Milton Barrett, as you may know, was my father. A loving man who began his
journey in St. Louis Missouri on July the third, 1931. A journey that took him to
Anchorage Alaska to meet my mother, Martha. While he may have been
known to have “Wiley” ways, he fell in love with Martha. Of course, this led to
my writing this memorial.
My fathers’ journey included trying out for the old St. Louis Browns, an aspiring
task since he said he had “no idea what he was doing”. Nonetheless, he did try
out, fortunately he did not make the team or things may have turned out much
different for my mother and myself.
After traveling to California, my father found his way to Alaska and worked at
the Westward hotel during the time he met my mom Martha. Sometime later I
was born, and we found our way to Mobile Alabama. My dad worked a few
different jobs before packing up to move to Tucson, Arizona.
My dad, ultimately, retired in Arizona. At this point, his love for baseball
manifested with more time to spend pouring over the baseball cards he had
amassed over the years. His love for my mom, life, baseball, and myself could
never be questioned. Dad, you will truly be missed but I will remember you
through everything you taught me about baseball.