The Long Ball

"Hank Aaron is the only man I idolize more than myself." -- Muhammed Ali 

Henry "Hank" Louis Aaron died this week at age 86, one of the greatest baseball players of all time who began his career in the Negro League in 1951 with the Indianapolis Clowns.

Everyone who grew up during the 1950s and 60s knew the name Hank Aaron. It was period when baseball was truly the American pastime. I remember Sister Gualberta suspending class so that we could listen to the '57 World Series on the radio while sitting at our desks.

The New York Yankees were playing the Milwaukee Braves and the names Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, Warren Spahn, Eddie Mathews and Hank Aaron filled the hot, stale classroom air. Our inland, valley town of Pomona would reach into the 90s and sometimes 100-degrees in September and early October. 

Following 30-minutes of running on asphalt for recess, we repaired in our classroom, my arms wet with perspiration as I laid them on the top of my desk. Whiffs of bologna in wax paper left over from lunch lingered from metal lunch pails in the cloak room, while the excitable voice of the broadcaster calling the game from the small electronic box held our attention. Windows would be cracked open. We had no air conditioning to cool us down. 

Neither did we have any thoughts about the color of the players' skin. Baseball was a major sport and everyone seemed interested. At least the room was silent to listen. I wondered if the girls really liked it, or if it was just unique free time to draw or daydream? The World Series was being beamed into our classroom. How cool was that.

When I think back to those names today, I realize that Hank Aaron was the only Black player who comes to mind from that Series, which the Braves won in seven games. In that seventh game, Aaron had two hits in five at-bats, one run-batted-in (RBI) and scored a run himself. His batting average for the 7-game Series topped all players with an impressive .394.

It was a big deal for Milwaukee to beat the vaunted New York Yankees. Aaron won the National League's Most Valuable Player honor.

He went on to break Babe Ruth's career home run record at 755, but it was his steady batting of 3,771 hits (third all-time) that produced 2,297 runs through 23 seasons that made "Hammerin Hank" so valuable. He didn't have the flash of Willie Mays or a name like Mickey Mantle.

After he completed the 1973 season with 713 career home runs, getting ever closer to breaking the Babe's record, he began receiving death threats. He wasn't worried about his home-run count. "My only fear," he said, "is that I might not live to see 1974."

I remember hearing about those threats and having a hard time understanding that such discrimination still existed.  I was living in my own small, white bubble, realizing that racial prejudice did exist but not being affected by it. It was an issue for "them" not me. 

So it was that the most consistently productive yet quiet and understated baseball player of an era, who weathered discrimination and came near being killed for the color of his skin, died during the week of President Joe Biden's inauguration, that included the first dark-skinned, Afro-Asian female Vice President, Kamala Harris. 

One week earlier our nation's Capitol was the site of an attempted take-over by insurrectionists, white supremacists and conspiracy kooks, instigated by a President of the United States. In between the two events we celebrated Martin Luther King's birthday. 

As a nation, I feel as though we have rounded second base and are heading for third. Mr. Aaron did his job. Thank you, sir, may you rest in peace.

"We shall overcome because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." -- Rev. Martin Luther King