Willie Mays: A Tribute to the Greatest Player of All Time
WILLIE MAYS
A Tribute to the Greatest Player of All Time
1931–2024
On the covers
FRONT COVER BACKGROUND | San Francisco Giants center fielder Willie Mays bats during Opening Day at Candlestick Park on April 12, 1960.
BOB CAMPBELL / THE CHRONICLE
FRONT COVER INSET | Willie Mays poses for a portrait.
MALCOLM EMMONS / USA TODAY SPORTS
BACK COVER | At his 90th birthday celebration at Oracle Park, Willie Mays takes a ride around the field in a 1956 turquoise-and-white Oldsmobile convertible. SANTIAGO MEJIA / THE CHRONICLE
Credits
Sports editor Christina Kahrl
Creative director
Alex K. Fong
Photo editor Alvin Jornada
Archivist and researcher
Bill Van Niekerken
Deputy sports editor
Jon Schultz
Assistant sports editor Michael Lerseth
Editorial director Sarah Feldberg
Content supervisor John Shea
Foreword
Dusty Baker
Writers
David Bush, Sarah Feldberg, Peter Hartlaub, Bruce Jenkins, Christina Kahrl, Ann Killion, Ron Kroichick, Carolyn Lochhead, C.W. Nevius, Scott Ostler, John Shea, Bob Stevens, Bill Van Niekerken
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the copyright owner or the publisher.
Published by Pediment Publishing, a division of The Pediment Group, Inc. www.pediment.com • Printed in Canada.
This book is an unofficial account of the life and career of Willie Mays and is not endorsed by Major League Baseball, the San Francisco Giants or the New York Mets.
Contents
Foreword
Mays’ Early Days
Moving West
A Star in San Francisco
Leaving the Giants and the Game
The
Remembering the Greatest
Foreword
‘We’re all blessed we had Willie in our lives’
BY DUSTY BAKER
I always admired Willie Mays, but I was a Dodger fan growing up in Southern California. My dad was a Dodger fan, too, like most Black people, because of Jackie Robinson, but he was also a Willie Mays fan. I met Willie through Bobby Bonds, who was the man in Riverside, my hero. He was on my dad’s Little League team, and I went everywhere Bobby went. He was three years older, and when he worked out with a Giants scout, Evo Pusich, Bobby called me and asked if I wanted to shag. I asked the scout, “Hey, man, did you see me running down balls out there?” “No, I’m here for Bobby Bonds.” Once Bobby signed with the Giants back in 1964, I started following the Giants because of Bobby. He was the most talented ballplayer I’d ever seen. He could run. He could throw. He could do everything, and he was strong.
Four years later, the Giants called up Bobby, and I got called up by the Braves that September and joined Hank Aaron, Felipe Alou and Joe Torre in Atlanta. It was September 1968, and I was 19. I played a few games that month including a couple against the Giants. My second big-league hit was against Juan Marichal at Candlestick Park, an infield single. Bobby asked me if I wanted to meet Willie Mays. “Heck, yeah.” It was one of the greatest moments in my life. We were at the batting cage, and Willie was extremely nice. I told him I liked the glove he
had on, and he took it right off his big old paw and gave it to me. It was a MacGregor, kangaroo hide, and he just gave it to me. Unfortunately, I don’t have the glove and don’t know what I did with it over the years. Willie was always so nice. The first question he’d ask was, “Do you need anything?” He’d always ask that.
Bobby loved Willie, and Willie loved Bobby. Bobby looked up to Willie the way I looked up to Hank. You’d always hear people asking to compare Willie and Hank. Well, there wasn’t a lot of difference. Willie was flamboyant and played on the coasts, in New York and San Francisco, and Hank played in lesser publicized cities. Milwaukee and Atlanta. They both had great eyesight. Both knew everything that was happening on a baseball field. Both had total recall of almost every situation. Neither forgot anything. Neither needed a scouting report. They could tell by where batters held their hands where they’d hit the ball. Their high IQ was noticeable both on the field and off, which maybe not many people in America realized at the time. People thought most Black athletes were just natural athletes. Well, maybe Willie and Hank didn’t want anyone to know how smart they were because they knew if you underestimated them, they could outsmart you and use it to their advantage.
