accidental rabbit trails . . .: Henry Aaron

I've always known about him. Most of us have known of Hammerin' Hank.

Information is readily available. He told his own story in "I Had A Hammer." Documentaries abound, including "Hank Aaron: Chasing The Dream."

What I didn't really know, growing up, or even before I wrote my baseball novel, was what a wonder he was - a gentleman and a scholar, is the expression. Born in 1934, he is oft described as a shy teen from Alabama, swept into major league baseball out of the Negro Leagues on the heels of Jackie Robinson's major league breakthrough in 1947. Hank Aaron played minor league ball in Eau Claire, WI in 1952, Jacksonville, FL in 1953, and Puerto Rico in 1953 (winter season) via the minor league system of the Boston (then Milwaukee, then Atlanta) Braves, before graduating to the majors in 1954.

We know the end of the story with Henry Aaron - how he became the best home run hitter in his time, how he handled his ascent to stardom with grace. The resistance to him - the racism - was palpable as he verged on becoming the new Home Run King (supplanting Babe Ruth, another absolute great). He dealt with death threats as he stood at the edge of breaking that record at the end of the 1973 season - got hate mail (and fan mail too). The U.S. Postal Service gave him a plaque to commemorate his receipt of more mail that off season (930,000 pieces) than another person, other than politicians.

As 1974 began, he needed one home run to tie Babe Ruth's record of 714, and two to break it. While there were protests against it, there were so many excited to witness it. Babe Ruth's widow is quoted as saying, "The Babe loved baseball so very much. I know he was pulling for Hank Aaron to break his record." Then Henry Aaron hit his 715th home run on April 8, 1974 - against the Dodgers.

He ended up with 755 total home runs when he retired after the 1976 season.

Racism in baseball was clear to Henry Aaron as young man rising in the ranks too. So yes, it was clear when he chased Babe Ruth's homerun record in the 1970s. It remained throughout his life, getting better at times (then bad again). Whatever the environment, he did not waver in public - for his life, he was a consistent voice for equality. I have a favorite interview of him that I now can't find (and watching all the old videos, trying to find it, is a journey in itself) where he is young, a little nervous, but 100 percent firmly standing in integrity as he talked about racism. In interviews, he spoke humbly, and often gave credit to others first - but stated his opinion, diplomatically but also in truth. He was a remarkable man.

Here is an interview from the Dan Patrick Show, on baseball racism - he's saved most of the hate mail letters from the 1970s, to show his grandchildren so they can understand where we've been.

He would later say he almost didn't keep with baseball when he was young. He was a shy 18-year-old who had used sticks to hit bottle caps as a way of learning hone his batting skills, who now was far away from his Alabama home in Eau Claire, Wisconsin (where my father saw him play), then sent the next season to the deep South to the Jacksonville Braves and the segregation there, that still existed (like in his home state), now with the hostility directed at him and the other African American players. He almost quit at one point, he was so homesick. Mentors along the way helped keep him in the game. I expect he would have found his way, regardless. But early-on mentors made a difference as he grew up into the man he became.

Ben Geraghty was one of those mentors.

I began studying Henry Aaron in earnest after I learned the kind words he had about Ben, who was his minor league manager in Jacksonville, Florida, and who was also one of the 7 men who survived the bus crash of 1946 (which inspired my field-of-dreams style novel "Until The End Of The Ninth," where 9 of 16 men died, which I also am working to turn into a film).

I don't know how I realized the tie between Henry Aaron and Ben Geraghty. But soon I was reading "A False Spring," by Pat Jordan. And there it was. The connection. Pat Jordan wrote about how Ben was considered one of the best managers at the minor league level, and how the 1946 bus crash helped turn Ben into that kind of manager, with an almost "mystical" quality, that helped him see a player for who he was and what he had to give to the game.

I found this quote from Henry Aaron, about Ben (who died at age 50 back in 1963):

"He was the greatest manager I ever played for, perhaps the greatest manager who ever lived, and that includes managers in the big leagues. I've never played for a guy who get more out of every ballplayer than he could. He knew how to communicate with everybody and to treat every player as an individual."

As I learned all this, I admired Henry Aaron even more, and wanted to let him know I was working on a script for this story that involved Ben Geraghty - his former mentor and manager. I'd gotten the script in shape. I'd met someone long ago (a scout for the Atlanta Braves) who offered to connect me to him when I was ready. I was ready. In the fall of 2020, I knew I was finally ready to try to talk to the great Henry Aaron, and just let him know what I was doing, in honor of his old manager Ben Geraghty.

And then the great Henry Aaron passed away.

People around the country, and the world, mourned. I mourned. Hearts broke. My heart broke.

He was a great player, and an even greater man.

First Bernie Gerl. Then Tommy Lasorda. Then Henry Aaron.

Here's to hoping these baseball men are playing a pick-up game in the heavens right now.