Short Trip Of A Lifetime …

In 1974, I had two suits.  Actually, only one.  The navy blue sports coat didn’t really count as a suit, but I could wear it with a tie and gray pants or khaki pants.

So, I carefully packed both suits, several pairs of slacks, several ties, both pairs of shoes I owned including my Bass Weejuns, all of my dress shirts including my prized blue Gant, and all the underwear and socks I owned.  This was going to be the trip of a lifetime, and I was excited.

Sports Editor Doug Nye had given me the plum assignment of any sportswriter’s career:  go to Atlanta and follow the Atlanta Braves and Hank Aaron until Aaron breaks Babe Ruth’s home run record.  Absolutely the top thrill of my young career.

I certainly wanted to be prepared so I bought one of those bars for hanging clothes from window to window in the back seat.  No telling how long I would be gone.  My WW made sure my toiletry bag was fully stocked, and my closet was depleted as I loaded the family Ford Torino.

Of course, this was going to be work so I did my homework.  It was the beginning of the 1974 major league baseball season and the Braves had opened the season with three games in Cincinnati.  It did not matter that the Braves lost two of those games because Aaron hit a home run in his first at-bat of the season to tie Babe Ruth’s record of 714 career home runs.  Atlanta big-wigs wanted Aaron to break the coveted record in Atlanta, and Aaron went the final two games in Cincinnati without another home run, which set the stage perfectly for Atlanta fans.  And I couldn’t wait to get to Atlanta.

I pulled my Torino into the parking garage at the Intercontinental Hotel across the street from Fulton County Stadium.  I needed a cart with wheels to tote my clothes to my room, and the nice hotel bell captain offered his assistance.  He mentioned I had lots of clothes, and I told him I would be staying until Aaron hits THE home run.  He flashed a wide smile as I rushed to check in and get to the stadium.

It was 44 years ago, but the details are crystal clear.

The Braves public relations staff had prepared an impressive information package for members of the press.  A “Hank Aaron Media Guide” included every statistic imaginable, including a list of Aaron’s 714 home runs with information on EACH home run including the date, inning it was hit, number of runners on base, the opposing team and the opposing pitcher.  The same stats were included for each of Ruth’s 714 homers as well.  A 47-page report on George Herman “Babe” Ruth was included in the package.  The report noted that Ruth, who died in 1948, was known as “The Sultan of Swat,” “The Bambino,” “The King of Clout,” “The Colossus of Rhodes,” “The Mighty Maharaja of Maul,” and “The Caliph of Clout.”  Aaron, an unassuming sports hero, was simply known as “Hammerin’ Hank.”

Like me, the city of Atlanta was totally pumped up, and a sellout crowd of 53,000 was on hand that evening, April 8 of 1974, when the Braves returned home to play the Dodgers.  I had a catbird seat on press row, just above the lower deck on the first-base side.  Perfect view of the batter’s box and the field.

Dodger pitcher Al Downing did not want to be stigmatized as the pitcher who gave up the record-breaking home run.  He walked Hammerin’ Hank in the first inning as the 53,000 roared with boos.  The first strike he threw Aaron came in the fourth inning, and it was hammered over the left field fence and into the glove of bullpen relief pitcher Tommy House.  The wait for 715 was over, and Aaron was the king of baseball.

Not many of the 53,000 were in the stadium at the end to see the Braves win the game 7-4.  They had seen what they came to see, and they had been part of baseball history.  Many of them surely would tell their grandchildren about being there that night.

I could not get enough of the occasion.  With press credentials, I was allowed in the Braves locker room with gobs of other sports writers after the game.  Aaron sat nonchalantly on a bench in front of his locker.  He was calm and obviously relieved.  He said the same words many times:  “I’m just glad it’s over.”

Sports writers eventually filtered out of the locker room and left Aaron with his closest friends and members of the Braves organization.  I stuck around as long as I could, actually too long.  When I left the locker room, I realized I was locked inside the stadium.  A security guard told me one gate was still open on the other side of the stadium but I should hurry.  After hustling to the one open gate, I did not have to worry about spending the night in the stadium.

I walked across the street to the hotel and fell asleep long after midnight.  The next morning, I packed up all my clothes, put everything on one of those carts with wheels, and headed down the elevator.  “Didn’t need all those clothes, did you?” the bell captain quipped with his wide smile.

My two suits and I were back on I-20 toward Columbia after less than 24 hours in Atlanta.  As I drove back home, I thought to myself, the trip of a lifetime was short, but maybe my children and grandchildren will like hearing about it some day.