In the Civil Rights Movement, you knew what side Hank was on and had to be on,
playing in the South. Willie was in a tough position. He was a man who was more in the middle because he was accepted by some whites, and he furthered civil rights in his own way. He was accepted by most Blacks except those who thought he should have been more assertive or militant, but that’s a tough role coming out of New York. And then in San Francisco, he arrived pre-peace and love, and then he was there right in the middle of peace and love. Remember, San Francisco was the home for the Summer of Love. The anti-Vietnam sentiments were strong, and for a guy like Willie who served in the military during the Korean War, that’s putting him in a tough situation to agree with the masses. But he made it work.
There are different ways to break down barriers and remain true to yourself, and Willie did that. You didn’t see many brothers on the “Donna Reed Show” and “Bewitched,” but there he was. He knew all the dudes in Palm Springs including Frank Sinatra and that whole group. Back then, most of the time, the country clubs wanted you to caddy or work at the golf course. For Willie to be able to play golf at those places in those days was way ahead of the curve. Tiger Woods and Charlie Sifford broke down barriers, and Willie did so his way.
You can’t talk about Willie without talking about his strong hands. Hank had them, too.
OPPOSITE | Willie Mays was the epitome of a five-tool player who could hit for average and hit for power while also displaying premier skills in defending, throwing and baserunning. GETTY IMAGES
Willie Mays and his godson, Barry Bonds, combined for 1,422 home runs, 1,232 of which came with the Giants. They’re among the nine members of the 600-homers club. SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS
Same with a lot of the guys from that generation because so many of them, when coming up, had to work in the offseason using their hands. I remember one time telling Willie, “Man, you better back up, I’m going to hit the ball over your head.” I was kind of cocky, and he goes, “Boy, you can’t hit that ball over my head. You’re choking up on the bat, and you have no muscle in your hands.” He flexed
his hand between his forefingers and thumb, and he had a big old, like, golf ball in there.
And Hank had the same golf ball. I was like, “dang.” I started working with handgrips to get my hands stronger. George Foster came from the Giants and did the same thing. Willie influenced a lot of guys. Garry Maddox, Gary Matthews, Chris Speier.
I was always grateful when Willie came
around and visited the teams I was managing. Not just the Giants but all the other teams. Everyone wanted to meet Willie Mays. It’s funny because a lot of superstars are kind of standoffish with Willie, but Willie enjoyed it when guys approached and asked questions because he knew who they were. In Cincinnati, for example, Joey Votto, Jay Bruce and Brandon Phillips were so impressed because Willie Mays knew all
about them. Willie had no problem giving his autograph. He’d sign anything and everything. Maybe he had the foresight that his autograph would be more valuable for somebody when he’s gone. I’m sure he was looking out for people.
I’ve got pictures on my wall of Willie and me through the years. One when he was with the Mets and I was on the Braves. Another of Willie and me when I was coaching. Another of Willie and me when I was managing. He was kind enough to sign all of them. He would even sign the table he sat at. We played in a Civil Rights Game one year, and Willie was there and signed the table in my office. It was a nice table. I said, “Man, what are you doing?”
He said, “Boy, I’ll do what I want.” After that, anytime any Hall of Famers or big stars came in my office, I had them sign that table, and I have that table at home right now.
Willie’s relationship with Barry Bonds was different. That’s his godson. Like I said, Willie and Bobby loved each other, and Willie was like family, as the godfather, and it doesn’t get any better than that. There are a lot of godparents around, but I think the impact and responsibility of godparents has diminished. You might see them once a year or once every few years. With Willie, he took it to heart, and part of it was because he was so close to Barry’s father. In 1993, when I became the Giants’ manager, we signed Barry as a free agent and brought in Bobby as a coach. It was special for both of
them to be closer to Willie. We lost Bobby in 2003, but Barry was around Willie for most of his life. Willie took the responsibility as you’re supposed to as a godparent.
I visited Willie for the last time a day before he died, the week of the Birmingham game at Rickwood Field that honored Willie and all the Negro Leaguers. I wanted to visit on that Monday because the next day I was flying to Birmingham. I knew he wasn’t feeling the best, but I was told he passed a series of tests and was doing OK. One thing that really stood out from the visit was that Willie was more worried about Orlando Cepeda than himself. I swear. A day before he passed, Willie had his good friend Orlando on his mind, and then 10 days after Willie died, Orlando died. It shows how much compassion Willie had for others and how much he cared about others. I said goodbye to Willie at about 5 o’clock and got on a plane to Birmingham the next morning. I changed planes in Dallas, and that’s when my phone was blowing up that Willie had passed. I need to call attention to Rene Anderson, Willie’s good friend for so many years who was with Willie every single day, all the time, all the way to the end. I wish everybody could have a friend like Willie had in Rene. If more people were like Rene, this would be a much better world. Rene knows as well as anybody how Willie inspired people. He inspired me. He inspired a lot of us. We’re all blessed we had Willie in our lives.
