Willie Mays R.I.P.

 

 

Earlier today, journalist Howard Stutz posted photos and told an interesting story about meeting Willie Mays while he was the head of PR for Bally’s. That triggered a memory of my own of having met Mays back around 1997 in Atlantic City. I found this autograph in a box out in the garage. Mays signed the press package for the “grand reopening” of Bally’s Grand in Atlantic City, which I attended.

What I most remember about that event was Mays was a celebrity greeter, along with singer-songwriter-crooner Paul Anka. Both Anka and Mays didn’t seem particularly pleased to be there and have to mix with the masses. After all, they’d shined in much brighter spotlights earlier in their career–and doing casino appearances just seemed like a step down. That said, Mays in particular never earned anything close to what he was worth in talent (imagine the size of the contract he’d earn in today’s market). Hence, Mays (and Mickey Mantle) worked as ambassadors for various casinos to cash in on their fame, resulting at one time in a suspension from baseball, even though they were long-ago retired (what a farce).

I can’t say that I was a fan of Mays, and he wasn’t particularly gracious in person during my encounters (I met him twice, and he wasn’t friendly on either occasion). But this past week since his death, I’m both mindful and respectful of what Mays meant to so many–of all classes, races, and backgrounds. His glories on the diamond became a shared experience, an unbreakable bond, a stamp on a timeline, and a mutual accomplishment, memories taking so many good people back to earlier times that were far more simple, more honest, and more real.

An autograph is more than just a name and a signature in a piece of paper. It’s a moment inked in time and a shared link to our past as well as a rare memento of greatness.