance
halls and amusement park rides. It is where he later “borrowed” and
meticulously sifted sand for his grandchildren’s first sandbox. And,
it was fittingly the backdrop to his funeral procession route.

Next to inhaling the salty air, his favorite pastime was reading
newspapers. When I was a kid, at least two years of papers were
stacked in his front porch — a mountainous archive where I mined for
old Red Sox boxscores and Sunday funnies to press with Silly Putty. I
credit his newsprint addiction for fueling my desire to become a
writer – and also for my reluctance to throw anything away.

Ultimately, my grandfather’s legacy goes far beyond my ink-stained
fingers. When I think of him, I’m reminded that sometimes what we do
for a living is not our most important job.

Grandpa Bob was in the hospital recuperating from a hip operation when
my son (his third great-grandchild at the time) was born a few years
ago. He was beaming when he looked at the pictures.

“Darren,” he said, “This is the greatest thing you will ever do.”

**
Darren Garnick’s “Working Stiff” column runs every Wednesday in the
Boston Herald. Comments are welcomed at heraldstiff (at) gmail.com

Abraham "Bob" Tubin impresses his future wife Beatrice Steinberg with his washboard abs in 1940. Before beginning his career at the Boston Herald Traveler, Tubin ran the "Sloppy Joe's" hamburger stand on Revere Beach.