As preposterous as it may seem today, there was a time when Home Run King Hank Aaron was the most hated Black man in America. Or at least one of them.
Today, of course, he is an iconic figure, a baseball legend, and worthy of all the praise and accolades heaped upon him since his death Friday at the age of 86.
But the flood of tributes bestowed upon him in every medium last week was a far cry from the racist taunts that greeted Aaron when he first stepped on a Major League Baseball field in 1954, three years removed from his start in the Negro Leagues.
Those jeers culminated in death threats as he neared breaking Babe Ruth’s home run record in 1974.
In between, Henry ‘Hank’ (or ‘The Hammer’ as pitchers woefully remember him as) Aaron amassed a lifetime of athletic records, including being named to 21 all-star games and the MVP of the 1957 World Series.
In the minds of many, his home run record remains, as it was (“Ah-hem”) ‘broken’ by Barry Bonds under questionable circumstances (translation: he has been accused of using performance enhancing drugs to achieve the feat).
There is no dispute that he continues to hold records for the most runs batted in, total bases, and extra-base hits.
Aaron endured a lifetime of racist taunts during his tenure with the Milwaukee and Atlanta Braves. Blatant discrimination, and death threats for the crime of being the penultimate baseball player and for ‘hitting white balls while Black.’
Like Jesse Owens before him, Aaron’s athletic prowess disproved the idiocy of White superiority, thus threatening a foundation of White Supremacy in America and the Aryan ‘race’ in Europe.
Only recently has Aaron been conferred with the acclaim he was always due, not just as the greatest baseball player who ever lived, but as a man, an exemplary human being.
He was not only a baseball pioneer but a philanthropist and humanitarian whose quiet demeanor underscored his benevolence and good well.
A role model, civil rights leader, and hero without a cape, he quieted the critics and melted the hearts of many Confederates during his lifetime.
Yet, while most people love and respect him today, it took decades for many White Americans, particularly southerners and White Supremacists, to join the fraternity, as they viewed Babe Ruth as the god of baseball; and Black athletes, in general, as inferior beings.
Ironically, Aaron’s chapter in Black History substantiates a paradigm associated with legends like Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X (Malik El-Haqq-Shabazz), and Muhammad Ali–African American leaders who were once hated but miraculously morphed into ‘heroes’ after they passed on to Nyame’s (God’s) glory.
In each case, these legends were despised because they were superior in their chosen endeavors or refused to accept second class citizenship. They were ‘Uppity Niggers’ (n-word) in a racist White society, His-story books declared.
Malcolm and Muhammad were doubly disavowed and sanctioned because they refused to worship what they called the ‘White God of Christianity.’
Both were not only Muslims; they were ‘Black Muslims,’ (an invention of the white media), members of a separatist Islamic sect that refused to turn the other cheek. They sought not integration, but separation; believing America would never be a country of equal opportunity or racial harmony.
They, like King, spoke up and out.
As African Americans currently facing a new wave of systemic racism and bigotry, we must never forget what each of those icons went through, especially Aaron, whose ‘elevation’ from stardom in the Negro Leagues to the MLB was met with resistance, animosity, and even hatred from White Americans.
Local historian and educator Peggy Hardy called me over the weekend to reveal she had come across an exclusive interview I had with Aaron in 2020. I recalled him speaking of those early days of hatred and fear. An honorable man who always kept his eyes on the prize and refused to believe the worst, there was a sadness and tinge of frustration in his voice as he spoke.
During the early part of his career, Hammerin’ Hank wasn’t allowed to stay at the same hotels as team members when traveling in the south (and some northern cities).
More often than not, he would not venture far from the central city homes or hotels for fear that he would be attacked, or murdered, merely because he was a Negro…a successful Negro at that.
For a while, he said he thought his first name was ‘Boy’ and his last ‘Nigger’ (n-word).
It was only because of his fierce determination, discipline and faith that he endured and excelled.
That cultural shift was illuminated when upon hitting homerun 715, breaking Ruth’s record, renowned sportscaster Vin Scully exclaimed, partially in disbelief, his joy at seeing the crowd applaud him. “A Black man is getting a standing ovation in the deep south!” he declared in a timeless exclamation.
Such was the impact of Aaron, even amid death threats from those who hated the idea of a superior Black man breaking Ruth’s record.
One of the best things to happen to Hank was his friendship with Brewers owner and eventual Major League Baseball Commissioner of Baseball, Bud Selig.
The former owner of Jake’s Corn Beef (yeah, the joint on 17th and North Avenue) not only befriended Hank, but opened and held doors for him.
Selig helped make Aaron a national idol and paved the way for the MLB’s Negro League Tribute events as he legitimized the ‘integration’ of baseball.
Selig pushed to force America to understand what we all missed because of segregation and racism. Some of the best baseball talent was in the Negro Leagues, superior talent denied the opportunity to showcase their abilities. Jackie Robinson broke the color line, but he was nowhere near the best talent in the Negro Leagues. He was just the most articulate.
The individual Bud introduced to me was the husband of a truly gracious and supportive wife, Billye, who shared his low and high points. Together, they were our first family, a Cosby family, some said, but more akin to the Obama clan.
They served as role models, and their exemplary lifestyle and contributions earned them the respect of all but the few who hang onto their Confederate views.
Hammerin’ Hank didn’t have King’s oratory skills. Nor did he possess Malcolm’s fire, or Ali’s flair. But in his quiet and dignified way, he touched millions of lives, advanced the civil rights movement, and left a legacy that made him a legitimate hero, both inside and outside of sports.
I have never met a more gracious, down to earth brother, who sustained his faith, integrity, and devotion amid the worst America had to offer.
Like most Americans, I mourn the death of a true icon, an American hero. He was not immortal, but I know his accomplishments will live on forever.
Selfishly, a part of me wishes he could have survived two weeks longer so that his death would have coincided with Black History Month since he earned a chapter in our book.
Or, even that Nyame would have taken him two weeks earlier, as 2020 marked the 100th anniversary of the Negro Leagues, the fraternity that birthed him.
Either way, while the soul has left us, his accomplishments, on and off the field, live on.
We should, however, be cognizant that had America lived up to its founding principles, Henry Aaron would have been drafted by Major League Baseball several years before his selection in 1954, and there is no doubt his home run record and life achievement would have far exceeded what is now written.
Hotep.