Lisa Meuwissen
I’ve met a lot of baseball fans in my time, but Lisa Meuwissen’s got one of my favorite stories. She grew up across the street from Tiger Stadium—literally. Her Uncle Juice ran a bar where the ushers knew her by name, and she’s been sneaking through ballpark back doors ever since. Whether it’s Detroit, Kansas City, or Fenway Park, Lisa somehow finds her way inside. And once she’s there, she brings everyone together—flight attendants, fans, even old friends of Sparky Anderson. Talking to her reminded me what this book’s really about: baseball’s magic for making the world feel smaller.
Lisa, how did you fall in love with baseball and ballparks?
I’m from Detroit. My mom’s family owned the Express Bar, right across from the old Tiger Stadium at Michigan and Trumbull. I grew up going to games because our family worked at the bar. My uncle Juice ran it, and he knew everyone at the stadium—he’d walk us through the back door, and the ushers would seat us right behind the dugout. Those were my earliest baseball memories—Tiger Stadium, the Express Bar, and family.
When I got older, I parked cars for games to earn money for college. My uncle would tell people, “Park here for my niece—she’s going to college!” Baseball literally helped pay my tuition.
Even when my dad moved me to Minnesota, the Tigers were still my team. When I started flying for Republic Airlines in 1985, I decided to visit every stadium in the country. My first big trip was Boston. I was on a layover, alone, when an older man introduced himself—“Mean Joe Green,” not the football player. He was a Tigers fan and friends with Sparky Anderson. He took me to Fenway, introduced me to Sparky, and Sparky called over Cecil Fielder, who gave me a ball. He hit a home run that night, and people offered me $500 for that ball. I said, “Oh hell no, this is my ball.” Sparky later signed it, and we hung the photo of me and Cecil at the Express Bar.
Joe Green and I stayed pen pals for years. Baseball just connects people like that—it bridges cities, generations, strangers.
How would you describe that bond baseball creates?
It brings people together—families, coworkers, fans. Everyone’s equal inside a ballpark. No matter who you are or what you do, baseball levels the field. It’s about shared memories and stories.
Your earliest memories were at Tiger Stadium. What about Comerica Park?
I’ve been to many games there. I love Comerica—it’s beautiful and comfortable. They did a great job preserving Detroit’s history—the pillars, the statues, the architecture. It’s cozy and charming. I call it “cozy” because it feels warm and personal. The merry-go-round, the walkways—it all feels like the city’s heart.
What would you tell someone visiting Detroit for a game?
Go. Don’t miss it. Comerica is special. It’s right in the city, and you can feel the energy of Detroit inside it.
You’ve brought flight crews to games on layovers, right?
Oh, yeah. I’m the one saying, “We have to go! There’s a game!” I once dragged my whole crew to Kansas City to see the Royals. Everyone was smiling and talking about it the next day—it brought us together.
Another time, in 2021, we were in Boston. I saw the Twins were in town and convinced two flight attendants to go. We couldn’t get tickets, but this vendor—kind of a Boston version of my Uncle Juice—led us through back doors and stairways, and suddenly we were inside Fenway! We didn’t even have seats. We just wandered down and sat near the dugout. No one kicked us out. It was magic.
There’s nothing like it.
Exactly. There’s nothing like baseball.
Favorite Tigers memories?
Sparky Anderson, Alan Trammell, Lou Whitaker, Kirk Gibson—they were our heroes. I even flew Ron Gardenhire on charters when he managed the Tigers. He always sat in the back with the players, watching over them. I’ll never forget him shouting “Sit doooown!” when someone stood before the plane stopped. Total respect.
That’s perfect. Baseball people are the best people.
They really are.
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.