“When I was
in the ballpark, I felt like I was surrounded by angels and I had
God’s hand on my shoulder.”—Hank Aaron
When I was
growing up in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, baseball glowed. The
players were like gods. Kids looked up to them and wanted to emulate
them. They stood for honesty, hard work and determination. We
thought we could be like them because they didn’t make whopping
salaries and weren’t millionaires. And they were respectful to the
public and to their fans. Baseball was still a game.
Fast forward a
half century, and things have drastically changed. Baseball is
scandal-ridden. Many of the players are arrogant. Some even ride to
the ballpark in limos. And they make enough money to buy the stock
market. Simply put, corporate baseball is big business. Many of the
players don’t even have to work all that hard because they’re pumped
full of supplements and drugs. These are a few reasons why I can’t
get excited by Barry Bonds’ assault on the home run record. To me,
it’s a sham—which brings me to Hank Aaron.
I grew up in
Peoria, Illinois. Occasionally, my dad and I would make the
three-hour drive to St. Louis to see the Cardinals play. One game,
the Milwaukee Braves were playing the Cardinals. I was a Cardinals
fan. But as fate would have it, I left the park that day a Hank
Aaron fan.
The most
remarkable memory from that trip was not the game itself. It was the
Braves’ pre-game batting practice, where I watched Aaron and
teammate Eddie Mathews smash one pitch after another over the
fences. I had never seen ballplayers hit the ball so hard—and I
haven’t since. And that was before the baseball was energized.
Mathews was a
great player, but age soon caught up with him—not, however, before
he and Aaron combined to hit the most homers as teammates. Although
Eddie slowed down, Hank kept smashing the baseball and went on to
set numerous records. But no feat could match Aaron’s historic
assault on Babe Ruth’s career homerun record of 714.
Who would have
guessed that this shy kid from Alabama would change
history—especially in light of the racial tensions of the day? In
1952, Hank quit high school to join the Indianapolis Clowns of the
Negro American League. His talent was apparent to the baseball
scouts, and after a brief stay as the Clowns’ shortstop, Hank was
sold to the Braves for $10,000. After excelling in the Braves’ farm
system for several years, Aaron joined the Braves in Milwaukee.
The year was
1954, and it didn’t look like the 20-year-old Aaron would make the
team. But then one of the starting outfielders broke an ankle, and
Hank was tapped to replace him. From there, Aaron never looked back.
In 1955, he battled .314 with 27 homers and 106 RBIs. The next
season, Hank won his first of two National League batting titles.
In 1957, Aaron
hit a National League-leading 44 homers, while driving in 132 RBIs
and batting .322. And to cap off the season, he hit an 11th inning
homer late in the season to clinch the pennant for the Braves. Aaron
won the MVP that year, and the Braves went on to win the World
Series.
Year after
year, Aaron proved his hitting and fielding prowess. And although he
was six feet tall, he never exceeded 190 pounds. The key to Aaron’s
hitting was his supple, powerful wrists that allowed him to crack
his bat like a buggy whip. Aaron credits hauling ice as a
16-year-old for developing his wrists, working from 6 a.m. to 1 p.m.
for $2.25 a day.
Despite his
heroics, Aaron was not normally excitable. One observer remarked
that Hank seemed to be looking for a place to sit down when he
approached the batter’s box. Hall of Fame pitcher Robin Roberts once
remarked that Aaron was the only batter he knew who “could fall
asleep between pitches and still wake up in time to hit the next
one.”
Maybe it was
Hank’s laid-back style that allowed him to creep up on Babe Ruth’s
homerun record. But as the chase to beat Ruth heated up in the
summer of 1973, so did the hate that simmered beneath society’s
surface. Much of it came by way of the mailman, with Aaron receiving
an estimated 3,000 letters a day, more than any American outside of
politics. Here’s a sample:
Dear Nigger
Henry,
You are (not)
going to break the record established by the great Babe Ruth if I
can help it. Whites are far more superior than jungle bunnies. My
gun is watching your every black move.
As the mail
rolled in, it was more hateful than Aaron had ever imagined. “This,”
Aaron said later about the letters, “changed me.” That summer ended
with Hank at 713 homers—one shy of tying the Babe. He was 39 years
old.
In his first
at bat in 1974, Aaron homered—tying Ruth. Then on April 8, 1974, the
largest crowd in Atlanta Braves history came out to witness the
historic moment. Hank didn’t disappoint them. With a mean whip of
the bat, his first swing of the evening, Aaron sent the ball into
the Braves bullpen in left center field—approximately 400 feet from
home plate.
The large
message board blared “715.” Just like that, Hank Aaron had eclipsed
the Great Bambino to become the homerun king.
When Aaron
rounded third, he broke into a wide grin at the sight of his
teammates waiting for him at the plate. With tears in his eyes,
Aaron was met at home plate by his mother. Fireworks went off, and
the crowd roared for ten minutes. “I just thank God it’s all over,”
said Aaron. He had endured months in the fishbowl of media coverage,
death threats and hate mail.
Aaron went on
to play the entire game that night. Afterward, ever the model of
professionalism and modesty, Aaron told reporters: “The home run
wouldn’t have meant that much to me if we hadn’t won the game.”
Aaron played
several more years, amassing a career total of 755 homers—an amazing
feat by an amazing man. Sadly, there are no Hank Aarons in the game
today.
Constitutional attorney and
author John W. Whitehead is founder and president of The Rutherford
Institute. He can be contacted at
johnw@rutherford.org.
Information about The Rutherford Institute is available at
www.rutherford.org.
