It was just over a week ago, last Tuesday, that Willie Mays walked into a cornfield in Iowa. It is heaven, after all.
As great a baseball player as there has been or ever will be, Mays lived 93 years. In an Old-Timers All-Star Game in his early 50s, he made a running, tumbling, circus catch – basket style, in his trademark fashion.
Just a day before he passed, he wrote a beautiful note to his friend Dusty Baker, the Astros’ manager, expressing regret that he couldn’t make it to Birmingham, Ala., for last Thursday’s “MLB at Rickwood Field: A Tribute to the Negro Leagues” game at the country’s oldest pro baseball park. Mays began his career there as a teenager in 1948, and ended that season playing in what turned out to be the final Negro Leagues World Series, with his Birmingham Black Barons losing to the Homestead Grays in five games.
You probably know all that.
You’ve probably recently read at least a few thousand of a million words, and seen a few minutes of video or TV, remembering the Say Hey Kid. Great tributes, unforgettable memories, and all treasures to savor.
Here’s an unknown gem.
Jerry Rushing was a non-traditional student at Northwestern State from 1990-95, and served in the Louisiana National Guard. During his high school days a few years earlier, living with the grandparents in Vivian in the summer, Jerry played American Legion baseball for Jim Wells’ Goodwin-Wilson Law Firm team, and later became a high school football official.
He married a Shreveport girl — he and Karla are still loving life together, nowadays empty nesters in North Carolina. Jerry just got home from working with West Point cadets, many football and baseball players, training them on simulators for tanks and Bradley Fighting Vehicles.
Jerry is the ultimate good ole boy, just a charming, friendly fellow with a thick country accent. He’s smart as a whip. Loves sports. Never met a stranger. Keep that in mind.
In college, Jerry took a student job working in the NSU sports information office, continuing through getting his master’s degree in sports administration. Not long after, the Demons needed an athletic ticket manager just when Jerry was in the job market. Great fit.
Jerry is a huge Astros’ fan. So big that he and a pal had season tickets for a few years. In 2004, Barry Bonds was on the verge of passing the 660-home run milestone that Mays, his godfather, clubbed in his career, topped only by Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron. Bonds and his San Francisco Giants opened the season in Houston in early April with a four-game series against the Roger Clemens-led ‘Stros.
Jerry and pal were there. Having been in the ticket business, Jerry had some useful insight. After Game 3, he reached out to the Astros’ ticket staff and asked if there was any chance, considering Game 4 was an afternoon, getaway game, there might be some seats in a better location that they could get into. It never hurts to ask. And Jerry has never been scared.
Bingo! They got great seats. Right behind the plate, a few rows up. Professional courtesy. Of course, Jerry and pal arrived for batting practice. As first pitch neared, the stands were filling. Jerry noticed some men in dark polo shirts with earplugs, wearing shades, casing out their section. No secret, President George H.W. Bush lived in Houston and was frequently at Astros games, in prime seats behind home plate.
A few minutes later, coming down the stairs flanking the section where Jerry and pal were sitting, here comes Bush 41. Right behind him are three athletic-looking, middle-aged African-American men. Their group comes closer row by row, and incredibly, turns into Jerry’s row. They walk toward Jerry and pal, and YES!!
Being a patriot, Jerry had to pay his respects. “Mr. President, I’m Jerry Rushing, and I serve in the Louisiana National Guard. It’s an honor to shake your hand, sir.”
“Jerry, great to meet you,” said Bush 41, as his Secret Service detail stood by, nervously. “Thanks for your service. Where are you from?”
Jerry said he lived in Natchitoches, Louisiana. The president replied: “I know Natchitoches. The contractor who built my house here in Houston is from Natchitoches. I know all about Chief Caddo, Steel Magnolias, Cane River, the Christmas Festival – I hope I can visit someday.
“Can I introduce you to my friends?,” said Bush 41, turning to his companions. “This is Tony Gwynn.”
Replied Jerry, shaking Gwynn’s hand: “Tony Gwynn! What an honor to meet you. Fifteen All-Star Games, a .338 career batting average, 3-thousand hit club. One of the greatest hitters of all time!”
Said President Bush: “Jerry, this next fellow is Rod Carew.”
Jerry, nobody’s fool, was on point. “Wow, Mr. Carew, a thrill to meet you sir. Eighteen straight All-Star Games, that’s amazing! Three-thousand hit club, .328 career batting average. A Baseball Hall of Famer!”
Then Bush 41 stepped in again. “Jerry, this fine gentleman here is the Say Hey Kid, Willie Mays.”
Momentary silence during another strong handshake. Then Jerry finally managed to speak.
“D-d-do-do-do-do you-you-you-you KNOW you’re WILLIE MAYS?”
Everybody laughed. Willie produced a baseball. It sits in Jerry and Karla’s house, in Dunn, N.C., with an autograph that he didn’t ask for. He’ll never, ever, ever forget that meeting, or sell that ball.
That’s how big a deal Willie Mays was, and will always be.
Contact Doug at sbjdoug@gmail.com
