they did Hank and Felix and them because I would do that.
“He was real quiet in the clubhouse. Those guys, they knew they weren’t accepted by everybody, so they didn’t say and do a lot of things that we would do. It was just a lot of bullshit. It was the worst part. I was down there nine years and that was the worst thing in the nine years.”
Henry’s relationship with Jacksonville manager Ben Geraghty eased the tension. Geraghty was known for being strict but fair. He chided Henry constantly. The aspects of Henry’s game outside of his hitting were in need of improvement. Like most baseball men, Geraghty accepted physical errors—making a fielding or throwing error—far more quickly than he did mental ones. Some of Henry’s mental mistakes bordered on the apocryphal, like the time he stole four bases and—either due to oversliding or failing to ask for time—was picked off each base. Another time, Henry blew a sign and Geraghty asked him why. Henry responded, “I can’t remember all that.”
The difference was that Geraghty also seemed to understand Henry’s sense of humor, that his responses were not always referendums of his intelligence. He knew that Henry often answered questions with a dry wit to diffuse the embarrassment of missing a sign or not executing his responsibilities. Even in criticism, he talked to Henry like an adult.
But most important, Ben Geraghty recognized Henry’s potential almost immediately. He knew that even as a nineteen-year-old, Henry Aaron possessed the ability to be not just a major-league player but a great, possibly transcendent one. “If Henry has a strike zone, it is from the top of his head to his ankles,” Geraghty said. “In a year or so, he’ll make the fans forget Jackie Robinson, and I’m not exaggerating. He never pays attention to who’s pitching. He hits them all.”
The third event, and the most important, occurred just as the season started. Henry had met Barbara Lucas, a young student at the local business school. Barbara was from Jacksonville, and Henry was immediately taken. She was tall and thin, with sparkling green eyes. Her younger brother, Bill, was also a baseball player. Bill Lucas attended Florida A&M—ironically, the school Stella wanted Henry to attend—and was a strong infield prospect. Within two years, Ed Scott would sign Bill to the Braves farm system. In the meantime, Henry and Barbara dated throughout the summer, although, according to family legend, Barbara’s parents did not want her to become serious with a baseball player.
Yet on the field, Henry destroyed the opposition, such as on April 1, 1953, in Jacksonville, against a big-league club, the Boston Red Sox. The Braves were demolished, 14–1. Mel Parnell, the veteran Red Sox left-hander, gave up just five hits, but two were to Henry. Another pro, Ike Delock, gave up a long home run to Henry in the eighth inning.
The competition did not seem to matter all summer long: two doubles against Columbia. Later that season, in back-to-back doubleheaders against Columbia, Henry went twelve for thirteen. Jacksonville won the pennant and Henry was named the Most Valuable Player of the Sally League. The numbers, again, were staggering: .362 average, 22 home runs, 36 doubles, 14 triples, 115 runs scored, 125 runs batted in, and 208 total bases.
He was assigned to winter ball in Caguas, Puerto Rico, and before going, he asked Barbara to marry him and join him on the island.
In the span of eighteen months, Henry had gone from standing on the platform at the L&N Railroad station to playing in the Negro Leagues to being a married man. He spent the winter of 1953 preparing for his first major-league spring training. He was told from the start that no matter how he hit, he would spend the entire 1954 season in Toledo.
A ND SO THE comet soared. Bill Slack, the longtime baseball man known as the pitching guru of North Carolina, worked with Henry in the 1980s. Slack never played in the big
“He was real quiet in the clubhouse. Those guys, they knew they weren’t accepted by everybody, so they didn’t say and do a lot of things that we would do. It was just a lot of bullshit. It was the worst part. I was down there nine years and that was the worst thing in the nine years.”
Henry’s relationship with Jacksonville manager Ben Geraghty eased the tension. Geraghty was known for being strict but fair. He chided Henry constantly. The aspects of Henry’s game outside of his hitting were in need of improvement. Like most baseball men, Geraghty accepted physical errors—making a fielding or throwing error—far more quickly than he did mental ones. Some of Henry’s mental mistakes bordered on the apocryphal, like the time he stole four bases and—either due to oversliding or failing to ask for time—was picked off each base. Another time, Henry blew a sign and Geraghty asked him why. Henry responded, “I can’t remember all that.”
The difference was that Geraghty also seemed to understand Henry’s sense of humor, that his responses were not always referendums of his intelligence. He knew that Henry often answered questions with a dry wit to diffuse the embarrassment of missing a sign or not executing his responsibilities. Even in criticism, he talked to Henry like an adult.
But most important, Ben Geraghty recognized Henry’s potential almost immediately. He knew that even as a nineteen-year-old, Henry Aaron possessed the ability to be not just a major-league player but a great, possibly transcendent one. “If Henry has a strike zone, it is from the top of his head to his ankles,” Geraghty said. “In a year or so, he’ll make the fans forget Jackie Robinson, and I’m not exaggerating. He never pays attention to who’s pitching. He hits them all.”
The third event, and the most important, occurred just as the season started. Henry had met Barbara Lucas, a young student at the local business school. Barbara was from Jacksonville, and Henry was immediately taken. She was tall and thin, with sparkling green eyes. Her younger brother, Bill, was also a baseball player. Bill Lucas attended Florida A&M—ironically, the school Stella wanted Henry to attend—and was a strong infield prospect. Within two years, Ed Scott would sign Bill to the Braves farm system. In the meantime, Henry and Barbara dated throughout the summer, although, according to family legend, Barbara’s parents did not want her to become serious with a baseball player.
Yet on the field, Henry destroyed the opposition, such as on April 1, 1953, in Jacksonville, against a big-league club, the Boston Red Sox. The Braves were demolished, 14–1. Mel Parnell, the veteran Red Sox left-hander, gave up just five hits, but two were to Henry. Another pro, Ike Delock, gave up a long home run to Henry in the eighth inning.
The competition did not seem to matter all summer long: two doubles against Columbia. Later that season, in back-to-back doubleheaders against Columbia, Henry went twelve for thirteen. Jacksonville won the pennant and Henry was named the Most Valuable Player of the Sally League. The numbers, again, were staggering: .362 average, 22 home runs, 36 doubles, 14 triples, 115 runs scored, 125 runs batted in, and 208 total bases.
He was assigned to winter ball in Caguas, Puerto Rico, and before going, he asked Barbara to marry him and join him on the island.
In the span of eighteen months, Henry had gone from standing on the platform at the L&N Railroad station to playing in the Negro Leagues to being a married man. He spent the winter of 1953 preparing for his first major-league spring training. He was told from the start that no matter how he hit, he would spend the entire 1954 season in Toledo.
A ND SO THE comet soared. Bill Slack, the longtime baseball man known as the pitching guru of North Carolina, worked with Henry in the 1980s. Slack never played in the big
Similar Books