Willie Mays spent 21 seasons with the Giants, first in New York, then in San Francisco. He began his big-league career with the Birmingham Black Barons and finished with the New York Mets.
DARRYL BUSH / THE CHRONICLE
Chapter One
Mays’ Early Days
The stories tell of a young athlete so talented, he had pro potential in three sports. No film exists of Willie Mays’ youth in Birmingham, Ala., but who would dispute any account? To this day, there hasn’t been a ballplayer quite like him. To be sure, his teenage exploits surprised no one familiar with his heritage. Willie’s father played semi-pro baseball and his mother, Annie Satterwhite, was a high school athlete who ran track and led her basketball team to three consecutive state championships. Mays was a high-scoring guard on his high school basketball team. As a football quarterback, it was said that he could throw 60- to 70-yard passes on a line — and kick a ball 60 yards barefoot. “I hate to, like, ring my own bell, but I was kind of gifted in doing what I had to do,” Mays said. “I don’t think they were ready for African Americans to play quarterback at the time, so my next choice was baseball. I felt I could play 20 years in baseball.”
The Birmingham Black Barons, of the Negro American League, knew they had to have this kid. He signed with the team In 1948, as a 17-year-old high school sophomore, arriving on the Fourth of July so he could finish his studies at Fairfield Industrial High School. On a team full of grown men, there was no way he’d step into the center-field position, so he started out in left. His speed and arm were beyond question, but people weren’t sure he could hit. “The word on me was that I couldn’t hit the curveball,” he recalled. “And they were right. I couldn’t. I wasn’t much different from most high school kids in that way.”
After beating the Kansas City Monarchs in the league championship series, the Black Barons lost to the Homestead Grays in what turned out to be the last Negro Leagues World Series ever played.
— Bruce Jenkins
Mays as a 13-year-old. BETTMANN ARCHIVE / GETTY IMAGES
Willie
Willie Mays reflects on his first big-league team, the 1948 Black Barons
BY JOHN SHEA | MAY 5, 2024
Young Willie Mays wasn’t known as a great hitter. Not yet, anyway. He was a kid, after all, a sophomore in high school. How could he possibly step in the batter’s box at Rickwood Field and swing with any kind of authority against established Negro Leagues pitchers in their 20s and 30s?
He did everything else. He could run like the wind to chase down balls in the gap. Field like the future Gold Glover that he became. Throw a country mile. Eventually, of course, he did hit, becoming the five-tool marvel who captured the baseball world.
Back in 1948, the 17-year-old was not only brought onto the Birmingham Black Barons — a team of top-end ballplayers, many of whom were denied the opportunity to play Major League Baseball because of their skin color — but eventually became the starting center fielder and appeared in the final World Series of the Negro Leagues.
“Sometimes I think about the guys,” Mays said in a Chronicle interview, finding himself in a reflective mood when the conversation turned to a subject dear to him, his Black Barons teammates who embraced him, groomed him and protected him during his teen years.
“Those guys were really good guys. All of
them. They’re the ones who taught me about the game and life. Taught me everything. So when I came to the Giants, I already knew how to do all kinds of stuff.”
Mays turned into a legitimate hitter by the end of 1948, when the Black Barons won the Negro American League pennant by beating the Kansas City Monarchs before falling to the Homestead Grays in the Negro Leagues World Series. He had key late-game hits in the first two playoff wins over Kansas City and singled in the winning run in Birmingham’s only World Series victory.
“I don’t like to talk about myself. I’d rather talk about all the guys. I’ve always been like that,” Mays said. “Piper Davis was the guy over everything. Our manager and second baseman. Like a second father to me, a big brother. You always listened to Piper. He made it comfortable for me so I didn’t have to worry about anything.
“We were very good up the middle with Piper and Artie Wilson, our shortstop. Artie could really hit, and he always made sure nothing happened to me. He lived a few miles from me when I lived in Fairfield.
“Norm Robinson got hurt. He was our center fielder. Piper wanted me to stay in center after that. We had a good outfield. (Jimmy) Zapp
was in left, a real strong guy. Ed Steele in right. Piper told me to catch everything in the gaps, but then he hollered at the other guys because they kept getting the hell out of the way. He told them they’ve got to make plays, too.
“We had a lot of fun. They took care of me, man. They all took care of me.”
Furthermore, “They wanted me to take care of the money. I was the money guy.”
