Remembering the night Tony C got beaned. The Red Sox should finally do the right thing and retire Conigliaro's No. 25

CUTLINE: Tony Conigliaro is shown in his hospital bed the day after the night that he was beaned by Los Angeles Angels pitcher Jack Hamilton on Friday night Aug. 18, 1967. For those like myself who were in attendance at Fenway Park, it's a moment we'll never forget. (Boston Globe file photo on Boston.com) 

To commemorate tomorrow’s 55^th anniversary of one of the most iconic moments of the Boston Red Sox’s fabled 1967 Impossible Dream season --- the beaning of Tony Conigliaro on the sultry summer night of Friday, Aug. 18, 1967 --- I thought I’d share this column that I wrote for The Sun Chronicle of Attleboro, MA, as the 50^th anniversary of that moment approached. That column was published on Aug. 16, 2017.
At the same time, I’m taking this opportunity to renew my plea for the Boston Red Sox to retire Tony Conigliaro’s No. 25.  
Conigliaro, known forever to Red Sox fans of that era as “Tony C,” shares a unique place in the history of the Sox and that magical Impossible Dream year. He also set records that stood for a very long time, including being the youngest American League player to reach 100 home runs which he did at the age of 22, 
The proper way to preserve Conigliaro’s legacy and place in Boston sports history demands that the Red Sox do the right thing and finally retire his number.
I don’t expect the current tone-deaf ownership to finally do that, but that honor is long overdue.
Enjoy the column --- and let the Red Sox know that you want Tony C's No. 25 retired! #Tony C.
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NOTE: This column originally appeared in The Sun Chronicle of Attleboro, MA on Wednesday, Aug. 16, 2017.

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It’s one of my “where-where-you-when moments” that I’ll never forget – and it happened on a Friday night 50 years ago this week.
The beaning of Boston Red Sox slugger Tony Conigliaro during the 1967 season -- like the moon landing and JFK’s assassination -- is forever imbedded in my memory banks. That’s because I was sitting in the first-base grandstand when a fastball slammed into the left cheekbone of Conigliaro, forever changing the storied ’67 season and ultimately prematurely ending the right-fielder’s career.
The team’s accomplishments will be honored in a pregame ceremony tonight, and if you don’t automatically connect 1967 with “The Impossible Dream” song, then you’re a Gen-Xer or millennial. That’s because the Impossible Dream team’s exploits will never be forgotten by the fans who flocked to Fenway that summer, when we came to believe in the improbable happening every day.
Fifty years later, it’s hard for those who were under 6 in 1967 to fathom why the beaning of Tony C by California Angels pitcher Jack Hamilton was such a big deal, so here’s why it was: Tony C was a rarity: a local boy (from the North Shore) who made it big with the Sox, and was tearing the cover off the ball. He set all kind of records when he broke in as a rookie three years earlier at 19, and in 1965, he became the youngest player to lead the league in homers, with 32. Just the previous month at 22, he had become the youngest American Leaguer to hit 100 homers. He was having another solid year, and was one of the leaders of that team, along with Carl Yastrzemski, Reggie Smith, Jim Lonborg, Rico Petrocelli and George Scott.
Sitting in the first-base grandstand that night, I can still hear the thud when Hamilton’s ball smashed into Tony C’s helmet and sent him sprawling on the ground in the bottom of the fourth. The Sox won that game, but when the picture of Tony C with his black eye in his hospital bed was splashed across the front pages of Boston’s papers on Saturday morning, it was clear that not only was Conigliaro done for the year, but his future was in jeopardy.
In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising that Tony C would never be the same again --- Hamilton’s fastball broke his cheekbone, dislocated his jaw and damaged the retina in his left eye, which hindered his comeback attempts and ultimately ended his career. In quotes by Tony C compiled by the Society for American Baseball Research, we can understand just how brutal the beaning was:
“The ball came sailing right toward my chin. I know I didn’t freeze. I definitely made a move to get out of the way of the ball. When the ball was about 4 feet from my head, I knew it would get me. And I knew it would hurt because Hamilton was such a hard thrower. I was frightened. I threw my hands up in front of my face and saw the ball follow me back and hit me square in the left side of the head.
“As soon as it crushed into me, it felt as if the ball would go in one side of my head and come out the other; my legs gave way and I went down like a sack of potatoes. Just before everything went dark, I saw the ball bounce straight down on home plate. It was the last thing I saw for several days.
“I was never knocked out, but I wish I had been. I rolled on the ground trying to stop the pain in my head with my hands. The impact of the ball made both my eyes slam shut, and I felt a tremendous swelling in my mouth. I couldn’t see. I remember thinking, ‘I’m blind, I can’t see.’
“The swelling was so bad inside my mouth that I was worried about breathing. My mouth was filling up fast with fluid. I had only a small opening that I could breathe through, and then the thought started running through my mind: Suppose this thing closes up? I won’t be able to breathe. I thought, ‘Oh, Jesus, if this thing closes up on me I’m gone.’ That’s when I asked God to keep me alive.”
Conigliaro’s prayers were answered – for a while. After missing the 1968 season, he had two successful seasons in 1969 and 1970, when he hit 36 homers. But in 1971, while playing with the Angels, vision problems related to the beaning left him sidelined until 1975, when he was the designated hitter for the Red Sox on opening day. However, his comeback ended after just 21 games. He suffered a heart attack on Jan. 9, 1982, and then had a stroke that left him in a coma. He died Feb. 24, 1990 at 45.
So, while cheering for the Impossible Dream team this week, take time to remember one of the saddest nights at Fenway Park, and the young slugger who inspired the team to bring the Sox their first pennant in 21 years.
LARRY KESSLER is a retired Sun Chronicle local news editor who can quote from the “Impossible Dream” album. He can be reached at lkessler1@comcast.net.