Finding Buck O'Neil

*The title of this post comes from Finding Buck McHenry, a children's book about the janitor of this middle school who may or may not be a former Negro League ballplayer.

As I've said before in this space, one of my favorite writers, both in newsprint and on the internet is Joe Posnanski, a sportswriter for the Kansas City Star (crazy how the star has both him and Jason Whitlock). From the moment I discovered his blog, it has become a daily read for me. Days that he's posted something are good ones, right up there with days that I get home in time to watch the Jim Lehrer NewsHour. I just know that I will get a chance to read a 5,000 word masterpiece on such diverse topics as the Hall of Fame credentials of Rickey Henderson, the trials, tribulations, and incredible foilibles of the Kansas City Royals, or the topic today, the fight over appointing a new Executive Director for the Negro League Baseball Museum. Days that he hasn't posted, there's just a twinge of disappointment; I almost feel betrayed.

Anyway, even though I've been reading his blog for the better part of a year now, I still hadn't gotten a chance to read his first book, "The Soul of Baseball: A Road Trip Through Buck O'Neil's America." Every time I'd go to the library in St. Louis, I'd check whether or not it was on the shelf, but inevitably it was always checked out, or it was transported to some far corner of the city that I did not have the inclination to drive to. When I came to New York, I would always tell myself to check when I made my way over to the library, but for some reason I'd always forget, and I'd end up checking out some book on economic policy or the history of labor corruption. This last time though- as I was perusing the biographies I remembered. It felt like the light knocking down Saul of Tarsus off his horse as I weaved my way through the smooth brown bookshelves- "I gotta check out Joe Posnanski." I scooted quietly over to the computer to make sure that it was in stock. Luck was with me that evening after work ladies and gentleman, because sure enough, there was a copy, right in that very Midtown Manhattan library. Unable to run, but fearful that someone else would pick up the book first, I race-walked over to the baseball section, bent down just a little bit, and grabbed the book, and headed back down the elevator to the self-check out line (to hell with interaction I wanted to go home and read my book).

For those of you who do not know- Buck O'Neil was a remarkable man. The easiest way for you to tell is by looking at the title, without even really knowing the man, is by looking at the title of his autobiography, "I Was Right On Time." If you just examined his life you'd think it was actually an ironic title- from a strictly objective point of view, his life was marked entirely by NOT being on time. O'Neil was a Negro League baseball player, played for the old Kansas City Monarchs, and he had stories about all the greats. The list of players he played with or against is staggering- the absolute who's who of Negro League legends: Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, Cool Papa Bell, Hilton Smith, Double Duty Radcliffe, Judy Johnson, Turkey Stearnes, the list goes on. By all accounts, including his own, he was a pretty good player, a slick-fielding, line drive smashing first baseman, a one-time batting champion. There aren't too many players like that now- Doug Mientekewicz (sp cuz I'm too lazy to look it up right now) had the defense part, but wasn't nearly a good enough hitter. I guess Mark Grace is probably the best fit from recent history- good hitter with good/great defensive skills and little power. That type of player was much more common in the past.

