On April 16, 1978, in St. Louis, Bob Forsch pitched the first no-hitter of his major league career as a member of the St. Louis Cardinals—a 5-0 victory over the Philadelphia Phillies.
I know about this milestone because I was there. Or more precisely, Mary and I were there, bundled together in the bleak, drizzly cold of an early-spring afternoon.
The memory remains vivid for many reasons. Chief among them: Mary and I were on our way home from the Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri, to Fort Wayne, Indiana. Just eight days earlier, in Franklin, Michigan, we had exchanged our marriage vows. The day after our wedding we set off for the Ozarks for our week-long honeymoon.
It seemed only right—at least to me—that while on our way home we stop for a major league baseball game. Even in miserable weather, baseball called. And somehow, that no-hitter felt like a small sign of validation. A reward, maybe, for the spontaneous detour—despite the six-hour drive still ahead of us.
By the time we reached 1815 ½ High Street, it was late into the night. We’d passed the hours in our VW Rabbit with a stack of Chuck Mangione cassettes and the quiet excitement of newlyweds starting their life together.
We had just started to unpack when the phone rang.
It was late. Most of the Midwest was asleep. But not Mary’s father.
Don Cargo wasn’t interested in no-hitters.
Our arrival had been much later than expected, and that raised alarm. His daughter—though now married—was still his daughter. He had nurtured, protected, and loved her for nearly 22 years. Walking her down the aisle just days earlier hadn’t walked her out of his life.
After a short conversation with Mary, Don’s fears eased, but his call made something very clear to me.
The promise I made at the altar wasn’t just to Mary. It was to her parents, her family, her friends… and her God.
I was to thoughtfully, wisely, humbly, selflessly, and gently steward the relationship I now had as Mary’s husband. Don Cargo wanted to be sure I understood the seriousness of that commitment.
I never forgot the lesson.
Now, 47 years later, it remains etched in my heart. So much so that, after both of Mary’s parents had passed, I asked for the wedding band that Don Cargo had worn for over 60 years. I now wear it alongside the ring Mary placed on my finger on April 8.
Two gold bands that circle the promise I made to both Mary—and her parents.
I am a steward of a promise.
For life.
Two bands of gold remind me daily.
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