There are no adults at Fenway Park. They walked through the 19th century cement-and-steel walls, walked into the greenest grass this side of Ireland, and they all became children, dreaming children’s dreams.

From 8 to 80, they stood with their backs straight against the most famous wall in baseball, stared at home plate an alleged 310 feet away, and tried to imagine what it was like to be that real estate’s most famous tenant from 1939 to 1960, the late left fielder Theodore Williams.

About 12,000 devoted fans filed through the green cathedral Monday morning, to pay respects to Williams, now at the center of a bizarre family feud over his frozen remains. The tones were hushed as they made the circuit around the hallowed ground, with Glenn Miller and other World War II music filling the air.

The scoreboard read “At Bat 9. average .406.” There was a catch in many of the throats. Mothers and fathers, sons and daughters took endless pictures against the wall, pictures destined for the family mantelpiece for the next 40 years.

One fan, about 65, dressed in a well-used sweat shirt with the sleeves cut off, just walked up to the left-field wall, touched his tanned fist to a picture of Williams and Babe Ruth, closed his eyes for a second, turned and left. That was enough.

For the rest of them, they had to make the whole circuit looking at the pictures on the wall with Williams standing with Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Muhammad Ali, President George Bush and a host of former and familiar Red Sox players.

They all knew the statistics of the greatest Red Sox player of them all – the last man to hit over .400, a lifetime average of .344, 521 home runs, two Triple Crowns, six American League batting championships. To close the storybook career, Williams hit a home run off Baltimore’s Jack Fisher on Sept. 28, 1960. Like 12 million other people, I swear I was there, just behind first base.

But that was just part of the story that was Ted Williams. In many interviews in the latter years, he said the proudest accomplishment was not batting .406, but being a Marine.

The left-field wall displayed a huge photograph of Williams in his Navy fighter, with the words “An American hero.” Williams flew in both World War II and Korea and once crash-landed a flaming Saber jet while flying as wingman with one John Glenn.

As many have said, Ted Williams was the man John Wayne only wished he could be.

They stopped and wrote a note to Ted with the hope that he would, somehow, see it. The scrawled sentiments said, “You were the greatest … Numero Uno … The greatest American since George Washington … Have a nice rest, kid.”

Another huge picture showed Williams working with children, since the slugger was also a pioneer in the development of the Jimmy Fund.

Not a bad life.

The center-field scoreboard showed some of the quotes that illustrated the fabulous career.

“Trying to sneak a baseball past Ted Williams is like trying to sneak a sunbeam past a rooster.” – Bob Feller.

“The best thing to do was to let him do what he was going to do and then get the next man.” – Paul Richards.

“I wanted to be a hitter. I wished it on every star.” – Williams.

“If I was paid $30,000, I figured the least I could do was hit .400.” – Williams.

“I found that if you can hit, you don’t have to wear a tie.” – Williams. Nobody had to tell the fans about the red chair.

It was Seat 21 in Row 37, deep into the center field bleachers, exactly 502 feet from home plate. The chair was painted red to commemorate a Williams blast in 1946 said to be the longest shot in the history of the park. They came again with their cameras and flowers. The line snaked all the way through the bleachers, down to the field. Everyone wanted a picture of “Ted’s seat.”

Even after they made the circuit around Fenway Park, saw all the photographs, took all their pictures, they just stood there and stared. They didn’t want to leave. They knew they would never stand in center field in Fenway Park again. And they knew they would never see the likes of Theodore S. Williams again.

Have a nice rest, kid.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.