David Jolley: Remembering Willie Mays – Yes, he was that good

Those of us who became sports fans in the 1960s are losing our childhood heroes at an alarming rate, but the sting of losing Willie Mays recently may be the toughest one to accept.

Especially coming so soon after the death of basketball legend Jerry West. Both icons and both gone.

Willie was 93 years old, so his death was not a surprise. But he was such a baseball legend and icon, always top-of-mind when talking about baseball’s greatest players, and the definition of what became to be known as a five-tool player.

That’s those select players who can do it all – run fast, throw hard and accurately, field their position cleanly, hit for a high average, and hit with power. It is believed the five-tool description was developed specifically to describe Mays and his multiple talents.

Willie could do it all, and he did, retiring as a major league player with 3,293 hits, 660 home runs, .301 batting average, 339 stolen bases, 12 gold glove awards, rookie of the year in 1951, most valuable player in 1954 and 1965, World Series champion in 1954, and a 24-time all-star.

He also made the iconic over-the-shoulder catch off the bat of Cleveland’s Vic Wertz, 450 feet away from home plate in the spacious Polo Grounds in New York during the 1954 World Series. His Giants won that championship over the favored Indians.

Mays surely would have hit more homers if his home games were not played in San Francisco’s cold, damp, and windy Candlestick Park. Even Willie agreed he could have led the league in stolen bases more often had he simply attempted more steals. If there ever was a player for whom the sky was the limit, it was Willie Mays.

He had that million dollar smile and was consistently a fan favorite not only at home, but also in opposing ballparks throughout the National League.

As a young player with the New York Giants, Mays often spent his spare time playing stickball with the kids in his neighborhood. New York was the center of the baseball universe in those days, home to three major league teams – the Giants, the Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers.

Those teams had tremendous center fielders, Mays with the Giants, Mickey Mantle with the Yankees, and Duke Snider with the Dodgers. All three are in the Hall of Fame. Remember Terry Cashman’s famous song, “Talking Baseball” about Willie, Mickey and the Duke? It referred to the ongoing debate during those days about who was the best player. All three were tremendous, but in the end the greatest one was Willie Mays.

Prior to the 1962 World Series between the Giants and Yankees (by this time, the Giants and Dodgers had moved to California), reporters separately asked Mays and Mantle who was the game’s greatest player. Mays said Mickey was the greatest while Mantle insisted, “Willie’s the best.”

I had two huge posters on my bedroom wall when I was a kid. One was Johnny Callison of the Philadelphia Phillies, my favorite player who also represented my favorite team. The other poster was Willie Mays. The Giants may have been my team’s enemy, but no matter. Mays was still a favorite. He wasn’t just another player, he was baseball itself, and I always admired his talent and charisma.

My first in-person major league game was at Connie Mack Stadium in Philadelphia in 1966. Prior to the game, Mays was at the end of the Giants’ dugout signing autographs. I quickly got in line and waited as it slowly moved, and I got closer and closer. Then, just as I was the next to get an autograph, an usher stepped in front of me. “Sorry,” he said, “no more autographs today. Willie has to get ready for the game.”

I was disappointed, but Willie smiled, shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Sorry, kid,” and went off to take batting practice. Tito Fuentes, an infielder with San Francisco, and George Myatt, the longtime coach then with the Phillies, saved the day by signing my program. Major league autographs, sure, but nothing as legendary as it would have been to get a Mays signature.

Years later, the late Frank M. Henry, leader of Martz Trailways and a northeast Pennsylvania icon himself, gave me a Willie Mays autographed baseball. I looked at it as I wrote this piece.

I saw Mays play many more times, but that close encounter in 1966 was the closest I ever got to meeting the legendary number 24.

Mays was also instrumental in the civil rights movement during the volatile sixties, not by being loud and proud like Jackie Robinson, but by attaining a consistent level of excellence on the field and being a friendly, approachable, and principled man off of it. He let his daily actions do the talking for him, and for me it was successful.

I was born too late to appreciate watching Jackie Robinson, Don Newcombe, Roy Campanella and Larry Doby play baseball, but the Black ballplayers of the 60s, notably Mays, Henry Aaron, Frank Robinson, Bob Gibson, Willie McCovey, Willie Stargell and Dick Allen (another of my favorites), all served as excellent role models. The example they set strongly reinforced the lessons I learned from my parents that people are people and there is no room to spare in anyone’s heart for bigotry and hate.

Willie Mays was instrumental in teaching me this fundamental life lesson nearly 60 years ago, and it’s an important lesson even now. Perhaps even more so as there is still a long road to travel before we finally move past racial intolerance, and it becomes a true non-issue.

Baseball continues as a prime vehicle to further this cause.

Rest easy, Mr. Mays, and thank you. You really were that good.