CLEVELAND — I met him just once, interviewed him years after he had stopped playing ball. I knew I was in the presence of greatness, but to talk with him and interview Willie Mays was the world.
I don't throw the word "greatness" around easily, but with Willie Mays, it is appropriate. Mays died this week at the age of 93, and baseball feels his absence.
He was in Cleveland in the 1980s, and I had a chance to get a short interview with him as he was autographing copies of his book at either the old Higbee's or May Company department store (I can't remember which). I should have been "May" Company for Willie.
I grabbed the short interview. Willie was the greatest baseball player I ever saw, although my memories of him are from televised games or from films. He had all the tools hit for power average great glove, a beauty to behold running the bases, able to steal a base and do it with style. But something else: He had unbridled joy for the game, and we all got that from him.
Then there is "The Catch." Cleveland had a piece of that history, as No. 24 made a beyond spectacular grab in the Polo Grounds during the 1954 World Series. Off the bat of Indians first baseman Vic Wertz, a shot sailed to the deepest part of the Polo Grounds, which looked as deep as the Grand Canyon. Mays turned his back on the field and sprinted for the wall, looking backward. Judging the ball's trajectory magnificently, he pulled it in for a spectacular over-the-shoulder catch.
Mays would later say, "I just wanted to get the ball back to the infield," and No. 24 caught it, wheeled and let it fly into second base — majestic, magnificent, Mays.
In 1951, Willie Mays was in that second or third group of blacks following Brooklyn's Jackie Robinson and Cleveland's Larry Doby in integrating Major League Baseball. In my neighborhood, Mays was a king who did everything so well and brought a joyful spirit to the game.
Ability and style, under the No. 24 Giants jersey. Today, my mind races back to that book signing I covered decades after he quit playing baseball. In a short interview, we chatted about his life.
Willie, No. 24, is gone, but he lives in our memories and on film and tape — hitting with enormous power, running the bases, dashing deep into the Grand Canyon at New York's Polo Grounds, pulling that spear out of the air.
Doing the impossible. Well, impossible for us mortals.
Willie Mays is now with the angels, but even here on earth, he had wings to fly.
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