oday’s MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: The Day I Met Willie Mays
It’s one of those experience that despite the passage of so much time, still remains so clear in your mind.
It must have been the Summer of 1968 or 9 and I was about 12 or 13. We lived in Fort Lee, NJ so the legendary Palisades Amusement Park was a big part of our lives, as it was to virtually everyone who grew up there. In another year or two, I would actually work a Summer there — making cotton candy for $1/hr. Yep. A buck an hour (a story for another post).
Anyway, my father was a Bergen County Sheriff’s Deputy and like so many other law enforcement officers of the day (and today) worked extra jobs doing security work. In this case, my father was working at the Park at a place known as the Casino. It was a covered outdoor bar/restaurant with tables, a stage, and an area for dancing. It was near the famous World’s Largest Outdoor Salt Water Pool so the dress code was always casual. One of my strongest recollections of the place was that it always smelled like booze, cheap booze. But it also featured performances from some top acts like Smokey Robinson, whom I had seen at least once or twice while my father worked.
Well, one day my father took me with him for one of his security gigs at the place because the one and only Willie Mays was making an appearance to sign autographs. Now, being a life-long, diehard Yankee fan, I thought that Mickey Mantle was the greatest baseball player of that time. However, I readily acknowledged Mays’ greatness and was certainly not going to miss an opportunity to meet the legend.
As I recall it was a hot, mid-Summer day, bright and clear when we arrived at Palisades and entered the Casino. I don’t remember Willie’s arrival but I do remember seeing him surrounded by a big crowd. He was large, but not in a bulky way. He was wearing a polo shirt that exposed his sinewy arms. Mays was smiling broadly, enjoying the crowd. To me, with the sun shining on his ebony skin, I felt like he was glowing.
Then, I saw something; the sleeves of his polo shirt must have been slightly shorter than his uniform shirt — because I noticed that he had a very distinct tan line. Now, please remember, I’m a young kid growing up in mostly lily-white Fort Lee and my exposure to black folk on very regular basis was limited.
So, I was shocked to see this!
In my youthful naivety I couldn’t imagine how this could happen. After all, he was already black. Right?
With my father busy doing his job of crowd control, I tugged on his sleeve to get his attention. I needed an answer to my question: how could that possible be?
When he finally acknowledged me, I explained my dilemma. He calmly answered that, “of course black people can get tan. Some can even get sunburnt, just like you and me.”
His response astounded me on a number of levels and I could get into all the esoterica surrounding my feelings to his response. However, instead I’ll just say that, to this day, the lesson it so quickly and simply imparted on me was this: in life we are the more same than we are different.
Anyway, I was too intimated by the whole scene to actually ask Willie for his autograph or to have a photo made with him. But I’ll always remember the time that I met the Great Willie Mays and the effect it had on me in ways he’ll never know.
