Hank Aaron in . . . The Nagging Question
"Barry Bonds said everyone could start the countdown to Henry Aaron when he hit his 750th home run. Ladies and gentleman, start your counting." – Henry Schulman, San Francisco Chronicle, 6.30.07
I’m off to the land of honkbal later today, so I won’t be posting for a while, but I wanted to say one last thing before I go:
Thank you, Hank Aaron. By the time I get back to the daily boxscores you may no longer hold the record for most career home runs, but to me you always were and always will be the Home Run King. I bought my first baseball cards in 1974, when I was six and you were on the brink of breaking a record that was thought unbreakable. For whatever reason, I seemed to need gods, and I found them in cardboard rectangles, and the cardboard rectangles that held your image always shined the brightest. My family was in a new house that year, in a new town, a new state. My father had not come along. We house-sat for a year, then moved into another house bought for cheap in a foreclosure auction. The room I would share with my brother had been damaged by the evicted former owners, as had all the rooms in the house, the walls riddled with beebee holes and obscene graffiti. I have written about that house a lot, often focusing on the early days, on the feeling that something in the universe was telling me I wasn’t welcome. After those early days I went where I was welcome, into the cardboard rectangles, into the baseball encyclopedia, into library books about baseball, into the game itself, playing for my little league team whenever the long Vermont winter finally relented, playing with my brother whenever he’d agree to, playing by myself with a glove and a tennis ball and the various jagged angles of the exterior of our house. And everywhere I went into that welcoming world, you were there, Hank Aaron, shining down from the pinnacle, majestic and benevolent, the King of the Cardboard Gods.
Two days ago my brother’s wife gave birth to their second child, Theo. Nobody could ever love a kid more than my brother loves his daughter, but Ian admits to being excited about the gender of the newest arrival.
"It’s not about, ‘Oh, now I can teach him sports . . .’," he said, his tired voice trailing off.
"No, I get it. You were a boy."
"Right."
When my brother was a boy he idolized Hank Aaron even more than I did. On the wall above his bed, a wall that had in our rawest days in the house served as a canvass for a beebee riddled invitation to lewd sex acts, he had a large poster of the moment Hank Aaron became the all-time home run champion. It was a panoramic shot of the moment, showing Al Downing on the mound and Hank Aaron still in the batter’s box, his classic, compact swing in its follow-through, his head craned up to follow the flight of the ball, which was high above the outfield, a tiny white blur haloed by the makers of the poster for emphasis. When my brother was a boy he was not always happy, but he dreamed every night below this holy tableau.
Anyway, that’s my answer to today’s Nagging Question. So let me throw it to you:
If given the chance, what would you say to Henry Louis Aaron?
"Can I please have another one of those cool baseball cards I got when I was a kid? The one that shows you as the Home Run King and shows you hitting #755? My brother tricked me into trading it to him when I was a kid, and I've regretted it ever since. I was so disappointed I later gave away all the rest of my cards when I thought I had outgrown them, to a boy who had just started collecting. Even my complete 1981 Dodgers team. It would mean a lot to me if I could have that card back again."
What was the best meal you've ever had, is the place still open, and if it is still open, can you help me get a reservation?"
Now, what I would really say: Not withstanding that there were those whose talents were greater, there is no one I would rather have on my team than #44.
3 I guess if I was actually face to face with Hank Aaron I wouldn't be able to say much, probably not even managing Bob's respectful address. It's sort of an unapproachable Nagging Question, in a way, and I probably should have phrased it differently. Maybe "What would say about Hank Aaron?" or "What would you write to Hank Aaron if you were imagining signing your name to a gigantic thank you card?" Whatever, take it however you want. I leave the keys to the Cardboard Store in your hands, friends, to do with it what you will. As for me, it's finally time to head off to the airport!
... I wish you played for the Dodgers.
And, 'Would you sign this ball for my Dad?'
Thanks, Hank, for doing it right. Safe trip, Josh.
I started following baseball in '75. Aaron's always been the career leader in home runs as far as I'm concerned. I think that he was the oldest player that I remember as an active player (Orlando Pena didn't face the Red Sox that year). Now, as I slouch towards forty, another part of my childhood will be gone.
I would ask Hank, "Hammer, what are your true feelings and thoughts about Barry Bonds, his accomplishments, and the meaning this era will have on the history of baseball? Is baseball history now tarnished? If so, How badly?"
If I met Hank Aaron I'd act like a complete dork and wouldn't say a thing, probably. But I'd mean to say, "Thanks for being someone I will always admire."
I remember watching the game when Aaron hit his 715th home run off "Gentleman" Al Downing. The controversies then revolved around 162 vs. 154 games season and Ruth hitting his homers in less plate appearances. (The disturbing, mostly racist, hate mail Aaron received was generally kept out of public knowledge.) If only the current home run chase had such mundane issues to debate. If only there were still ballplayers nicknamed "Gentleman". If only our stars carried themselves as well as Henry Aaron.
I can't really think of a question that I would like to ask him. I think I would rather just let him know in my mind his place in baseball history goes far beyond being on top of the alltime home run list. Just as Babe Ruth's accomplishments didn't fade from memory after Hank passed him, Hank's accomplishments will not fade after Barry moves to the top of the list.
En route, I noticed that the great online exhibit, "Dressed to the Nines", is no longer up on the Hall of Fame website. Not sure if that's a temporary thing or not.
I'll tell you this, my track record on meeting heroes is not good. I met Ron Cey, and blubbered to him like a 10 year old about a home run I saw him hit. I met Tommy Lasorda twice, and lets just say that Tommy is not thinking back about that suave, erudite, engaging young fella he met.
I met Tommy Lasorda on my 15th birthday. I asked (voice crackling), "Mr. Lasorda, would you sign my hat?"
He suggested I say "please." I still feel small when I think back on that moment.
I have never considered what I would say to Hank Aaron. I'd probably just be glad to shake his hand. I might "guffaw."
If it's a while before Josh comes back, I'll start talking about Don Aase. Did you know that he was born the same day that SEATO was established? More interestingly, he debuted the same day as Jack Morris and Jim Clancy.
What would you say to Josh Wilker if he were here? Dear Josh, I never had a Don Aase card. I hope you got one. How did that guy make the 1986 all-star team?
It was good to find out that Hank Aaron while a little standoffish was a nice man as opposed to the GM who thought quite a bit of himself and was a bit of a jerk.
out of respect for the man, I'm sure if I had the actual chance I'd become a stuttering mess and ask something like, "how did you get so awesome?"
If I'm not mistaken, Lasorda tells a story about a player that stiffed him for an autograph when he was a kid. He later pitched to said player in the minors when he (Tommy) was working his way up and the other guy was working his way down. Drilled him in the back.
When the chrikey is the Josh Man returning? My daily reading now, consisting of the all-star game and Bonds told by cookie-cutting scribes that over use puns, and are nothing more than yes-men stroking the establishment, is making my eyes bleed and my brain burn.
18: I think it IS a reversed image. Doesn't the figure under his lead arm look like a reversed 4?
29: Alas, I was unable to find a Win, as usual.
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