On a Sunday in June of 1951, a few days before my sixth birthday, my father drove his 1949 Pontiac from Hamden, Connecticut to Woodlawn in N.Y. where the parking was $2.00 cheaper than the lots closer to Yankee Stadium. We took the elevated train from there to Jerome Avenue. My mother was probably as avid a fan as my father, but my nine-year-old brother was particularly passionate about his team. It was important to my father that I get to see J…