Philip's cure for hiccups

I had the hiccups tonight, and I resorted to a hiccup cure I have been using ever since Philip Kendall taught it to me in 1973.

You put a standard issue table-knife in a glass of water and drink all the water leaving the knife in place. The knife somehow forces you to hold your throat in the right way to cure the hiccups. Since Phil taught me the cure, I have learned over the last 30 years or so, that you don't actually need the knife, but you have to drink the water as if the knife were there. . .you do a sort of chugging action on the water, and drink it in one fell swoop.

I don't know if this was a Kendall Home Remedy, or if he learned it in college, but it works (for me at least) 100% of the time. As it turns out, the knife cure is not unknown, or just a Kendall family home remedy.
---o0o---

The Love of Baseball

by Becky

Baseball was one of Philip's early passions. Many of my memories of him revolve around baseball-related events. My own passion for the game was re-ignited during the Mariner's 2001 season, when I started watching them on television, something I hadn't done more than a few times in the past. I was surprised how quickly I got caught up in the game and its penchant for statistics, and how it brought back a flood of family memories of its place in our lives.

My dad used to take us to the Seattle Rainier's games at Sick's Stadium in the early 1960's. I remember Philip always brought a baseball with him, and would stand at the chain link fence that protected the fans from getting clobbered with foul balls, and hold his ball up against one of the small diamond-shaped openings in the fence while a player signed it for him. He also always had his mitt with him, hoping for a foul ball into the stands that he could catch. I don't remember a ball ever coming over the fence into our favorite seating area, left of home plate.

In Little League Philip found that he had a talent for accurate throwing, and was chosen to pitch. He used to practice at home in the front yard with me or Claudia. I would also pitch to him when he wanted to practice his swing, and remember vividly when he hit a line drive smack at my nose, causing it to bleed profusely. You would think I would have learned my lesson and never pitch again, but years later I was hit in the face by my own husband when he hit one straight at me and I barely had time to turn my face to have it hit squarely on my cheek bone, and flatten me to the ground. Visions of practicing in the front yard with Philip danced in my starry head.

In the summer of 1965 my mother took all of us on a trip to Boston to visit her family. We had planned on being gone 2 weeks, meaning that Philip would have to miss a crucial championship game back home. They would have to use a substitute pitcher, and were counting on losing that one. As it turned out, my mother and dad missed each other so much that she cut our stay short and we headed home on the plane the day of the crucial game. With a quick trip home to gather his baseball mitt and clothing, we rushed to the field so he could play. Philip's teammates were so excited to have him back in time to kill the opposition, that it was as if he had ridden in on a white horse into town. They won the game, and we all went to the Shamrock Dairy in South Seattle to celebrate. We just happen to have a short video of him (captured from VHS via movie reels, and then captured again to computer) playing ball in LL (both pitching and hitting) that you can watch here. It's small and grainy, but you may recognize that distinctive walk and hand-on-hip stance of his.


The statistics of baseball were very important to Philip. He studied them, memorized them, and did his own calculations while waiting for the officials to publish them. One of my fondest memories of Philip was his endearing habit of figuring baseball averages in the air with his index finger held up to an imaginary blackboard.

The 1962 major league baseball season was one that would become Every Boy's Dream for Phil. He was an avid San Francisco Giants fan, and as they struggled through the season, my dad casually promised Philip that if they got into the World Series he would take him to see them play. As the season progressed, and the Giants came roaring back, my dad realized he might have to make good on his promise. And he did. The Giants got into the series, and my dad purchased tickets for him and Philip to go to San Francisco to see them play. It was probably the most exciting event of his life. They camped out the night before the opening game at the doors of Candlestick Park, and the next day they could be seen rushing in with a crowd of other dedicated fans on the front page of the sports section of the newspaper. Even though the Giants eventually lost the title to the (Damn) Yankees, Philip got to see his Giants' heroes Willie McCovey and Willie Mays -- and from the Yankees, Roger Maris, Yogi Berra, and Mickey Mantle play.

In high school he abandoned baseball for football and basketball. I found out recently, after going through his letters home while he was in college, that he had signed up to play with a softball team and that they were heading into the championships. Philip had come back to his first sports love. (read Kevin's comment for more on that)

And that is why I still love baseball. I feel connected to Philip and my dad while I'm watching. It is in the blood.