Anyway, it was clear that while O'Neil was a very good player, he was not of Hall of Fame quality. But the things he did after his playing career, well that's a different story. He was a successful manager for the Kansas City Monarchs, the first Black coach in the the major leagues (he probably would have been the first Black manager, but the league wasn't ready for that). He was the scout who "discovered" Lou Brock, Billy Williams, Oscar Gamble, and Ernie Banks. But his most lasting legacy, the one that turned him in to a legend, the one that should have given him a unanimous selection into the Hall of Fame, was his tireless work for the Negro Leagues, going all across the country to contribute to the memory of these men who would have otherwise been forgotten. The Negro League Museum would simply not exist if it was not for him. More than anything else, he wanted people to know how it truly was. The hardships yes, but more importantly, the joy. He didn't want to be pitied, he didn't want the story of the league to be all sorrow, of only terrible bus rides, discrimination, and little money. But he also did not want the Bingo's Traveling All-Stars treatment either, where the Negro Leagues were little more than mid-century minstrel shows. As Buck said, he got to eat at some of the best restaurants in the country, except they happened to be Black resturants. He got to stay at some of the best hotels in the country as well, they just happened to be Black hotels. He wanted everyone to remember that the men who played were MEN, not sad stories of "What Might Have Been," or cariactured Step & Fetch-It style clowns. The fact that he kept the memory of the Negro League alive and that he worked to transform that memory into something different from those two polar extremes surely gives him more credence to the Hall of Fame then that joker Bowie Kuhn, the single worst Commissioner in the history of organized baseball (as Posnanski said, every quote from him is like a "molatov cocktail of stupidity.") In my mind the line for entrance into the Hall of Fame (for those who can only be voted in by the Veterans Committee I mean) starts with Ron Santo, Marvin Miller, and Buck O'Neil. It's a damn shame that he didn't get a chance to experience his induction while he was alive. It's not black eye on the HOF, black eyes eventually fade. This is more like a gunshot that paralyzes from the waist down, something from which the Hall can never truly recover. I remember how angry I was when they didn't vote him in that one last time- it hurt my heart, even though I didn't know the man except through videos and other peoples accounts. After reading the book, the anger and sadness welled up in me again. The one consolation was that I got to read once again the uproar that resounded across the country after the vote, and to realize again how beloved he was.

I've had the good fortune in life to have never met my childhood, intellectual, or spiritual heroes. I've heard and read about too many occasions where someone gets a chance to meet their heroes and they end up being absolute assholes. And really, why wouldn't you expect them to. Shit, I've been around people who become arrogant jerks for winning their neighborhood bowling league, why should we expect people who've actually accomplished something to act any differently? From all accounts though, Buck O'Neil was a beautiful man, a modern day saint. But even saints can be unsufferable sometimes; Buck O'Neil just happened to be a saint you'd also want to hang out with. He always had a kind word for everybody, even at the age of 94 he would still sign autographs until his hands would start to shake. He was endlessly devoted to his wife (who died of cancer in 1997) and friends. He was constantly reading, constantly observing, had an educated opinion on a broad range of topics. Old Black people who lived before the Civil Rights movement are capable of only eliciting pity, the kind that inner city Black students get today. Their opinion on anything but how hard it was/is to be Black is not sought after; I bet many people don't think they have an opinion on anything at all. And if they do, it's almost certainly discounted. Buck shattered that kind of thinking.

His life was filled with plenty of hardship though. He wasn't able to go to high school in his hometown of Sarasota because there was no high school there for Black people. There was the everyday racism that was not exclusive to, but certainly culminated in, his not being able to play in the Major Leagues because of what he called his "beautiful tan." And finally, there's the denial that followed him all the way to the end of his life, the denial of entry into the Baseball Hall of Fame. After dedicating his life to the game, being a central figure in Ken Burns incredible documentary (where so many people were introduced to him), being THE catalyst for the Negro League Baseball Museum in Kansas City, as well as the catalyst for the election of many of the best Negro League players. He carried around a list of men who he actively campaigned for to get into the Hall of Fame, and he never once campaigned on his own behalf, saying quite simply that the men he was campaigning for were better at baseball than him.

He wasn't a mark though, his forgiveness came unencumbered by any kind of resentment, but it wasn't a thoughtless forgiveness, Buck had no use for martyrdom. And although he had pragmatic reasons for forgiveness (paraphrasing a quote from him, he said that he did not want to die of hate and bitterness in his heart), it wasn't calculating enough to chalk it up to pure pragmatism. It's really hard to find a word that manages to balance the two, because Buck O'Neil was too real for innocence or purity but also too real to for callous deception. The best I can tell, from reading the books, listening to him speak (on TV) and other accounts of him was that he truly understood men, their motivations, their abilities, their ability to make mistakes or live up to your wildest dreams. And with that understanding, he accepted men and the world for what it was, stripped of its complexities and pretensions. He was truly a remarkable man, so I suggest you read both "The Soul of Baseball," and "I Was Right On Time," to get a true idea of who Buck O'Neil really was.