The money guy? Yes, because there was some legendary card playing on those long bus rides through the South and East.
“They said, ‘C’mon, Junior, take care of the money,’” Mays said. “They always gave me the money. Sometimes I had a lot of it in my pocket. They trusted me. But they wouldn’t let me play.”
Were any of Mays’ teammates good enough to reach MLB? Absolutely. But in the early days of integration, after Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in 1947, MLB teams that did consider accepting African Americans were seeking the very best young talent. Not utility guys or relievers. Teams used white players for those roles.
Plus, there was a quota system. Teams tended to have an even number of Black players on the roster, two or four — so they could room together on the road.
The jubilant Birmingham Black Barons celebrate a victory over the Kansas City Monarchs in the Negro American League playoffs. Willie Mays (top row, center) was 17 and about to enter his junior year at Fairfield Industrial High School.
THE WITHERS COLLECTION
Take Wilson, for example. He was one of the best hitters in baseball, period.
After playing five seasons with the Black Barons, he joined the Pacific Coast League, becoming the first African American to play for the Oakland Oaks as well as the Seattle Rainiers. He made it onto the New York Giants in 1951.
The Giants had four Blacks: Monte Irvin and Hank Thompson, who integrated the team in 1949, a catcher from Cuba named Ray Noble and Wilson. When the Giants called up Mays on May 25, 1951, who was taken off the roster? Wilson. The quota remained intact. Mays roomed with Irvin.
The point is, even with integration, it was incredibly tough for African Americans to make an MLB roster and even tougher to stick around. Wilson knew he wasn’t about to replace either of the Giants’ established middle infielders, shortstop Alvin Dark or second baseman Eddie Stanky, so instead of reporting to the Giants’ farm system, he returned to the PCL and continued playing professionally through 1962.
Other Black Barons had similar issues breaking through. Davis should have been the Red Sox’s first Black player after they signed him and assigned him to Double-A Scranton in 1950, but to their shame, they released him
while citing economics despite the fact he was hitting .333 and leading Scranton in homers, doubles and RBIs. The Red Sox, with their racist ownership, wanted no Black players at the time and were the last MLB team to integrate, in 1959 with Pumpsie Green.
Then there’s pitcher Bill Greason, who became the first African American pitcher on the St. Louis Cardinals in 1954 but hardly got an opportunity to show what he could do. He found it difficult to find a throwing partner and was removed from the team after three outings (two starts) that amounted to just four innings.
Aside from Mays, Wilson and Greason, only one other member of the 1948 Black Barons reached the majors, lefty Jehosie “Jay” Heard, who had even less time than Greason and Wilson: two appearances, 3⅓ innings with the 1954 Orioles, the team’s first year in Baltimore after moving from St. Louis, where they were the Browns.
Several other Black Barons were good enough to advance to the majors, including pitcher/ first baseman Alonzo Perry. As the story goes, Giants scout Eddie Montague — father of the longtime umpire by the same name — was sent to Birmingham to scout Perry but instead was impressed by a young Mays. That story has been disputed, but the bottom line is that Perry and many other Black Barons were prominent players who didn’t get a chance in the white league.
Pitcher Bill Powell reached Triple-A for a couple of MLB organizations but never got a call to the majors. The power-hitting Steele was a minor leaguer in the Pittsburgh Pirates’ system but for only one year, 1952. Pitcher Jimmie Newberry, who started the 1948 Negro World Series opener, and third baseman John Britton were teammates in the early 1950s on a Japanese team that had a working agreement with the St. Louis Browns, but they never made it to MLB-affiliated ball.
First baseman Joe Scott, pitcher Sammy C.
Williams and Zapp, who won a playoff game over the Monarchs with a walk-off homer — moments later, a classic picture was taken of the team celebrating, and Mays can be seen among his joyful teammates — bounced around to different teams after leaving the Black Barons.
Catchers Herman Bell and Pepper Bassett were too old to be wooed by the time MLB was integrating. Same with Norm Robinson, whose injury opened the door for Mays to play center.
“Don’t forget those guys,” Mays said. “They made it possible for us.”
Greason, 99, still a minister in Birmingham, said in a Chronicle interview that the Black Barons “were a team, I mean a real team. We helped each other. … It was just a blessing to play with them.”
Recalling Mays back then, Greason said, “Willie had everything. He was all around. He could run the ball down, catch the ball, hit, steal bases, just a good overall ballplayer.”
Mays laughed when reminded of the story of Chet Brewer, the big Cleveland Buckeyes pitcher who drilled him in what turned into a
valuable life lesson.
