In 1969, Harmon Killebrew of Major League Baseball’s Minnesota Twins — a perennial All-Star selection known as “The Killer” to his fans — hit 49 home runs and had 140 runs batted in as the American League’s Most Valuable Player. Four of us had driven to Boston to see him play against the Red Sox at Fenway Park. The game was tied going into the Minnesota half of the ninth inning, when Killebrew walked to the plate.
It was a modern-day Casey-at-the-bat situation, and from our spot in the cheap seats someone decided it would be a swell idea to bet on how the drama might play out. A couple of us bet that Killebrew would knock the ball out of the park; a couple bet that he wouldn’t. We barely had made our wagers when the man got a pitch in his wheelhouse, launching it into the next time zone far over the Green Monster wall in left field, and the Twins went on to win the game.
We spontaneously shouted and high-fived each other in an impromptu victory dance. But except for our short-lived performance there was no joy in Mudville on this sad day, and that portion of Red Sox Nation on whose turf we cavorted was not impressed with our antics. We weren’t in Maine anymore, Toto, and to say that we soon heard about it from the beer-swilling toughs around us is to state the obvious.
Nothing much came of our social blunder, however, and we subsequently escaped to become ever more appreciative of Killebrew’s talents as he went on to become eleventh on baseball’s all-time home run list with 573 dingers. His exceptional 22-year career included eight seasons with 40 or more homers, tying him for second behind the great Babe Ruth.
Killebrew, whose tape-measure home runs moved former Twins owner Calvin Griffith to consider him the backbone of the franchise who “kept us in business” in the 1960s, died Tuesday of esophageal cancer at his Arizona home. He was 74.
One of the last times the slugger was on a national stage and Americans were reminded of his days as one of baseball’s most feared hitters was as a guest, with other Hall of Famers, at the 1999 All-Star game at Fenway Park.
On that night, legendary Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams, then 80 years old with a couple of debilitating strokes behind him, entered Fenway via golf cart from the bullpen area for his last hurrah at the storied old ballpark. Tipping his hat to the fans as he had not done since early in his remarkable career, Williams drew a standing ovation to end all standing ovations and then held court with awestruck young All-Star performers gathered around. It was a moment for the ages.
There were many other pretty fair country ballplayers introduced as well. When the public address announcer presented Bob Feller, fans recalled the raw-boned Iowa farm boy with his 100 mph fastball who regularly mowed down enemy batters as the ace of the Cleveland Indians pitching staff in the post-World War II era.
Stan Musial, the smooth-hitting and slick-fielding St. Louis Cardinal with the strange peek-a-boo batting stance, was introduced. And fleet-of-foot New York Giants centerfielder Willie Mays, evoking memories of impossible catches at the old Polo Grounds. Brooks Robinson, arguably the greatest third baseman ever to lace up a pair of spikes. Hammering Hank Aaron, everyone’s favorite home run champion. Sox heroes Carlton Fisk and Carl Yastrzemski, providing special memories for the home crowd. Ace pitcher Bob Gibson, looking like he could still wing it for nine innings without breaking a sweat. On they came, pushing the ballpark nostalgia index to its limit.
At Target Field in Minneapolis this week, members of the Twins ground crew lifted home plate and placed beneath it a plastic-encased photograph of Harmon Killebrew in his glory days, winding up for one of his epic swings for the fences. It will remain there until season’s end, inspiration for a team that is presently struggling.
Perhaps the man who learned early in life that he could hit a baseball farther than most players — who always strode confidently to the plate with that ace up his sleeve — can help turn things around from beyond the grave, much as he did for so many years on the playing field.
BDN columnist Kent Ward lives in Limestone. His e-mail address is maineolddawg@gmail.com.