Here's To You, Mr. Robinson

For a young baseball fan, growing up in Baltimore during the 70’s was heaven. The Orioles were flying high and you could bank on them being a contender in the American League East all the way into September.

Back then, the away games were generally the only ones which were televised. So, when the Oriole’s were playing at Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, I relied on broadcasters Chuck Thompson and Bill O'Donnell to deliver the game to me via a small transistor radio. They would paint such a vivid picture of the game that I often felt like I was sitting right behind the 3rd base dugout.

Obviously, I was a big Oriole’s fan, but there was one player who I particularly idolized. His name was Brooks Robinson. Brooks was a highlight reel of spectacular plays at third base thus earning him the nickname: The Human Vacuum Cleaner. And although most people remember him for his defensive play, Brooks was also a pretty decent hitter. To say that Brooks Robinson was admired in Baltimore would be an understatement. People were actually naming their kids after him!

I got the opportunity to meet my boyhood idol at an autograph signing at a local gas station (yes, back in the day, players actually did this!). I couldn’t take my eyes off of him as I anxiously waited behind the long line of other neighborhood kids. When I finally approached Brooks, he prepared to sign a complementary 8x10 head-shot of himself. He looked up at me and said, “Hi there, son. What’s your name?”

I nervously replied, “Kenny.”

Now keep in mind that, to me, this was like my Mom meeting Elvis. So, Brooks signs the photo with a ball-point pen. There were no Sharpies in those days. He hands the newly signed ball to me and says, “There you go, Kenny. Thanks for coming out.”

As a ten year old, hearing this local legend refer to me by name was simply amazing. Now that I felt like we officially knew each other, I followed up with a request. Like a kid asking Santa to bring his favorite Christmas toy, I looked up and said, “Mr. Robinson, could I get you to sign my baseball glove?”

He smiled and reached out for my glove. As he signed it, I imagined Brooks putting it on and snagging a line drive over the 3rd base bag. How cool would that be? Interrupting my daydream, he handed the signed glove back to me and asked, “So, what position do you play, Kenny?”

A little more relaxed now, I said, “Third base. Just like you, Brooks.”

He grinned and replied, “That's great. Best of luck to you, son.”

I could hardly wait to show my teammates my newly prized possession. With Brooks' autograph on my glove, I would be a shoe-in for the All-Star team! I can remember glancing at the signature as I took warm-ups at 3rd base before my Little League game. I couldn't help but feel like I had a distinct edge on the competition.

Even though it was a long time ago and my exchange with Brooks Robinson was very brief, it was one of the highlights of my childhood. He took the time to meet and greet every kid in the line that day. And he did it with a smile on his face. He was, no doubt, one of the classiest guys ever to play the game. (Is it any surprise that Brooks was an inspiration for a young Cal Ripken Jr?)

My cherished baseball glove is long gone, but the signed 8x10 still proudly hangs on my wall today. It always takes me back to those summer days of my childhood when all that really mattered was playing baseball by day and watching the O's at night.

Thanks for the memories, Brooks....

kw