“The guy knocked me down. I was down on the ground crying,” Mays said. “Piper comes over and says, ‘Get up. Get your ass up, take your base and steal second. Stop your crying.’ I stole second. I stole third. I scored. Piper was right.”
Other Mays memories from his Black Barons days include facing Satchel Paige, addressing fellow students at Fairfield Industrial High School about his adventures on the road (including the time the team bus caught fire in the Holland Tunnel) and helping the Black Barons win games.
In 2006, the surviving members of the 1948 Black Barons were honored at the annual Professional Scouts Foundation dinner in Beverly Hills. An award was presented in honor of Mays, 75 at the time, who arranged for Greason, Wilson, Zapp and Williams, all in their 80s, to be the recipients. It was a wonderfully emotional moment as the five pioneers gathered on stage.
“I don’t know if I would be here,” Mays told the crowd, “if it wasn’t for these guys.”
A teenaged Willie Mays played on the 1948, 1949 and 1950 Birmingham Black
Barons before he signed out of Fairfield Industrial High School with the New York Giants.
BIRMINGHAM BARONS
After the final game of the 1948 regular season in Chicago, the Black Barons learned that Satchel Paige would be pitching a few nights later for the Cleveland Indians in St. Louis. On their way home from Kansas City, Mo., where they played the Monarchs, Willie Mays’ teammates took him to Sportsman’s Park, home of the Browns, to see Paige. It was the first big-league game Mays had ever seen.
— B.J.
Mays’ outfield play almost immediately became legendary. “A lot of times he’d catch the ball with his throwing hand,” said Jimmy Zapp, an outfielder on the Birmingham team. “He also might catch a hit barehanded on the first bounce and throw it in.” Mays’ arm strength was so prodigious, “It seemed like the ball would take off by the time it got to the mound,” said Zapp. “The catcher had to be quick to stay with him.”
— B.J.
Willie Mays opened the 1951 season with the Triple-A Minneapolis Millers after finishing the 1950 season with the Trenton Giants. BRUCE BENNETT STUDIOS VIA GETTY IMAGES
After signing with the New York Giants out of high school, Willie Mays played for two farm teams, Trenton in 1950 and Minneapolis in 1951. While at Minneapolis, game reports claimed he “literally climbed the right-center field wall” to haul down a long drive by Taft Wright, who cruised into second base convinced he had a double. “I just caught my spikes in the wall and sort of walked up the wall,” Mays said. Still, no one could comprehend the play. Wright’s manager refused to believe it, and years later, Wright insisted the ball could not have been caught.
That same year, at Borchert Field in Milwaukee, Mays hit a ball so hard that it blew a hole in the outfield fence. Repair job? Didn’t seem right. The grounds crew simply drew a white circle around it.
— B.J.
Willie Mays hit .477 in 35 games for the Minneapolis Millers, earning a promotion to the New York Giants in late May 1951. ASSOCIATED PRESS
So close and yet so far: Playoff ecstasy turns to Series heartbreak in 1962
BY DAVID BUSH | MAY 31, 2002
The Giants’ 1962 season, for decades the team’s San Francisco high point, is most remembered for how it ended.
Willie McCovey’s line drive to Bobby Richardson, the final out of the seventh game of the World Series, has the historical clout of a Big Event. Everyone old enough to have followed the team knows where they were at that time, that day. The younger fans have heard the story so often they feel like they saw it live.
But as dramatic as it was, that moment was just one of many in a remarkable season. In one of the greatest of pennant races, the Giants battled the Dodgers through a confrontational ride that saw the Giants take the league lead in May, fall seemingly hopelessly behind and then pull even on the last day of the regular season.
Then came a bizarre three-game playoff, won by the Giants with an inelegant four-run rally in the ninth inning of the final game. Barely making it home through a mob of delirious fans that greeted them at the airport, the Giants opened what was a stirring World Series against the New York Yankees the next day, only to see it extended by three consecutive rainouts between Games 5 and 6.
“We hadn’t been rained out all year and then we get it in the World Series, “ said pitcher Billy
Pierce from his home in Chicago. “It really was a strange season.”
For their fifth season in San Francisco and third at Candlestick Park, the Giants fielded what is probably still their strongest West Coast roster.
“In 1954 in New York we won it all,” recalled Willie Mays. “But in ’62 we had the best allaround type of team that I ever played on.”
But it was a strange mix. Five members of the ’62 Giants would reach the Hall of Fame, but two were first basemen and getting Willie McCovey and Orlando Cepeda in the lineup simultaneously was difficult. McCovey played in just 91 games.
