Harmon Killebrew

We moved to Minnesota when I was six. The Twins had moved there in 1961. So, I had a Rod Carew bat from Sears, but Harmon Killebrew was my favorite.

Anticipation for The Killer in the late ’50s rivaled the lust for Harper now. But the interminable five-year wait for his arrival as a Senators regular puts the impatience of the current Bryce Bulletins to shame. Killebrew homered in the majors at 18, and at 19 against the Orioles, he hit the longest blast in Memorial Stadium history at 471 feet. Stop torturing us, fans pleaded, by sending him back down to Charlotte, Chattanooga and Indianapolis!

Yet there’s a lesson in proper prodigy grooming in the Killebrew tale. When he got to Washington for good at 22, he was ready, leading the American League with 42 homers his first full season. And he wasn’t prepared just when he was in the batter’s box. Killebrew, who died Tuesday at 74, not only hit 573 homers but will be recalled as one of the finest gentlemen in all of sports, not just baseball’s Hall of Fame.

Whatever can possibly be meant by the word “maturation,” Killebrew achieved it. We are left with the memory of a magnificent career and a man who was loved for his humility, kindness and charity with his “Miracle League” for children with physical and mental challenges. He was at ease and open, almost ego-less, whether with the biggest stars, a President who came just to see him play or the guy picking up his dirty uniform.

Once, asked what he did for excitement, Killebrew said, “I like to wash the dishes.”