EVERYTHING WILL BE OK: A great and good man

This is the story of an 8-year-old boy and a 62-year-old man. One very successful and well-known. One, well, 8.

Picture the scene: A crisp, sunny day on the South Lawn of the White House. Rows of chairs set up theater style for a show like no other. The 2007 World Champion Red Sox team arrayed on a riser behind a podium with the presidential seal. Big Papi commanding attention like he’s at bat. The president at the microphone. A little boy, just over 4 feet tall, in a Red Sox hat and jacket, a baseball in one hand, a Sharpie in the other, creeping up the center aisle, getting closer and closer to the riser, like a hunter cornering its quarry.

Then, without warning, the show ends, and the players file off the stage and head up the white marble stairs while a phalanx of ushers step forward to block the crowd from coming any closer — the crowd and the boy, Jack.

I approach my little autograph hunter and see that he has tears of disappointment in his eyes.

“Honey, there’s the president of the Red Sox, Mr. Lucchino,” I say, pointing to a group of participants who hadn’t yet gone inside. “Let’s get his autograph; that will be cool.”

Jack has a look that clearly shows he knows the difference between getting his ball signed by Lucchino and Jacoby Ellsbury, but he gamely approaches and hands him his ball. Lucchino signs it and moves to hand it back to Jack, noticing the tears as he does.

“What’s wrong?” he asks me.

“Oh, he’s just disappointed he didn’t get any autographs,” I say, brushing aside his concern. “Well, Jack, why don’t you give me your ball, and I’ll get it signed and send it back to you?”

A friend standing nearby has the presence of mind to hand Lucchino her business card. He doesn’t know me, and I don’t have a card on hand to tell him where to mail the ball.

Lucchino walks away and then stops, turning back to us.

“Hey Jack, why don’t you just come with me?”

I push Jack forward to go with this stranger, and then it’s me whose eyes tear up as I watch my son and Lucchino walking side by side up the marble staircase, Lucchino bent over a bit to hear what Jack is saying.

Several minutes later — 10, 15; I don’t remember, it could have been a year — Jack long disappeared into the most powerful home on earth, a White House aide approaches me and asks, “Is it true your son is in the White House alone?”

I answer, “He’s not alone; he’s with Mr. Lucchino.”

She tells me to follow her, and when I get inside I can’t believe my eyes. There is Jack standing next to Lucchino. I can see his ball is full of signatures.

I hear Lucchino say, “Who do you want to meet next?” and Jack answers “Jacoby Ellsbury,” and the two head toward the center fielder. By this time, Jack has pulled a second ball he had brought with him out of his pocket — “for my best friend,” he tells Lucchino, who chuckles and continues bringing him around the room.

Eventually, they spot me and come over. Jack’s smile could have lit up the whole Beltway. I hug Lucchino and whisper, “You’re a prince.”

Little did I know what a prince of a man he truly was. The write-ups about his life and accomplishments since Lucchino passed on April 2 focus on his role in bringing three World Series wins to Boston; his insistence on preserving not rebuilding Fenway Park; his earlier roles in bringing fans the beautiful Camden Yards, and with the Padres.

Appreciation stories have noted that he raised millions for cancer research as a three-time survivor himself and highlight his service on the Watergate Commission staff and as a young lawyer working for the famed Williams & Connolly law firm in Washington D.C.  Imagine having Edward Bennett Williams, revered trial lawyer and part-owner of the now-Washington Commanders and the Baltimore Orioles as a mentor, as Lucchino did. Then, imagine having Larry Lucchino as your mentor.

Profiles describe a hard-charging leader. Yet, underneath that undeniable drive was this — an incomparable generosity and kindness, illustrated in this small way — a relationship with an 8-year-old boy that lasted almost 17 years.

After that unforgettable day at the White House, Jack and Lucchino would come together again, this time months later when Lucchino was awarded an honorary degree at a local law school. Jack, as a surprise, came out from behind the curtain in full academic regalia and bestowed it. Lucchino looked bowled over.

The two of them then sat for hours next to each other on the stage and chatted as hundreds of degrees were conferred and became unlikely friends.

Over the years, Jack would be invited to stop by Lucchino’s office at Fenway when he was attending a game. And he would host our whole family many, many times in his box at Fenway, giving tours of the dugout and clubhouse. We weren’t in any way part of Lucchino’s inner circle, yet he made Jack and our daughter Maddy feel like they were welcome at the center of his universe.

Years later, Jack would tell Lucchino he wanted to go to law school, and Lucchino pointed to his own experience to note that didn’t mean he had to practice as a lawyer.

When Lucchino turned his attention to Triple-A, he talked to Jack about an internship at the Pawtucket Red Sox with this impish invitation: “I can understand if you’d rather be in the big leagues, but we’d love to have you in minor league baseball.”

Jack helped manage the concessions and would attend meetings with Red Sox executive Dr. Charles Steinberg.

Most recently, we joined him at Polar Park and listened as he talked about its development with as much joy and pride as he did the adding of the Monster Seats on Lansdowne Street.

Larry Lucchino will be remembered for all of his enormous contributions. He was a great man.  To my family and one young man who once clutched a baseball and a Sharpie with the tenacity of Teddy Ballgame, Lucchino will also be remembered as a deeply good one, too.  

 Virginia Buckingham is the president of the Marblehead Current’s board of directors.