“I was a three-position man that year,” McCovey said. “When Cepeda didn’t play, I played first base. When Harvey Kuenn didn’t play, I was in left field. In the World Series, because left field in Yankee Stadium was so tricky, I played right field for the first time in my life.”
One Giants pitcher won 16 consecutive games, another went 12–0 at Candlestick, but they weren’t the two pitchers who went to Cooperstown.
The late Jack Sanford, who won 24 games, recorded 16 victories in succession after beginning 6–6. He followed his regular season
with a spectacular World Series — a 1.93 ERA in three starts.
Pierce (16–6) was 12–0 at home and had a shutout in the playoff opener. He saved the final playoff victory and waited out the rain to win Game 6 of the Series and force Game 7.
Pierce was acquired the previous winter along with reliever Don Larsen from the White Sox in a deal that cemented the team.
“I couldn’t get anybody out in spring training,” Pierce said. “But once we got to Candlestick it was better. It was a good park if you are a little bit older and have a bit of control, which you have to, pitch the right-handers inside and the left-handers outside, so they couldn’t hit the ball where the wind was blowing predominantly to right field.”
Billy O’Dell was second to Sanford on the club with 19 victories, but it was Juan Marichal (18–11 that year) and Gaylord Perry (3–1 in 13 games as a rookie) who went on to the Hall of Fame.
This was early in the era of the transistor radio, that newfangled contraption that enabled man to be in two places at once, albeit one of them vicariously. Chronicle columnist Herb Caen mentioned more than once the number of earphones in place during an opera. And when
OPPOSITE | Willie Mays hit two homers and a single and stole a base in the opener of the 1962 tiebreaker series against the Dodgers, an 8–0 Giants win. The Giants won two of three to claim the pennant. BARNEY PETERSON / THE CHRONICLE
LEFT | Willie Mays and other Giants take batting practice at Candlestick Park before Game 2 of the World Series on Oct. 5, 1962. BOB CAMPBELL / THE CHRONICLE
OPPOSITE TOP RIGHT | Students at Sherman Elementary School keep score on the blackboard during the World Series between the Giants and the Yankees on Oct. 4, 1962. JOHN MCBRIDE / THE CHRONICLE
OPPOSITE LEFT | John Gittings, working on the 12th floor of the Royal Towers at 1750 Taylor St., catches the game on a transistor radio as he changes welding rods on Oct. 3, 1962. PETER BREINIG / THE CHRONICLE
OPPOSITE BOTTOM RIGHT | Fans attend the 1962 World Series in San Francisco. BILL YOUNG / THE CHRONICLE
LEFT | Willie Mays jokes with Mets owner Joan Payson on Willie Mays Night, Sept. 25, 1973, a tribute to the Say Hey Kid who was retiring at season’s end. BETTMANN ARCHIVE / GETTY IMAGES
FAR LEFT | Willie Mays and Hank Aaron pose together at a workout in advance of the 1973 All-Star Game. BETTMANN ARCHIVE / GETTY IMAGES
BELOW LEFT | Willie Mays gets a Champagne shower in the clubhouse after the Mets beat the Cubs to clinch the 1973 National League East title.
ASSOCIATED PRESS
OPPOSITE RIGHT | Willie Mays answers reporters’ questions at his final All-Star Game, played in 1973 at Kansas City. BETTMANN ARCHIVE / GETTY IMAGES
OPPOSITE LEFT | Willie Mays is joined by Houston’s Cesar Cedeño and Cincinnati’s Pete Rose at the 1973 All-Star Game. BETTMANN ARCHIVE / GETTY IMAGES
Life After Baseball
Bonds will look to No. 24, wear No. 25
BY DAVID BUSH | DEC. 11, 1992
As Barry Bonds was officially welcomed to Candlestick Park, the newest Giant immediately began paying dividends on the team’s $43.75 million, six-year commitment to him.
If goodwill can translate into victories, Bonds has guaranteed the Giants a pennant. When he wasn’t lighting up the room with his smile, he was saying politically correct things about his new team — and even his new ballpark.
He also wasted little time defusing what could have become a minor controversy. Willie Mays’ No. 24 will stay retired by the Giants. Bonds, who wore No. 24 as a tribute to Mays while with the Pittsburgh Pirates, will wear No. 25 next year. That is the number worn by his father, Bobby, a former Giants star who gave his wholehearted approval.
