“I am a lifelong diehard New York Yankees fan and have been to Yankee Stadium, which was a bucket list item for myself. I have a goal of attending baseball games in every major league baseball park in the country. As of now I have been to nine of those parks.”
Those are the words of Dustin Mosier, a 32-year-old electrician who lives in Auburn with his wife and two school-age children. He is also a student at Southcentral Kentucky Community & Technical College studying Electrical Technology.
When I read this, I remembered fondly my devotion to major league baseball when I was his age. And, truthfully, I was a little envious that I no long share his devotion to what was such an important part of my life.
Then Friday came the news that that the hero who had jump-started my baseball love affair—Henry ‘Hank’ Aaron—had died at age 86.
I spent many summer evenings for a decade or more listening to Atlanta Braves radio broadcasts over clear channels WSB in Atlanta or WSM in Nashville. I hung on every pitch to Aaron in those days, mostly because of his closing in on the career home runs record of Babe Ruth.
But there was more. I’m a statistics guy, and—until steroid use in general and Barry Bonds in particular came along—stats were everything in baseball. Every time Henry came up to bat, he was adding to his totals on at-bats, hits, walks, RBIs and, yes, strikeouts. Even though his home run record has officially been eclipsed, he has over 12 miles more total bases than second place Stan Musial, I’ve read.
The first weekend I ever saw the Braves play in person came after the All-Star Break in 1968. Aaron was moving in on his 500th homer, and it was a big deal. I remember taking my portable radio to the tennis courts at Lipscomb University and checking between games and sets on the Braves. Some of us college friends were headed to Atlanta for the weekend, and we didn’t want him to hit number 500 until we got there.
The Braves played the Dodgers on that Saturday, and Aaron didn’t homer off spitballer Bill Singer. Don Sutton, who became a Braves announcer later in life, was the ace of that staff. He died last week, too.
Then on that Sunday we got to see The Hammer hit #500 off the Giants’ Mike McCormick (not to be confused with the former Russellville city councilman of the same name). Hall of Famers Willie Mays and Willie McCovey played for the Giants, as did Bobby Bonds, the father of Barry Bonds, who officially broke Henry’s career home run record in 2007.
I went to major league games a few more times as a fan. Hal Freeman, Brad Watson, Jim Luckett and I sat in the Coca-Cola booth in Atlanta (courtesy of Russellville Coca-Cola bottler S. Jay Freeman) and saw the Roberto Clemente/Willie Stargell Pirates in action against the Braves.
R.D. and Carole Reynolds, Larry and Peggy Reynolds, Mark Reynolds and I went to St, Louis to see our friend and former RHS teaching/coaching colleague Denny Doyle play for the Phillies against the Cardinals.
When I became a sportswriter 50 years ago this week, I could get press passes and get on the field. Some young guys who are now Logan County businessmen and civic leaders, Harris Dockins and Brian White, were among friends I was able to get on the field and in the club houses and pressboxes with me over the years.
I talked with a lot of players. In Cincinnati, Rose and Johnny Bench were easy to be around. The one it was hardest for me to get up the nerve to approach was a guy named Henry Aaron. But I did!
When the 1969 New York Mets—Casey Stengell’s “Amazin’ Mets”—won the first National League Playoffs, I was not on that bandwagon of Mets fans. Because it was MY Braves they swept for the pennant.
The Braves were family to us loyal fans. We felt we knew them personally. We knew their nicknames. Some had two. Aaron was both Hank and The Hammer. First baseman Orlando Cepeda was both Cha Cha and The Baby Bull. Shortstop Roland Jackson was both Sonny and Bony, and outfielder Johnny Baker was both Dusty and Johnny B. Also starting were pitchers Phil ‘Knucksie’ Niekro and Pat “The Little Bulldog” Jarvis, catchers “Big Bob” Tillman and “Young Bob” Didier and outfielders Rico “The Beeg Boy” Carty and Ralph “The Roadrunner” Garr. Second baseman Felix Millan was “The Kitten.” Claude ‘Frenchy’ Ramone was a relief pitcher.
The guy who introduced us to all these players and nicknames was play-by-play announcer Milo Hamilton. I probably heard more words from Milo and that I did my two grandfathers combined, although not as meaningful.
The Hammer and Milo were not good friends, highlighted by Milo introducing Pete Rose at a luncheon in Atlanta as “the best right fielder in baseball.” Both Pete and Henry were right fielders then.
Yet when it came time for Aaron to pass The Bambino as the all-time home run king, Milo had it arranged that he—Milo—would call every one of Henry’s plate appearances, even if it was in the third or seventh inning when his broadcast partner, Ernie Johnson Sr., was scheduled to do play by play.
Then when The Hammer hit number 715 on April 8, 1974, Milo said, “There’s a new home run champion of all time, and it’s Henry Aaron.” How dull was that, especially since he’d had months to prepare for it? Al Michaels’ “Do you believe in miracles?” or Vince Scully’s “I can’t believe what I just saw!” were not in jeopardy.
Fortunately, Scully was calling the game for the archrival Dodgers when Henry hit Al Downing’s pitch over the Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium’s left field fence. Scully wisely noted, “A Black man is getting a standing ovation for breaking the record of a baseball legend in the Deep South.”
