When I was a young boy, I would spend one or two weeks each summer with my cousin, Don (known as Donny back then), and his family in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
After I had stayed with him, he would then usually come home with us and spend one or two weeks with me in Atlanta.
Don was a couple of years older than me but we enjoyed the same things making our time together so enjoyable for each of us. The reasons we enjoyed being with each other during the summers were opposite in nature. Don, you see, came from a big family. He had three older brothers and an older sister and even though they were already out of the house, they all had children of their own who stayed at my aunt and uncle’s house most of the time. And I was an only child with no close relatives living near us. So, he liked to come down to Atlanta to get away from all the noise and activity that was constantly going on at his house, and I enjoyed being with him because of all the noise and activity.
Don’s house was near a local drug store. This was long before the days of the mega-pharmacies that we have now. The store had two great draws. You could get the best cherry colas I’ve ever had — made with RC Cola instead of Coca-Cola — and they always had a large supply of baseball cards. Donny and I would walk to the store to get us a cherry cola and I would stock up on several packs of baseball cards.
I’d immediately tear open the pack to see if I had been lucky enough to get a special treasure like a Willie Mays, Stan Musial, or Mickey Mantle card and if I was especially lucky, there just might be a card of my hero — an Eddie Matthews card.
It is a wonder that all my teeth didn’t fall out from chomping on that rock-hard bubble gum that came as a by-product of the cards because I spent all the money my folks had given me on those cards. I was supposed to buy Donny something with that money but never seemed to remember that fact.
Looking back on those days, one summer particularly stands out in my memory because that was the summer I was driven to a Chattanooga Lookouts ball game by none other than the future Baseball Hall of Famer, Harmon Killebrew.
Don had a buddy who had a paper route and it just so happened that several of the Lookout players lived on his route. One day one of them gave him three tickets to the game. He told him, with the best sad face he could, that we didn’t have a way to get to the game, which was true. The player told him to meet him at 5:30 that afternoon and he’d take us. I was especially excited because the Lookouts were playing the Atlanta Crackers that night.
We met the player and he introduced himself to all of us. The name, Harmon Killebrew, didn’t mean anything to me at that time other than the fact that this guy played professional baseball, my dream at the time, so I was in awe from the moment I met him. For those of you who are old enough to remember those days and the names of some of those guys, another Lookout player by the name of Ernie Orvitz, a speedy outfielder, went with us. Killebrew and Orvitz in the front seat and three excited kids smushed into the back seat of Harmon’s car going to the ballpark. It didn’t get any better than that for a 10 year-old.
This was 1957 and Killebrew was still a few years away from making his official major league debut. He would spend most of the year in the minors and be called up late in the season but even then, you could see his potential. The Lookouts beat the Crackers that night and Harmon was in a good mood driving home because he had cracked a long home run and drove in four runs.
During the trips to and from Engel Stadium, Harmon constantly talked to us, seeming to be genuinely interested in us. He asked me if I played baseball and I told him I wasn’t big enough to hit the long ball so I just went for singles. Obviously, from that point on, I followed Killebrew’s career closely because I considered him a personal friend. After all, he had told me “Good luck and keep hitting singles.” when he let us out of his car at Donny’s house.
Harmon Killebrew, of course, would go on to have a great career. Playing mostly with the Washington Senators who would later move to Minnesota to become the Twins and finishing his career with Kansas City, Killebrew hammered 573 career home runs and drove in 1,584 runs. He was a 13-time All-Star selection and won the American League MVP Award in 1969. He led his league in home runs six times and RBI’s three times. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1984.
Harmon “The Killer” Killebrew died from esophageal cancer on May 17, 2011 at the age of 74. It seems that this is happening more and more now that I am in my mid-60’s myself. Heroes from my childhood are slipping away at a rapid rate. It’s funny how time and youth distorts our images but I did the math and since I was 10 in 1957, that would have made Killebrew a young man of only 20 himself. The difference between 10 and 20 seemed far greater back then than 64 and 74 does now.
Harmon Killebrew never knew the influence he had on that 10 year-old boy but because a real player told me to stick with it and keep hitting singles- I did. And because I did, the joy and love for the game of baseball continues today because of the wonderful memories it has provided.
Memories like my evening with the great Harmon Killebrew.
Thanks “Killer." RIP.
Randy Blalock is a columnist for The Barrow Journal. Send comments about this column to rblalock@mindspring.com.