“Everyone knows my godfather is Willie Mays, and he has been like a second father to me,” said Barry. “It is a great honor … when you have someone you admire and loves you very much (who) wants to do something special for you. And I think that’s what Willie wanted to do. It takes a great, great, great athlete and a great man to ever have the opportunity to have his number retired.
“It is going to be a great honor for me to play left field and still see that sign up there that
says No. 24, because I can still be a little boy pretending I am playing with my godfather, Willie Mays. It would be a shame to take that number down.”
He then revealed the gold chain he wears around his neck, with the numeral 24 on it, and said he was going to “add one number to this and wear the number my father wore. I would rather be in left field looking at No. 24, than have it on my back.”
Although it has been suggested that Mays was not all that enthusiastic about giving up 24 in the first place, that was hardly noted in the festive mood at Candlestick Park. Everyone was willing to take Barry’s word for it that all is well.
As for the maligned ballpark, nothing is wrong with Candlestick from Bonds’ point of view that a strategically placed restroom won’t solve.
Bonds, who had been quoted as criticizing Candlestick, says he doesn’t really mind playing there. His objection concerns one of the park’s many design flaws. “It’s the visiting dugout,” he said. “And I’m not a visitor anymore.”
Candlestick’s third-base dugout, assigned to the visiting team, is not fully equipped. Bonds recalls shivering uncomfortably and looking enviously at the Giants. “They had heaters over there, and a bathroom,” said Bonds, echoing
many a visiting player’s complaint. And when nature calls during a game, the only path for the visitors to the lavatory is straight across the field, robbing the players of privacy. When a visitor has to go, everybody in the park knows about it. With a restroom close by, Bonds says the Candlestick winds will not be a problem.
“Chicago is really no different from Candlestick, except in Chicago we had a bathroom. I have a bathroom now, I’m happy.”
Bonds also recalled how he used to romp in the Candlestick clubhouse as a youngster. He was asked for his favorite memory. “Probably hitting on Willie in the clubhouse, stealing his glove,” said Bonds. “I could go through the entire lineup from Jim Barr to Dave Rader to Chris Speier, all of them. I would shag flyballs, do a lot of things, running around, causing trouble, having a good time like normal kids.”
He also made it clear he had no intention of giving advice to the new Giants manager, either in making up the batting order or in hiring the coaches.
When asked how he would like to see himself, Will Clark and Matt Williams arranged in the batting order, Bonds said, “I am going to leave that up to the manager. Wherever he chooses to put me is fine with me.”
OPPOSITE | Willie Mays and Bobby Bonds (center) introduce Bonds’ son Barry (right) to Giants fans at Union Square before the 1993 season. Sitting behind them are owner Peter Magowan and Mayor Frank Jordan. MIKE MALONEY / THE CHRONICLE
Even at age 90, Willie Mays owned the diamond in front of Giants fans
BY JOHN SHEA | MAY 8, 2021
Things happened quickly. As they always did when Willie Mays owned the baseball diamond.
The legendary ballplayer appeared in the front seat of a 1956 turquoise-and-white Oldsmobile convertible, which pulled out of the opening in the left-field corner and made a lap around the Oracle Park field, Mays doffing his cap to elated Giants fans wishing him a happy 90th birthday.
Then the Olds retreated through the opening, and the birthday kid retreated to his suite overlooking left field.
“He’s the summer wind,” said Danny Glover, the evening’s narrator, his voice bellowing throughout the stadium just before Mays made his first on-field appearance at 24 Willie Mays Plaza since 2019.
“His very essence is movement,” continued Glover, the actor, director and San Francisco native whose words were accompanied by classic highlights shown on the center-field scoreboard. “Running out from under his cap. Stealing bases. Chasing flyballs. The basket catch. His windmill of a swing. The most famous catch in baseball history.
“No player is better defined by how he did it than what he did than Willie Mays.”
After Glover’s tribute, PA announcer Renel Brooks-Moon introduced the man of the hour
and the man of all time, “The Hall of Famer … No. 24 … Mr. … Willie Mays.”
The roar of a crowd, which still is limited because of the coronavirus pandemic, greeted Mays, whose smile lit up Third and King, a sight welcomed by all who waited a long time to see their hero.
The Giants were off on Mays’ actual birthday, so the bash came in the following night’s homestand opener. In his suite, Mays was jubilant. Back at his second home, where a statue of his likeness greets passers-by, he was in his element and among friends, not just the 9,219 fans in attendance but those fortunate enough to hang with him in a couple of adjacent suites.
