Willie Mays, The Man

They say the character of a man is displayed in what he does when no one else is watching. In an earlier post, I referred to a new, authorized biography of Mays entitled "Willie Mays: The Life, The Legend" by James S. Hirsch. As might be expected, the reader learns not only of Mays' on-field exploits, but also details of his private life. And one of the most endearing aspects of his life was (is) his genuine love for children.

In Chapter 25, the author tells of three heartwarming episodes that would likely not ever be repeated by any of today's athletes.

One morning in June 1961, two ten-year-old boys stood outside Willie Mays' home on Spruce Street in San Francisco, hoping he would give them his autograph. When Mays stepped outside, he gladly acceded to their wish, and then one of them--a boy named Billy Knox--got a wild idea.

"Hey, Willie", he said, "We got tickets to today's game and we were going to take the bus, but how about a ride to the game?" Mays told them to hop in.

As soon as they pulled out, the boys realized they had forgotten their tickets. "Where do you live?" Mays asked. Five blocks away, said Knox's friend, and Mays drove them there to get the tickets. Then Billy exclaimed "Willie! My mother made us bag lunches for the game. She'll kill me if we don't pick up our stuff, and she would worry where we were." Mays then drove across town to Billy's house.

"To this day", Knox recalls some forty years later, "I can still see my mom standing at our dining room picture window with her hands on her hips, mouth ajar, awestruck as the green Cadillac pulled out of our driveway and sped off."

In 1963, a writer for the Pittsburgh Press named Les Biederman asked Mays if he would speak to a group of youngsters at the Western Pennsylvania School for the Blind. Mays readily accepted. During the Giants' next trip to Pittsburgh, Biederman drove Mays to the school, and when he entered the auditorium whispers rippled through the crowd of about 200 students. "That's him", one boy said. "He really came."

Mays was introduced, and became--in Biederman's words--'the eyes of these sightless youngsters". Mays stood for over an hour and answered the kids' countless questions. After the talk, he waded into the crowd and touched the hands and arms of the students, who reached up to touch his face. "I gave them only my time and a little bit of baseball", he later said. "And they gave me their hearts".

In 1965, Richard Martin was a 24-year-old director of the St. James Center in Pittsburgh, an afterschool program for disadvantaged children. The center planned an awards ceremony for a Saturday in June and Martin, wanting a sports celebrity to present the awards, checked the schedule and saw that the Giants were going to be in town to play the hometown Pirates. He called Bill Nunn, the editor of the Pittsburgh Courier, who said he would contact Mays. The day before the Giants were coming into town, Nunn called and asked how many kids would be in attendance. "About two hundred", Martin replied. "Then he'll be there", said Nunn. "He just wanted to make sure it was really an event for the kids".

That Saturday, Martin drove to the hotel where the Giants were staying and called up to Mays' room. "Mr. Mays, this is Dick Martin...I believe Mr. Nunn spoke to you about our program tonight?"

"Yeah, man. I'll be right down", Mays replied. Ten minutes later, Mays introduced himself, wearing a sharkskin suit, and Martin drove him to an obscure youth center in an impoverished part of town. He sneaked Mays into the building through a fire escape and then instructed the astonished 14-year-old master of ceremonies--who nearly fainted--on how to introduce the guest of honor. "And now, to present the Most Valuable Junior and Senior Softball Awards, possibly the greatest player of all time...Willie Mays!"

The curtain opened, and Willie walked out. The audience at first sat in stunned silence. But when they realized it really was him, they shouted, whistled, cheered, and clapped for several minutes. Mays stepped to the microphone and said "Some people may think winning a softball award in a small neighborhood is no big thing. But I'm telling you that when you win the most valuable award in anything, you're doing something!" After presenting the awards--and knowing that Mays had another game the next day--Martin whisked him out and drove him back to the hotel.

Martin, who later became a teacher and school principal in Arlington, Virginia, recalled "I must have thanked him a dozen times for his exceptional generosity. One of the greatest athletes of all time did this for no money, no publicity, no conditions whatsoever. He did it just because he loved kids, plain and simple. What a selfless gesture, what an amazing human being."

In little more than three weeks--on May 6--Mays will turn 79. He was my boyhood hero. And he still is.

The Greatest Baseball Player Of All Time

Baseball, though its star has dimmed against the bright glow of the National Football League, is still America's Pastime. And back when I was a kid, long before we ever knew about performance-enhancing drugs or the reserve clause or free agency or $25 million per year contracts that have all contributed to baseball's decline, the game was played by some of the brightest stars ever to strap on a pair of cleats. Hitters like Frank Robinson, Hank Aaron, Roberto Clemente, and Pete Rose were stepping into the batter's box against the likes of Tom Seaver, Juan Marichal, Sandy Koufax, and Bob Gibson.

But the greatest player of all time was a young outfielder who played for the New York and San Francisco Giants named Willie Mays. In baseball, a great player must possess five key skills: he must be able to hit, hit for power, run, catch, and throw. Mays possessed all five of these skills and displayed them to the delight of his fans for more than twenty years. He broke onto the scene in 1951 and soon worked into the starting lineup of the Giants. In his first year in the league, the Giants played in the World Series--having completed one of the most improbable comebacks in baseball history. On August 11, the Brooklyn Dodgers held a commanding 13 1/2 game lead over the Giants with little more than six weeks to go in the regular season. But the Giants won their next 16 games and 37 of their final 44--a blistering .841 winning percentage--to catch and tie the Dodgers on the last day of the regular season. As any baseball fan knows, the Giants won the playoff series in the third and deciding game when Bobby Thomson hit 'The Shot Heard Round The World' in the bottom of the ninth inning to clinch the pennant for the Giants. What is little remembered is that Mays was on deck when the home run was hit.

Perhaps Mays' most enduring moment occurred three years later in the 1954 World Series. The Giants were playing against the heavily-favored Cleveland Indians, who had won an astonishing 111 games in what was then a 154-game regular season. (To this day, no team has finished with a higher winning percentage during the regular season.) But Mays set the tone in Game 1 with what is still known simply as "The Catch". With the score tied 2-2 in the top of the 8th inning and runners on first and second base, Vic Wertz clubbed a towering drive to straightaway center field. Because the game was being played in the Polo Grounds--a huge baseball venue--the hit would have been a home run in any other ballpark, having traveled an estimated 420 feet from home plate. But Mays broke immediately on the ball when it was hit, running straight toward the center field wall at full speed. He caught the ball over his shoulder and then spun and fired the ball back to the infield, preventing the Indians from scoring the go-ahead run. The Giants eventually won the game 5-2 and swept the Series.

Mays finished his career with a .302 batting average, having hit 660 home runs (despite missing two full seasons in the peak of his career to serve in the Korean War), a .557 slugging percentage, and 1,903 runs batted in. He was voted Most Valuable Player twice--in 1954 and again in 1965, and finished second in the voting two other times.

Willie Mays was my boyhood hero. I have fond memories of sneaking my transistor radio under my pillow and listening to games broadcast by Russ Hodges and Lon Simmons, regaling me with the tales of Mays' heroics for the Giants in the 1960's. I got to see him play a few times at Candlestick Park, which is still in existence--now the home of the football 49ers. Mays played the game all-out, with an evident joy, and he never used illegal drugs--performance-enhancing or not. Within the past couple of months, a new and authorized biography of the great Willie Mays has been published, entitled "Willie Mays--The Life, The Legend".  Appropriately enough, the book currently sits 24th on the New York Times Bestseller List.  Why is that appropriate?  Because Mays wore # 24 on his jersey his entire career.