It will be 40 years since the Opening Day that will stand out above all others forever. Yes, that’s me standing with Mickey Mantle in Yankee Stadium in 1966. Like thousands of New York kids growing up in the fifties and sixties, Mickey was our idol. He wasn’t just a New York hero, he was the national symbol of the storybook hero. A big, strong, blond, switch hitter who hit tape measure home runs. He was a modest country boy who performed and dominated the biggest stage in the sports world. He was why we loved the Yankees, and why other fans hated them.
My father, who was in the television news business, worked with a friend of Mantle’s. They were neighbors in Dallas. He knew how I felt about Mick, and arranged for me to meet him. We took a cab from my father’s office in Manhattan to Yankee Stadium. That’s when only big shots and ballplayers took cabs to the ballpark. We went right down on the field as batting practice was about to begin. My father’s friend took me right to the top of the Yankee dugout steps and said wait here. I’ll go in and get Mickey. He went down into the clubhouse. A couple of minutes later Mickey Mantle came up the dugout steps to meet me. He was holding a bat. He had a white batting glove on his left hand, and his baseball glove on over it. The uniform, the hat, the spikes, the stirrups were perfect. God’s perfect ballplayer. He said hello. We shook hands. There was small talk which I can’t remember. My father’s friend used my camera to take the picture. I then watched Mickey and the other Yankees take batting practice to get ready for the game against the Detroit Tigers. I watched Mantle’s muscles ripple as he hit rocket shots in batting practice.
My father’s friend had to get back to work, so we didn’t stay for the game which was fine with me. No game could top what just happened. 1966 proved to be one of the worst years in Yankee history. They finished in last place for the first time since 1912, twenty-six and half games out of first place. In a game on September 22nd, there were only 413 fans in the stands. Announcer Red Barber asked the director to pan the empty seats. He thought that was the story of the day and the year. Yankee media people prevented the pan. A week later, Barber was told his contract would not be renewed. It was the beginning of a decades long slide for the Yankees. Mantle played two more seasons. His skills and production declined rapidly after a career of multiple injuries and alcohol abuse. Mantle’s wife and his sons also suffered from drug and alcohol abuse. The abuse haunted his personal life. In 1995, after a lifetime of abuse, he had liver cancer, cirrhosis and hepatitis. With only weeks to live, he received a liver transplant.
A couple of days after the transplant, he spoke about his life and regrets. He was weak, thin, pale and a shadow of himself. Mantle spoke his own epitaph, “God gave me the ability to play baseball. God gave me everything. (But) for kids out there…don’t be like me. All you’ve got to do is look at me to see it’s wasted. I want to get across to the kids not to drink or do drugs. Moms and dads should be role models, not ballplayers.” Mantle would die a month later. He was 63.
I even knew as a kid, that Mantle had the reputation as a drinker and a party guy. He had a fear of dying early as his father and several of uncles did. But as with all heroes, they are vulnerable people behind the image, just like all of us. A while ago I read, “The Last Boy: Mickey Mantle and the End of America’s Childhood” by Jane Leavy. It’s one of the finest and saddest biographies I’ve ever read. The story of a man who made it to the top of the world, and it cost him his happiness, his family, and ultimately, his life. If Mantle were playing today, he would be all over TMZ and The Insider. Tiger Woods and Johnny Manziel would be no match for him. In his day, reporters keep the secrets of ballplayers and presidents private. They were interested in access.
Hero worship and idol making will always be with us. Doesn’t everyone want to be an “American Idol”? We should all look for inspiration in the accomplishments of our heroes. But, we should learn from the good and the bad in their lives. Life and glory are fleeting. That’s the lesson Mickey taught me.
Another good one, Mike!