Cooperstown

Last (Sunday) night as the hour was fast approaching Monday, it occurred to me that earlier in the afternoon were the induction ceremonies of the 2025 class of the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York.  I went to You Tube and found the acceptance speech of Ichiro Suzuki.  I was not surprised at all by the humbleness he displayed and the gratitude he offered to those who had played a role in his success.  Another video from the ceremonies was the introduction of 51 living Hall-of-Fame players who had returned to Cooperstown for this year's ceremonies honoring the induction of Dick Allen, Dave Parker, C. C. Sabathia, Ichiro and Billy Wagner.  Despite the late hour, we had to watch.

It was late September in 1983.  Early on a Monday morning, I drove to Lambert Field in St. Louis, boarded a United 727, and flew to Chicago.  I had nearly an hour between flights, and easily made my connection to another United flight, this time a 737 to Albany, New York.  After a short flight of an hour or so, I picked up my rental car and headed west the 75 miles or so to Cooperstown, the small town of barely 1,000, named for the ancestors of James Finimore Cooper.

Upon my arrival in Cooperstown just after noon, I checked into my hotel and then headed to the Hall of Fame.  I don't know if you would call it a Mecca for baseball fans, it is certainly on every baseball fans bucket list to see and I was no exception.  I wasn't married at the time and had no children, so there was nothing to make me hurry my visit.

My plan was to spend parts of two days at the Baseball Hall of Fame, Monday afternoon, and most of Tuesday.  I figured that would be enough time.  It really wasn't, but that's ok, I got to see a lot.  On that Monday afternoon I mostly stayed on the museum area of the Hall, looking at artifacts from famous players.  Uniforms, bats, balls, and gloves.  Anyone who was remotely famous for playing baseball, had some artifact, something they had on when a tremendous feat occurred.  For a baseball fanatic like me, it was my birthday, Christmas and heaven all rolled up into one.

The following day I visited the Plaque Room, where the bronze plaques honoring all of the inductees are hanging on the oak walls.  When you enter the room, my immediate thought is, "should I take my shoes off?"  After all, for baseball fans, this is hallowed ground.  In 1983, when I visited, there were 184 players, executives, managers and umpires enshrined.  Today, 42 years later, the number totals 351.

There is a long path down the middle of the room.  The lighting directs your attention to the plaques hanging on the walls in groups of five.  They are in no certain order.  Lou Gehrig might be next to Willie Mays.  Satchel Paige to Stan Musial.  Yogi Berra to Jimmie Foxx.  You just never know as you look at each plaque and marvel at the accomplishments of each player.

There are two exceptions to this rule.  In one area, on the wall in the middle of the room, are the plaques for those honored that particular year.  When I was there in 1983, there were four.  Juan Marichal, George Kell, Brooks Robinson and Walter Alston.  If you took a silhouette of the wind-up of every pitcher who has ever played in the majors, without question most would recognize Juan Marichal of the San Francisco Giants.  His high-leg kick was unmistakable and remains so even today.  Marichal, along with Sandy Koufax and Bob Gibson, dominated National League pitching in the 1960's.  George Kell grew up in Swifton, Arkansas, about 30 miles from Pocahontas and 60 miles from Searcy, two other Arkansas towns where I have lived.  While working for Searcy radio station KWCK in 1980, I had opportunity to interview Kell.  I asked him if he ever thought about the Hall of Fame.  A 10-time All-Star and batting champ Kell responded with two-words, "every day."  Three years later, his daily dream became reality.  Another Arkansan, Brooks Robinson was from Little Rock, spent his entire career with the Baltimore Orioles and is generally considered to be the best fielding third-baseman of all time.  Finally, there was Walter Alston.  In 1936, Alston played one game with the St. Louis Cardinals.  He played two innings, he got to bat once and struck out.  That was it, at age 25 his major league playing career was over, so he went back to the minors and started to manage.  For 23 seasons, from 1954-1976, Alston managed the Brooklyn/Los Angeles Dodgers, winning over 2,000 games.  His Dodger teams won seven pennants and four World Championships with him at the helm.

Also with their own special wall are the plaques honoring the five original inductees in 1936.  Their names remind us of the players who made baseball the National Pastime.  Ty Cobb, Walter Johnson, Christy Mathewson, Babe Ruth and Honus Wagner.  The first five have a wall all their own, as well they should.  Cobb, who has more hits than anyone else not named Pete Rose.  Johnson, the "Big Train", won over 400 games and threw harder than anyone else alive.  Mathewson won 373 games for the Giants between 1900 and 1916.  After his playing days he enlisted in the Army near the end of World War I and served in the Chemical Weapons Unit at the Western Front.  He would die of tuberculosis, at age 45. Babe Ruth.  Bigger than life, 714 home runs as a hitter, a 94-46 record as a pitcher.  He was Shohei Ohtani 100 years before there was an Ohtani.  Honus Wagner, a shortstop for the Pirates for 21 seasons, had 3,420 hits, from 1897 to 1917.  One of the first truly great baseball players

I think I spent three or four hours in the room.  Honestly, I could have spent more, maybe another day, but I had to drive back to Albany because I had a flight to catch.

But last night, Marilyn and I watched the introduction of the living Hall-of-Famers who made the trip to Cooperstown.   Of the 51 who were there, I'm guessing I saw maybe half in person.  Me and M, who was a baseball fan before she met me (she liked the Cincinnati Big Red Machine), we would attempt to guess the player as their accomplishments were being read.  I think we only missed one or two.

Having grown up in St. Louis, I went to baseball games frequently, some years as many as 35-40 games.  Back "in the day," my brother and I could sit in the bleachers at Busch Stadium for a back.  It was cheaper than the movies.  Suffice to say, I've seen a lot of baseball, and it never ceases to thrill me to see the players I grew up watching.

Even though he played for the Cubs, I was always a Billy Williams fan.  He was one of the few who could hit Gibson, and he had one of the sweetest swings ever.  Great player.  Sandy Koufax retired from the Dodgers at the age of 31 because of arthritis in his elbow.  He was the best pitcher on the planet when he retired  He threw four no-hitters, and his control was so good, if you were hit by one of his pitches, it was because he wanted to hit you.  At 89, he was the oldest one there and the sharpest dresser.  I talked about Juan Marichal earlier, he was there, as was Ted Simmons, the former Cardinal catcher, whose nickname, "Simba" was due to his perpetually long hair, that is now grey, but still long, which I've always been jealous of.  Another Hall-of-Fame Cardinal, Ozzie Smith looked like he could still play.

In the late '70's and early '80's when the Phillies came to town, Barry and I would always get there early enough for batting practice and sit in the left-field bleachers.  When Mike Schmidt took BP, you could always count on him hitting 15 or so into the bleachers.  M was a huge Johnny Bench fan, and she was happy when he came out.  Personally, I liked Tony Perez, plus his son Eduardo played for the Cardinals.

I would imagine you have had enough baseball for one blog.  I like Hall-of-Fame weekend and gives me an opportunity to riminess, which fast approaching 70, is something I find myself doing more and more.

Have a great week.  Be nice to each other.  See you down the road.