I don’t use the word “hero” casually.
Especially when referring to professional athletes, it’s easy to become hyperbolic when describing our favorites. In one case, it’s nearly impossible to overstate a man’s impact.
Hank Aaron was a hero.
Certainly among a small handful of the greatest baseball players of all time. Civil rights icon. Humble. Gracious.
As an 11-year-old kid, I hung out with my friends dozens of times at the right field foul pole at Milwaukee County Stadium. As Hammerin’ Hank shagged balls during batting practice, he always stopped to ask how our Little League teams were doing and who was hitting well.
We didn’t know he battled discrimination, wasn’t allowed to play ball as a kid (only for whites), and learned to hit spinning bottle caps with a broomstick. We just knew this friendly man in a major league uniform who frequently tossed us a prized baseball.
More than a decade later as he chased Babe Ruth’s revered home run record, Aaron received thousands of vile, racist death threats. Rather than lashing out, he responded with his typical quiet grace.
The same grace he showed to that kid by the foul pole. The same grace he showed for the rest of his life. A gentleman and a gentle man.
Aaron’s impact extended far beyond the baseball diamond. For decades he worked tirelessly to remedy the horrible circumstances of the Jim Crow south. He served as a shining example of how to confront injustice with courage and humility.
For a long time I didn’t understand the lessons I learned from this great man. Occasionally I look at the autographed baseball and recall warm summer days. I remember a broad smile and a man who asked about youth teams he never got to enjoy.
I remember a hero.
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One of my favorite stories comes from opposing catcher (current broadcaster) Tim McCarver. He said Aaron would walk to the plate, put on his helmet, and reach down for a handful of dirt. As he stepped into the batter’s box, he would clear his throat.
Ahem. It was totally disconcerting. All the cheering and chaos, a baseball about to come at him at 90+ mph, and Aaron is calmly clearing his throat like he’s in a business meeting.