Mike Luckovich of the AJC has captured lightning in an image so many times you have to wonder if he is a direct descendant of Ben Franklin. He hit his mark again this morning to note the passing of Henry (Hank) Aaron at 86.
I was born in Atlanta and grew up with the Atlanta Braves as my home team. My dad took me to games from time to time, and I took my now kids as well, though they were both of the age that peanuts drew their attention more than the game.
I was a fan when Ted Turner embossed his team with his indelible eccentricity while also turning them into America’s baseball team through his Super Station TBS. They were often hapless but always entertaining and no matter what were anchored by one stalwart great: Hank Aaron, who quietly played the game with strength, grace, consistency and power.
If you follow baseball at all, you know the story of the mountain he climbed athletically and as a black ballplayer in the South as he methodically chased Babe Ruth’s career home run record, one of the most cherished among baseball faithful. I followed the 1973 and then 1974 seasons closely as the record came within reach.
Atlanta fans, locally and across the nation cheered him on, but “The Hammer,” as he was called, quietly endured threats and hate mail spewed toward as good as an example of a man as Ruth was sad. The mail, good and bad, totaled 900,000 in 1973, so much that his contract had to call for a secretary to manage the tide and to report threats to the FBI.
The story and that of Aaron’s life are told in his book, “If I Had a Hammer“. Wikipedia’s article on Aaron gives a short version of his life story and his records, which include:
755 home runs, a number purists rightly consider to be the career record for players not tainted by PEDs
6,856 total bases, by far the most for any player
3000+ hits, even without his homers, highest among his peers
Aaron pounded home runs of 30 to 45 year after year for most of his 23 years as a player
He drew walks more often than he struck out, a rarity for power hitters.
All these things were true, but none captures or reflects his quiet strength as a civil rights figure, something he lived, but could finally voice freely when he put down his bat. In 1997, he penned an op-ed in the New York Times, reflecting his views through the lens of baseball. With his death, many of his behind the scenes deeds will now likely never be told. We know though that he kept all that hate mail, which must have itself been enough to count as a record if anyone kept count of such odious things. They were a reminder to him of all he rose above.
The past year and change has been as hard on baseball as it has been for us all. More than the time’s share of greats have died, but some long overdue change has come, if only in taking down racist team names. The Atlanta Braves still retain their moniker, a change they should know to make. Let me be the first to suggest the “Atlanta Hammers.”
