Biography reveals Mays’ true greatness

Posted Feb 7, 2010 by Bob D'Angelo

Updated Feb 7, 2010 at 06:16 PM

Willie Mays was a complete baseball player. If not the most complete, then pretty darned close to it.

He had all the tools — Mays could hit, hit with power, run, throw and field.

And yet, Mays has always been a mystery, a private man behind the sunny smile who rarely opened up. Books have been written about Mays, chronicling his famous catch in the World Series and other feats on the field — his 660 homers, his patented basket catch, his hat flying off as he ran the bases — but we still knew nothing about the man.

Until now. Finally, there is a complete biography to complement the complete player.

It took James S. Hirsch seven years to get Mays’ consent, but it has paid off. “Willie Mays: The Life, The Legend,” (Scribner: $30) is a 628-page book that is worth the wait.

Hirsch does a wonderful job recounting Mays’ storied career in the major leagues (1951-1973), even devoting a chapter to his signature play — the back-to-the-plate, over-the-shoulder catch of Vic Wertz’s drive to deep center field late in Game 1 of the ’54 Series (and don’t forget the throw back to the infield).

But Hirsch digs much deeper. The reader learns intimate details about Mays’ youth in Alabama, and about his father, “Cat” Mays — a decent ballplayer in his own right. The reader learns how Mays’ mother figure was his Aunt Sarah, who began raising him when she young herself (a mere 13).

This book shines because of Hirsch’s detailed research, which follows Mays through his days in sandlot baseball to his tenure in the Negro Leagues.

And to his credit, Hirsch shows how Mays contributed to breaking down the racial barriers in baseball and in society. Jackie Robinson was at the forefront and absorbed much of the abuse, but Mays defused many situations behind the scenes.

Robinson would criticize Mays for not being more out front about race, but Hirsch shows how Willie’s formula also worked.

When Mays was in the military, his calm demeanor and unwillingness to be provoked prevented an ugly incident with a Jacksonville area sheriff.

“Mays never flinched; he showed no emotion, and he didn’t say a word,” Hirsch writes. “He gave the sheriff no reason to rebuke him.”

Mays’ celebrity went a long way toward easing racial strains — “he realized how his celebrity could be a positive force.”

While in the military and stationed at Fort Eustis, Va., in the early 1950s, he agreed to play for a semipro team in nearby Newport News.

“When a white grocer in Newport News … was struggling, Mays started shopping there,” Hirsch writes. “He talked it up, and others — black and white — began shopping there as well.”

There were more indignities — for example, when the Giants moved to San Francisco, Mays found it difficult to buy a home in an exclusive neighborhood. But once again, Mays’ cool head prevailed and Hirsch writes that he took pride in how he handled it.

“He could have denounced the builder, decried the city’s racist policies, and found another home,” Hirsch writes. “But he believes that he and (his wife) Marghuerite made a contribution by integrating that neighborhood.

The book is not all happiness. Hirsch writes about Mays’ financial difficulties during the 1960s and his painful divorce from Marghuerite.

But Hirsch brings more perspective to another incident that defined Mays’ career — the day he acted as peacemaker when Juan Marichal hit John Roseboro over the head with a bat during a tense series between the Giants and Los Angeles Dodgers in August 1965. Mays kept the melee from escalating into something much worse; given the riots in nearby Watts that summer, tensions had been building. As Dodgers manager Walter Alston said at the time, “Mays was the only player on either club who showed any sense.”

It was Willie’s finest moment.

Baseball is all about arguments — who is the greatest player, could this player have competed in another era, that sort of thing. Hirsch makes the argument — and it is no surprise — that Mays would excelled against any competition.

Was he greater than Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Henry Aaron, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle or Stan Musial? Hirsch makes his case.

“Ted Williams may have been a better ‘pure’ hitter, and others can make arguments for Cobb, Aaron, Musial, DiMaggio, and Mantle,” Hirsch writes, “but no player lorded over his competition like the Babe.

“In that context, Ruth was baseball’s most dominant player; Mays was its greatest master.”

Hirsch has produced a masterful biography that has the same freshness and excitement that Mays generated as a player. All the highlights are there in shining, solid detail. It’s a must-read for any baseball fan.