He’s Still Best Known for Having Spirit of ’76

It’s been 20 years, measured by some hearts at 20 minutes.

Rick Monday remembers arriving at Dodger Stadium, opening a letter, reading the words of a Vietnam veteran thanking him for saving the American flag from burning on April 25, 1976.

He remembers because he received the letter last week.

“Letters every week,” Monday said. “All sorts of letters. For a piece of cloth.”

Twenty years, and Monday’s smooth voice still trembles at the telling.

“I’ve gotten a thousand questions wondering if I’m disappointed being best known for something that had nothing to do with baseball,” Monday said. “My answer is, absolutely not.”

It was the bottom of the fourth inning at Dodger Stadium. Ted Sizemore was the Dodger batter. Monday was the Chicago Cub center fielder. The count was 1-0.

We could tell you what happened, but Vin Scully will always do it better:

“Wait a minute, there’s an animal loose . . . two of them . . . all right . . . I’m not sure what he’s doing out there . . . it looks like he’s going to burn a flag . . . and Rick Monday runs and takes it away from him!”

The animals were an unemployed 37-year-old man from Eldon, Mo., named William Errol Thomas and his alleged son. They got onto the field through the third-base seats and ran to shallow left field.

Monday saw them stop there. Saw something being laid out, “like a picnic blanket.” Saw the glare off the bottle of clear liquid.

“I said to myself, ‘That’s a flag, and that’s lighter fluid,’ ” Monday recalled.

Monday had completed six years in the Marine Corps reserves. He had lost friends in Vietnam. He had heard stories of his father and the Army.

He knew all about the prices that were paid for something that allowed him to go from an average Santa Monica schoolboy to a very rich baseball player.

“It wasn’t about having some military background,” Monday said. “It was about appreciating your freedom.”

While others stood and watched, Monday ran.

He saw William Errol Thomas light a match. For a moment, he thought he would be too late. Then he realized he would not have to save this flag alone.

“A gust of wind came along and blew the match out,” Monday said.

Before the second match could be dropped, he had grabbed the flag and was carrying it off the field. He passed then-third base coach Tom Lasorda, who was running toward the fools and cursing. He handed the flag to Dodger pitcher Doug Rau.

He returned to his position amid a standing ovation.

Twenty years, and Monday can still hear what even Scully missed.

“As the cheering died, everybody in the stands started singing ‘God Bless America,’ ” Monday recalled. “I was stunned. I stood there and got chills.”

Monday was invited to a couple of parades. William Errol Thomas was fined $60 for trespassing. The story figured to die.

But Monday soon learned that his story was about something that does not die.

“Every year I heard about it, every week, all the time,” said Monday, a Dodger announcer for the last three years. “People thanking me. All sorts of people.”

He retrieved the flag and hung it simply in his living room, in front of the only photo taken of the incident.

The Dodger computer people produced a replica of that photo that will greet him every time he turns on his laptop.

The man who took that photo, another hero type named James Roark, former photo editor of the defunct Los Angeles Herald Examiner, died last fall after being beaten by four teenagers on the streets of Portland, Ore.

But the story lives, because of something that does not die.

“That Vietnam vet wrote that he was in a jungle hospital for eight months, and the only thing that kept him going was thinking about the piece of cloth,” Monday said. “Twenty years later, he wanted to thank me for saving it.”

What would happen if somebody tried to burn a flag in a major league outfield today?

Barry Bonds would grab it, sign it and put it up for sale.

Brett Butler, knowing that Betsy Ross was a nonunion worker, would ignore it.

Albert Belle would forget about the flag and set fire to the hippie.

Jose Canseco would grab for the flag and miss. It would then bounce off his head and over the left-field fence.

Rickey Henderson would drape it around his shoulders and immediately declare himself president.

Jim Edmonds would taunt it.

Kevin Mitchell would eat it.

Worse yet, if it happened today and Rick Monday tried to stop it, Monday would be arrested for infringing on the rights of others. The flag burner would be the hero.

Monday has only one thing to say to those such as Denver Nugget guard Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, who recently refused to stand for the national anthem.

“I would tell him, ‘If you want people to respect you, you have to respect them,’ ” he said.

Twenty years, and Rick Monday has not aged a day.

“People sometimes say, ‘You’re corny,’ ” Monday said. “I don’t care if I am corny.”