That was remarkable. When the Braves moved from Milwaukee to Atlanta in 1966, the Civil Rights Movement was heated and violent. It was two years after the march across Selma’s Edmund Pettis Bridge, three years after Atlanta’s Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I have a Dream” speech and two years before Dr. King’s murder in Memphis.
Henry Aaron’s rise to fame in a city which had been so racially divided helped ease racial tensions in Atlanta and paved the way for the late Congressman John Lewis’ being sent to Washington, new U.S. Senator Raphael Warnock’s recent election, and Keisha Lance Bottoms’ becoming Atlanta’s 60th and current mayor.
When Aaron hit the milestone home run, one of those greeting him at home plate was Braves mascot Chief Noc-A-Homa. Now activists who want the team’s name changed from Braves are calling for a new name, the Atlanta Hammers in honor of Hammerin’ Hank.
The Braves also played a big role in America’s acceptance of paying for television when cablevision became a reality. WSB was showing every Braves game on a daily basis. And Harry Caray was telling us of the wonders of the Cubs on WGN. Neither team was very good then, but we still loved baseball.
Elaine and I subscribed to cablevision when we lived on Main Street in Russellville as newlyweds 40 years ago, and as soon as we moved out to the farm, we had one of those huge satellite dishes installed in half of the yard, mostly to see the Braves.
I had been introduced to baseball as a boy through the Yankees. Baseball was only on television on weekends, the All-Star game and the World Series. The Yankees were shown in most of those games with broadcaster Dizzy Dean butchering the English language but building excitement. When I first went to college and the Yankees were playing St. Louis in the 1964 World Series, I was shocked to meet people who were actually for the Cardinals instead of my Yankees.
The home run chase of 1960 between two Yankee outfielders had grabbed America’s attention. I was rooting for Mickey Mantle, but teammate Roger Maris was the one who topped another Babe Ruth record with 61 homers in a season. Later when I met both Maris and Mantle in person, I felt guilty because Maris was so much nicer than Mantle.
One of my goals as a sportswriter was to see all the starters on that ’60 Yankee team in person. And I did. They were either Elston Howard or Yogi Berra in left along with outfielders Mantle and Maris. Yogi, of course, was the primary catcher, and Howard would catch when Berra needed a break by playing left. Bill ‘Moose’ Skowron was at first, Bobby Richardson at second, Tony Kubek the shortstop, Clete Boyer the third baseman and Whitey Ford on the mound.
Casey Stengell was the manager. I got to see him talking with his Mets’ ace, Tom Seaver, in the stands at a spring training game in Florida in 1971. Steve Gilliam, Keith Northern, the younger Joe Emberger, Vic Aeby and I had gone along with the late Joe and Kelly Russell to spend spring break at spring training in the Tampa/St. Pete area.
Man, I used to love spring training!
Brad Watson and I were talking last week about my dkyaing down to Tampa for spring break in 1977. Watson, the only Russellville High School graduate to make the roster of an NFL football team, was rehabilitating from a career-ending knee injury suffered while playing for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I met a lot of big-name athletes while I was there, including Bucs’ quarterback Steve Spurrier (admittedly not quite as successful as current QB Tom Brady). Tonight, Watson’s Bucs and Brady are headed to the Super Bowl.
Part of my trip involved attending spring training games. The aforementioned Denny Doyle was by then the second baseman for the Boston Red Sox who trained nearby, and he took me around the field introducing me to some of his teammates, including the legendary Carl Yastrzemski.
I also got to go to a Yankees spring training game, bringing my love of baseball full circle. Reggie Jackson, who would hit three home runs in a World Series game that fall, was a Yankee then, along with the late Thurman Munson, Jim ‘Catfish’ Hunter and Bucky Dent.
My last fling with big-time baseball came while Logan County’s Mark Thompson was pitching for the Rockies and the Cardinals. A highlight of that came when I sat in the photographers’ booth in Mark’s dugout while Thompson (whom I had taught at LCHS) was pitching in a major league game at Riverfront Stadium against the Reds.
Death has been tough on elite major leaguer alumni lately. In nine months, we’ve lost Hall of Famers Henry Aaron, Lou Brock, Whitey Ford, Bob Gibson, Al Kaline, Tommy Lasorda, Joe Morgan, Phil Niekro, Tom Seaver and Don Sutton. I had seen all of them in person.
One of my best friends in college, Farrell Owens, was the first general manager of the Nashville Sounds and pretty well gave me free reign in Greer Stadium. He also died late last year.
I lost interest in major league baseball during the Performance Enhancing Drugs Era. Stats became meaningless with Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro and Roger Clemens making a mockery of them.
At one time, I could name a potential starting lineup for every team in the National League. Now I’m not sure I can name nine current National Leaguers.
Maybe I will have reason to go back to big-time baseball if former Logan County/now Belmont catcher Jackson Campbell, who is a preseason All-American and expected to be a mid-range draft choice this summer, puts together the kind of career we feel he is capable of.
Over the years I have seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of professional baseball players in person. It all began with watching Henry hammer a homer in Hot-lanta.