"ACK Poetically" a loving tribute to Del Wynn
BY STEVE SHEPPARD INDEPENDENT SPORTS EDITOR
There is no better place than the sports pages to review a collection of Del Wynn's poems, musings, reportage and observations.

ROB BENCHLEY file

We can still see him running through the moors; or boxing to celebrate his 40th birthday; or simply stopping on Main Street to talk about the Red Sox or his beloved Pittsburgh Pirates.

Del loved sports. He never got to see the Red Sox win the World Series, but he was there to witness one of the most thrilling World Series games in history: the Pirates seventh-game clincher over the Yankees in 1960 - the day Mazeroski hit it out in the bottom of the ninth to win it all; the first, and one of only two, walk-off World Series homers in history.

He loved Nantucket more than he loved sports, and he loved his family more than he loved Nantucket. Del died on August 20, 2004 after a courageous battle with ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease.

His family pays tribute to him now with the publication of "ACK Poetically," a collection of his poems and writings. It is the project Del never got the chance to finish.

With the help of friends, Del's wife, MJ, has lovingly put together a book that resonates with the wit and tenderness Del carried with him through life. Del was always writing, it seems, and in her introduction, MJ thanks him "for spending so much time writing when he could have been banging nails."

Here in "ACK Poetically" are Del's recollections of seeing Nantucket for the first time; of how he started running (as far as running goes, Del was an early, enthusiastic and influential proponent of the sport on Nantucket); of the joys of being father to sons Patrick and Riley (to whom he dedicates his book). There are snippets, some entitled "ACKfirmations," and other, random observations that are compelling in their simplicity.

But the poems form the backbone of this collection, including his best known, "Hawk Over Ram Pasture," one of the many he had published over the years.

There are some wonderful essays as well, including his piece about Maz's homer, where he tells how he skipped school to be at Forbes Field that day, and how his friend not only got him into the game, but became a part of history as well.

There's also a first-rate chapter on the history of running on Nantucket; to our knowledge, the definitive work on the subject. And there's this poem, "Boston 2000: AView from Mile 20.1," and its first stanza:

"At the crack of the pistol the runners depart

on their glorious run to the sea.

Twenty years have now passed since that time shrouded day

when one of those runners was me."

Elsewhere, the beginning to ACKfirmation #4:

"The little boy, about five, sat on the lower step of the back porch. His head was bowed as if in prayer. On closer examination, one saw that his devout posture, rather than hinting at heavenly ministrations, was that of a young boy giving his full and unfettered attention to the task of tying his shoe." Wynn then carefully, slowly, deliberately keeps us focused on this simple act, skillfully revealing the setting until we are as wrapped up in the moment as the observer and the young boy. With Del, the exuberance of youth was never lost on him; nor was the ecstasy of learning.

Be warned: once you start flipping through this book, you will not be able to stop. From the heartfelt introduction written by his friend John Shea to Del's homage to his family, "ACK Poetically" is a celebration not only of Del's life, but also of an era, and we

miss both terribly. I

"ACK Poetically" is available at Mitchell's Book Corner and Nantucket Bookworks. All proceeds will go toward an educational fund for his sons.

HAWK OVER RAM PASTURE

Spiraling lazy circles on a gusty Southwest breeze,
I sit and watch a Red Tail Hawk demonstrate with ease
the art of graceful flying,
of soaring wild and free,
and wish, somehow by magic,
that Red Tail Hawk was me.
I'd make peace with all my feathered foes,
an end to Bird of Prey.
I'd send a message on the wind - this Hawk's the Bird of Play
who spends his morning playing tag
with the early rising doves;
In the afternoon I'd join the Swans as they trumpet high above
all the Earth bound chaos that fills a human's day.
But me, I'd fly above it all
where the Goldfinch leads the way.
When evening falls, though tired of wing
from the soaring that I've done,
I'd set my course to far off shore for the setting of the sun.
I'd watch in silent wonderment
as it slips into the sea;
that's how I'd spend this perfect day
if that Red Tail Hawk was me.