When Terry Mulholland took the mound at Wrigley Field on a warm August afternoon last year, the reverberations were felt hundreds of miles away in a Pennsylvania hospital room where his father lay in a coma.
Looking back on the events that would change his family’s life forever, Mulholland can only shake his head and smile.
“It was a miracle,” he said. “That’s what it was.”
Seven months have passed and his father, 54-year-old Terry Mulholland Sr., is at spring training where his son is back in a familiar starting role after a stellar 1998 season in which he went 6-5 with a sterling 2.89 earned-run average mostly in relief.
But it’s Terry Sr.’s journey from a near-death experience to walking in the Arizona sunshine that is a story that almost defies belief.
The senior Mulholland was stricken with a viral infection of the brain Aug. 9 while at his home in Uniontown, Pa. The infection led to a severe stroke that left him in a coma at Uniontown Hospital. The Cubs were on a 10-day trip and his son got the news while checking his messages from the Cubs’ charter, which was about to take off from the St. Louis airport for San Francisco.
“My mom was upset and crying: `I’ve got some terrible news–your father had a really bad stroke,’ ” Mulholland recalled her saying. “The plane was about to take off. There was nothing I could do.”
As soon as the plane landed, Mulholland got on another one and flew back to Pittsburgh, then drove an hour to the hospital. He spent the next four days at his father’s bedside, but when it became apparent the vigil could be a long one, he left, flying to Houston to rejoin the Cubs for an important series with the division-leading Astros.
He made his first appearance in the 11th inning of a tie game, with two outs and the bases loaded. Mulholland induced dangerous Derek Bell to hit a comebacker to the mound, but his throw to first base–a throw he had made countless times–inexplicably sailed over Mark Grace’s head. The winning run came home to give Houston a 5-4 comeback victory.
Mulholland was physically tired and emotionally spent from his family’s ordeal, but he refused to make excuses. For the next week he had the difficult task of trying to concentrate on his job while his father’s condition was never out of his mind.
In the second week, the “miracle” occurred. The Cubs were playing Houston at Wrigley Field in a nationally televised game Aug. 22 and Mulholland came to the park early.
“The ballpark was my sanctuary,” he said. “It was my only time to be around the guys and forget about what was going on for a little while.”
In the second inning, trainer Dave Tumbas came into the dugout and told Mulholland his brother Danny was on the phone from the hospital.
“I just spoke to the doctors,” Danny told Terry. “They said it’s just a matter of hours for Dad.”
Mulholland chose to stay for the rest of the game and take the first flight to Pittsburgh afterward.
“Dad would want me to stay and finish the game,” he told his brother.
Manager Jim Riggleman told Mulholland he should leave immediately to be with his family, but understood his decision.
“In that case, I may use you,” Riggleman said. “Are you OK to pitch?”
Mulholland nodded yes and went to the bullpen. An hour later he got the call to warm up and soon found himself in the game.
“I always check the scoreboard when I go in–check the outs, the score–and I looked at the clock and I remember seeing it was 2:15,” Mulholland said. “That stuck in my mind when I jogged out to the mound. I felt a real calm come over me while warming up, like all my problems and stress had left. I could have sworn to you then that my dad had died. I felt it was all over.”
Mulholland did his job and went back to the dugout. At the end of the game, Tumbas came over and told him his brother was on the phone again.
“I was prepared,” Terry said. “I assumed he had died. My brother Danny says, `How’s it going, Terry?’ I said, `What’s going on with Dad?’ Danny says, `You want to talk to Dad?’ I got mad. I said, `Danny, that’s not funny. I’m not in the mood.’ He says, `Hold on, here’s Dad.’ “
Danny handed the phone to Terry Sr., who was groggy but able to mumble enough words to let his son know he was indeed alive.
“He wasn’t talking well, but I can’t describe how I felt when I heard him on the phone,” Terry said. “He handed the phone to Danny, and I asked what happened.”
What happened? While Danny and his mother, Pat, were keeping their vigil in the silent hospital, Danny decided to turn on the TV.
“This is nonsense,” Danny told his mother. “The least they could do is turn the game on. If it’s the last thing he hears, at least Dad will hear the Cubs game.”
Danny clicked on the TV, turned the channel to the Cubs-Astros game and cranked up the volume. Mulholland had been warming up in the bullpen and the TV cameras showed him walking in to the mound.
“There’s Terry, Dad,” Danny said loudly. “Terry’s coming into the game.”
As if on cue, Terry Mulholland Sr. came out of his coma, put his head up and simply said, `Terry’s in.’ “
Danny and Pat Mulholland immediately summoned his nurses. Within minutes doctors were administering tests while Terry Sr. peeked around them to watch the game.
Before Mulholland left Wrigley for the flight to Pittsburgh, Jeff Blauser and Rod Beck gave him the Cubs’ good-luck charm, a chunk of driftwood they had named “Manny Mojo” and hung in Blauser’s locker.
“Part of the stipulation was that if we gave him our good-luck charm, he had to bring it back to us,” Blauser said.
Manny Mojo sat on the windowsill of Terry Sr.’s room until he left the hospital and it went with him during his six weeks of rehabilitation at a center in Morgantown, W.Va. Last week Terry Sr. flew down to Arizona to see his son, and he gave Manny Mojo back to Blauser in the Cubs’ clubhouse.
“It was pretty evident how valuable life is,” Blauser said. “As athletes, we think we’re bulletproof. We think playing baseball is the most important thing in the world. It’s not. It was pretty evident when you see someone one day and three days later he’s in a coma.”
Terry Mulholland Sr. had his life back. The aftereffects of the stroke are still there–he doesn’t remember names and he can’t read. But life is slowly returning to normal.
“I’m unable to say the things I want to say,” he said. “But it’s not that important to me. I know all my kids and I’m back with my family. I’m thankful every day for that.”
