Mr. Buck O’Neil: “…you’re a baseball man!”
Over the weekend America lost a legend; Kansas City lost a voice and most importantly a friend. Buck O’Neils history is 94 years rich.
Because of segregation he was never allowed to attend Sarasota High School, or play baseball for Florida State. However, at least he had some opportunity at a formal education unlike his Grandfather who was a slave.
As an adult O’Neil played baseball in the Negro Leagues for the Kansas City Monarchs. He will be remembered by most, though, for his work in preserving the history of the Negro Leagues and the seemingly thousands of stories about the men he played with.
As a kid I remember going to watch the Royals play here in KC and my Dad would point out this man holding a radar gun sitting down low behind the plate and taking notes. “That’s Buck O’Neil,” he’d tell me, “he played baseball a long time ago.” Between innings people would line the aisle way down to where he was sitting and working to ask for autographs. He signed every single one of them and greeted each seeker with that smile that became so familiar in Kansas City.
More recently while working for a sports talk radio station here in KC I was given the good fortune of many personal encounters and conversation with Buck. He loved to talk… about anything! While sitting in the studio with us once, doing the show, we got to talking about baseball, the home runs, steroids and the lot. I mentioned that I was bored with it all, the whole game. I’d rather watch the small ball: bunts, sac flys, hit & runs, stolen bases, spectacular defense, etc. O’Neil chuckled, smiled real big, pointed straight at me and said, “That’s because you’re a baseball man!”
To most that wouldn’t mean much, but to me it meant a ton. I always struggled with feeling like I didn’t belong in the sports radio world. For Buck to say that to me, and agree with me, was great encouragement. He may not have known the weight that remark carried, but I suspect he did.
That was a great thing about Buck. He knew the respect people gave him. He knew what kind of weight he had to “throw around,” and he didn’t do it flippantly. He respected his clout, and never held it over anyones head. He used it to help revitalize a suffering and segregated part of Kansas City, to appeal to Lawmakers to make the Negro Leagues Museum in Kansas City the National museum for the Negro Leagues and most importantly he used it to break down barriers of race. He never once said a bitter thing about the horrors of racial segregation he faced. No he chose to forgive and encourage others to do the same.
Coincidentally, Buck was one of my wife’s patients during the two weeks leading up to his death. She said he was never short of visitors (family and close friends) and never absent of a smile. Even my wife, who had limited interaction with him, commented on what an inspiring and delightful person he was.
When Buck was rejected for the Baseball Hall Of Fame he said, “Don’t cry for me. I’ve lived a long and plentiful life. Cry for the children who don’t get to go to a good school…” That’s perspective.
Buck, we will miss you: a true National Treasure and a “Baseball Man.”
