Remembering Dale Brichta

By Jack Brothers

Dale passed away suddenly last month, ending her eclectic and interesting life far too soon. In her honor, I'd like to share some of my own experiences with Dale. Please bear with me and any grammatical errors  - this is likely the first thing I ever wrote that she didn't proof read & correct with great zeal. 

I consider myself very fortunate to have worked with Dale for many, many years. She was an outstanding corner man, an incomparable ally in any endeavor that I was involved with. Dale and I hit it off immediately - she had great command and an understanding of exactly what marketing initiatives we needed to implement. What most of you likely don't know (and I know the theory was that we aligned because we were a pair of native New Yorkers) is that it was our mutual love of baseball, specifically the 1969 Mets, that prompted our early friendship.

In one of our first conversations about that team that sparked the first of our many (and I mean many) debates, Dale went on and on about Art Shamsky.  I thought to myself - here's a team with Tommy Agee, Bud Harrelson, Cleon Jones, Don Clendenon, Jerry Grote, Ed Charles, Eddie Kranepool, Tom Seaver - and we're talking Art Shamsky?

I said, "Really? A pinch-hitter? He went hitless in the series." That's when I got my first over rather than through-the-glasses look; she said, "Sugar, he batted .300 that season, and the Mets never would have made it to the Series if he didn't hit .538 in the National League Championship Series."

She also said she was heartbroken when the Mets traded him in '71 and was devastated when they gave away his number to "some other player they traded for in 1973."  

Dale's position was the Mets should have retired Shamsky's #24. I was still not getting the hype, so (pre-Internet) I checked my encyclopedia of baseball when I got home. As usual, Dale's stats were exactly right.  

I read his entire Bio and there was the AHHA "now I get it" moment: Art Shamsky was Jewish.  I read on with great amusement. That "some other player" that the Mets had the audacity to give his number away to? It was Willie Mays.

I always had great admiration for Dale's Jewish faith-something she was openly proud of. She taught Hebrew School and tutored bar and bat mitzvah students for many years. While personally unfamiliar with the process, I always thought how fortunate those children were to be mentored by someone like Dale.

In lighter moments, our conversations would go back to baseball. She once mentioned how unbeatable an all-Jewish All Star team would be. I said, "Dale, you're nuts," but I could not dispute her rebuttal. She said: "If we field 9 Jews, don't you think we'll get all the help we'll need from the 10th player that won't be on the field? Sandy Koufax would pitch so we'd only need one run to win, and with Al Rosen, Rod Carew and Hank Greeberg at the top of the order we're guaranteed runs."  

"Rod Carew?" I asked. "He and everybody else in his family was born in Panama. He converted. You don't get Carew."

It was Dale's passion for many things that I admired most. Her faith, our industry, baseball - but I truly believe it was her passion for and love of her family and friends that was first and foremost in her life.  

I was at a book store six weeks ago and spotted a new release: "Between You & Me - Confessions of a Comma Queen," by Mary Norris. I picked up two copies and sent one to Dale. I thought it fitting that Comma Queen inspired me to think of Dale. I will remember her as a queen in many ways. 

On behalf of myself and everyone here at Hidden Brook who were fortunate enough to know and admire Dale, we'd like to say one final farewell using words she said so often:

Goodbye, My Darling...