On this night, that meant Barry Bonds, Glover and Keena Turner and other pals who have stayed close over the years — Jeff Bleich, Malcolm Heinicke and Dan Sanchez and Giants officials Larry Baer and Mario Alioto, to name a few — especially during the pandemic when Willie needed to shelter in place, wasn’t able to attend Giants games and appreciated the friendship.
Cecil Williams of Glide Memorial Church greeted Mays before the game, and Willie’s son, Michael; his godson, Phillip Saddler, and his beloved assistant and friend, Rene Anderson, rode in the backseat of the convertible during the pregame lap as a recording of The Treniers’
“Say Hey (The Willie Mays Song)” was played over the sound system.
Festivities moved upstairs, where Mays sat in one leather chair in the middle of the room and Glover sat in the other. Balloons, a cake and a huge “Say Hey 90 poster” were reminders of the special occasion.
In the suite, Mays spoke of how appreciative he was of all the love and phone calls he received the past couple of days. Glover spoke of how he loved watching Mays play as far back as Seals Stadium, undoubtedly inspiring his pregame narration.
Throughout the game, the scoreboard showed many videos of shout-outs to Willie including from Bonds, Vin Scully, George W. Bush, Steph Curry, Tony Bennett, Steve Young, Bob Costas, Magic Johnson, Gavin Newsom, Wayne Gretzky, Snoop Dogg, Ronnie Lott, Robin Roberts, Ken Griffey Jr., Steve Kerr, London Breed and Tom Brady (who actually received some boos).
And more.
After the third inning, Brooks-Moon led a chorus of the Happy Birthday song, and Mays and Bonds, his godson, cut the cake. It was shown on the scoreboard, and fans cheered and cherished the moment and the presence of greatness.
OPPOSITE | At his 90th birthday celebration at Oracle Park, Willie Mays takes a ride around the field in a 1956 turquoise-and-white Oldsmobile convertible. SANTIAGO MEJIA / THE CHRONICLE
threw a bottle with a racist note through their front window.
Mays later married Mae Louise Allen and moved to the Peninsula town of Atherton, where he spent the rest of his life.
On the West Coast, Mays cemented his legend as the greatest Giant and, in many minds, the greatest overall player in baseball history. Many of his top offensive accomplishments came after the team moved West; he won his second MVP award in 1965.
The list includes his 3,000th hit, his four
the New York Mets. In his final season, 1973, Mays returned to the Bay Area in the World Series against Oakland, which the A’s won in seven games. His go-ahead single off pitcher Rollie Fingers in the 12th inning of Game 2 was his final hit.
“I didn’t ever want to be traded,” Mays said. “You’re with a club so long, you don’t want to go anywhere. But when I got to New York, it was like I never left. All the players hugged me and asked where I’d been so many years.”
At the end of his career, Mays ranked third all-time in home runs behind Hank Aaron and Babe Ruth, with 660 (he now ranks sixth) and finished with a .302 average, 3,283 hits, 338 steals and 1,903 RBIs.
Mays would have had more homers if he hadn’t served nearly two years in his prime in the military. The rough elements at the Giants’ longtime home of windy Candlestick Park also might have been costly.
“I don’t like to look at it that way,” Mays said. “I like to look at it as, I had a good 20, 22 years. I had my time, and I enjoyed my time.”
Mays’ career numbers were recently changed slightly after Major League Baseball reclassified the Negro Leagues as a major league, so statistics through 1948 — Mays’ first year with Birmingham and the final year of the Negro Leagues World Series — have been added to the register.
home-run game in Milwaukee, and his 16th-inning walk-off homer off Spahn that gave Juan Marichal a 1–0 victory in 1963 (regarded as the greatest game ever pitched). He also hit the game-winning homer against Houston that helped the Giants force a best-of-three tiebreaker series against the rival Dodgers that led to San Francisco’s first World Series appearance in 1962. Mays hit .455 in the three games with two homers, including one off Sandy Koufax.
In May 1972, with owner Horace Stoneham financially strapped, the Giants traded Mays to
Aside from his talents as a player and entertainer, Mays was known for his durability. From 1951 through ’61, he missed just 18 games (excluding his time in the military) and is the only player to appear in 150-plus games for 13 straight years.
Mays is third all-time in WAR — a stat that measures a player’s overall value — behind Ruth and Mays’ godson Barry Bonds, according to the baseball site FanGraphs (Baseball Reference ranks him fifth), and could have won many more MVPs if today’s advanced data had been
All Giants players and the coaching staff wear “24” jerseys in honor of Willie Mays in the first home game after his death. CARLOS AVILA GONZALEZ / THE CHRONICLE
