Buck's Promise

Before I was a married father of two; before I had a job that could actually pay my bills (well…most of them at least), and a mortgage, and life insurance, and other not-fun adult, real world things; I was a security officer at The University of Missouri Hospital in Columbia.  This job afforded me several opportunities: restraining naked drunk people, fend off exposure to vomit, urine, feces, and many other types of bodily fluids, not suitable for decent company.

There were a few highlights however.  I did meet my wife, a rookie nurse, on the Labor and Delivery floor.  She was attempting to deliver a baby, while I was holding an overly aggressive and controlling father against the wall.  It was a chaotic scene, but through all of the wailing and gnashing of teeth, our eyes met briefly, sparks flew, and I could tell she wanted me.

On one special occasion, I met a legend. 

I was doing my normal rounds, walking floor to floor, unsuccessfully flirting with nurses, when I headed down a long visitor’s hallway that led to the cardiac ICU.  Walking in the opposite direction was an older man, with bright white hair accompanied by a younger woman, to whom I was not introduced.  The man struck me as familiar, but I did not put my finger on it until the pair had passed-by. 

Then his face and name clicked together in my memory, and I like a bumbling idiot, I blurted out the name I had been silently searching for.  “Buck!  Buck O’neil

He replied, “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

I fumbled for words to complete sentences, and when I could string a few together they began to run away from me.  Even though I was in my early twenties, I had an addiction-like interest in baseball history, and the Negro Leagues.  You cannot tell the history of the Negro Leagues, without telling the story of the man who was standing, right in front of me.  For the first time in a while, I was star struck.  Somehow through all of my incoherent babbling, I was able to communicate inquiry as to what he was doing in Columbia that evening.

“…just visiting an old friend.  He’s laid up with some heart trouble, back there.  He’ll pull through, though.”…with a huge smile on his face.  

 Buck’s smile was something you didn’t see as much as feel.  When Buck smiled, you smiled.  It was an involuntary reaction.  I couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say, but I did not want the moment to end.  So I ask the one thing that connected us, the one thing that even remotely set us on the same plane.  I asked, “So how are the Royals going to do this year?”

“We’ll see, we’ll see.” Buck said.

“I just want them to get back in the Series at least once more in my lifetime.” I said.

Buck assured me, “They will.  You can count on it. They will.”

I was a little embarrassed by my pessimism, especially in front of a man who seemed to broadcast optimism as if it were his native tongue.  However, I accepted his statement as a promise.  It felt like he knew something, I did not. Actually, he knew a lot of things, I did not.  I have planted that affirmation in my heart and held on to it since that day.

“Well, my friend, I have to go.  Have a lovely evening… try not to work harder than you have to.”  He said.

“What an honor to meet you, Sir.  Maybe I’ll see you at a ballgame sometime.” I replied.

“No need to call me ‘Sir’, just Buck.  I’m just your friend Buck.” He insisted.

What?  His, friend?  How humbling it was to be in the presence of someone far more humble than I.  We said goodbye and he continued down the hall, and I could not resist looking back, still marveling at the encounter I had just had.

Last night, after the Royals continued their unlikely post-season winning streak, bringing their lead over the Orioles to 3-0, one of my favorite sports writers and former Kansas City Star columnist, Joe Posnanski  Tweeted, a timely Buck O’neil quote;

 "Sure, the Royals can win! They have nine players just like everybody else! It's baseball, man. Baseball."

Buck’s love for the game and people, ruled his life far more than any bitterness or anger.  If anyone had the right to be angry it was Buck.  If any had the right to be bitter, it was him.  Buck was treated differently for the color of his skin.  Buck was left out of the Baseball Hall-of-Fame, which in my opinion is an absolute travesty.  Buck was a tenured scout for one of the worst teams in the game, for way longer than most teams stay that way.

Buck knew that baseball happens, and eventually the tides would turn, The Royals would be good again.  In fact, he promised me that they would.  Buck knew that life happens, and even though he was once seen as a second class citizen because he was a black man, now he was Kansas City’s baseball ambassador, and one of the foremost authorities and resources on the Negro League.  The League where he played alongside Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, Cool Papa Bell, and the first African-American Major League Baseball player, Jackie Robinson. 

He knew baseball and he knew life.  His optimism is something we she all embrace, not only as baseball fans, but as people living life.  God gives us things to take joy in and most of the time we turn them into something to stress about or something that we allow to cause us grief.   Baseball is a beautiful thing.  It’s something intended for leisure, it is our favorite pastime.  Buck helped me to keep my die hard Royals fandom in perspective.  

Today the Royals have the opportunity to sweep the O’s in the ALCS, and punch a ticket to World Series.  The Royals are a win away from fulfilling the promise Buck made me.  The joy I have felt over the team I love, these past couple of weeks, have made me think just how much Buck would have enjoyed all of this.  I believe, though now, he knows joy far beyond what any Championship could bring; he is enjoying this. 

I truly hope the Royals come through.  I really hope they do this.  I hope they do it, for My Friend Buck.