“He's sittin' on 714. Here's the pitch by Downing. Swinging. There's a drive into left-center field. That ball is gonna be-eee ... Outta here! It's gone! It's 715! There's a new home run champion of all-time, and it's Henry Aaron.” And on April 8, 1974, as Braves’ broadcaster Milo Hamilton made the call that concluded Hammerin’ Hank Aaron’s eclipse of the all-time home run record, it was over. Hank Aaron had been chasing the Babe’s ghost for most of the last year or so and when he finally passed him, he had one thing to say, “I just thank God it’s all over”, with his mother’s arms around his neck holding him tightly as he stood at home plate.
Beside the amazing spectacle of one player eclipsing baseball’s most hallowed record there was another spectacle, one not nearly so jubilant. Hank had just achieved baseball’s greatest milestone and all he really felt was relief. Rather than celebrating and enjoying his run up to the record, there was no joy. Henry Aaron had just been through hell. He had been a national focus of attention for almost a year as he was closing in on Babe Ruth and the home run mark that had become in many ways sacred to baseball fans. But it was discovered soon enough that the Babe’s home run record was also a record that had become sacred to bigots and racists across America. There was a level of indignation and vitriol among many that left Aaron stunned, saddened, and fearful for his family’s and his own safety.
In 1973, as Hank was engaged in a steady march toward first 700 home runs and then the home run record, he received record amounts of mail. So much mail, that the Braves assigned a secretary to Hank to help him manage it all. He received over 930,000 letters in 1973. Most of those letters were from baseball fans who were excited to see the chase and were offering encouragement to Hank in getting there. But there were others. Not just a few, but many others. Hateful letters that sought to demean Henry as a person and as a ballplayer. Threatening letters that came from all parts of America, not just the deep South. So many letters that he travelled with an armed bodyguard. So many letters that after a while, the FBI asked Aaron not to open his own mail.
Toward the end of the 1973 season, as the Braves visited the Chicago Cubs, Reverend Jesse Jackson invited Hank to speak at a breakfast with the Rainbow PUSH Coalition that Rev. Jackson had founded. Henry tried to relay what he was going through as he read the following letter he had received recently to the assembly.
Why are they making such a big fuss about you hitting 700 home runs? Please remember you have been to bat 2700 more times than Babe Ruth. If Babe Ruth came to bat 27 [sic] more times he would have hit 814 home runs. So Hank, what are you bragging about? Let’s have the truth: you mentioned if you were white, they would give you more credit. That’s ignorant. Stupid. Hank, there’re three things you can’t give a ni**er: a black eye, a puffed lip, or a job.
Henry read the last sentence and then laughed. The kind of laugh that is heard when the situation has gotten desperate and you have to laugh to keep from crying, but laugh he did.
Hank Aaron had lived with racism his entire life. He grew up poor and black in a segregated neighborhood in Mobile, Alabama known as Toulminville where occurrences like his mother shooing Hank and his siblings under the bed because the Ku Klux Klan was marching through the streets were not uncommon. He experienced it when he was among the first players to integrate the South Atlantic League while playing for Jacksonville in 1953. He received vicious taunts from fans across the Sally League, even as he couldn’t stay in the hotels that the white players stayed in or couldn’t eat in the same restaurants as his teammates. The good news was that with his play, Henry had largely quieted the taunts he was receiving from his home fans in Jacksonville by the end of the season. Yes, Hank Aaron lived with racism, as did many, but what he endured in the run up to the Babe was above and beyond simple mindless bigotry.
Calvin Wardlaw, an off-duty Atlanta police officer, shadowed Hank Aaron everywhere. He made sure that Henry made it home safely from the ballgame each night, not leaving until Henry’s car was safely parked. He often stayed in a hotel room registered under Hank’s name, while Hank slept in another room, sometimes even in another hotel under an assumed name. He carried a binocular case with him everywhere. Yet no binoculars were inside that case, rather it was a snub-nosed .38 caliber pistol. Calvin Wardlaw was ready for anything. He was in communications constantly with other law enforcement officials in his quest to keep Henry safe. He passed along to the FBI some of the more threatening hate mail sent to Aaron, trying hard the whole time not to let him see it.
Some of the worst letters not only sought to denigrate, intimidate, or belittle Henry but actively sought to send the message that the black man could not, would not break the record of the white Babe Ruth.
Dear Mr. Ni**er,
I hope you don’t break the Babe’s record. How do I tell my kids that a ni**er did it? But it took, more at bats, live ball, and other ni**er tricks. I wish you the worst at anything you do “Ni**er”!
KKK (Forever)
The letter above was far from the worst that Henry received.
Dear Hank Aaron
Retire or DIE!!! The Atlanta Braves will be moving around the country and I’ll move with them. You’ll be in Montreal June 5-7. Will you die there? You’ll be in Shea Stadium July 6-8 and in Philly July 9th to 11th. Then again you will be in Montreal and St. Louis in August. You will die in one of those games? I’ll shoot you in one of them. Will I sneak a rifle into the upper deck or a .45 into the bleachers? I don’t know yet. But you know you will die unless you RETIRE!! You’ve been up 2000 more times than Babe Ruth and you’re not ½ the player he was. You will not vandalize his record. See you later.
At the bottom of the letter was a diagram of a stadium depicting how a shooter from the upper deck could shoot down onto a player on the field. These were not the only threats Henry received. He heard everything from how his parents may not be safe to how his daughter would die while she was away at college. And through all this Hank Aaron and Calvin Wardlaw became great friends.
After starting the season on the road in Cincinnati where Henry hit home run number 714, the Braves returned home to play the Los Angeles Dodgers in their home opener on April 8th. Hank came to the plate in the bottom of the fourth inning, after having drawn a base on balls in his first plate appearance. Henry Aaron drove a 1-0, Al Downing fastball past the outstretched glove of Dodgers’ left fielder Bill Buckner who leapt high trying to catch the ball and into the glove of Tom House, a Braves relief pitcher who was standing in the bullpen just beyond the left field fence.
Hank rounded first, missing an attempted handshake from first baseman Steve Garvey, and headed toward second where handshakes with the Dodgers keystone combination of Davey Lopes and Bill Russell were more successful, and then made his way toward third when two teen-aged fans ran up to Henry.
Calvin Wardlaw was in the stands watching. As Henry hit the ball, his wife Billye grabbed Calvin around the neck and hugged tightly. As the young men approached Henry, Wardlaw thought about his binocular case. But in a flash something told him that there was no threat, that what was happening was just part of the excitement of the moment. “People asked me afterward, 'Where were you for the big moment, Calvin?' And I tell them that my instinct was at that moment that even if I could have gotten out there, my man was not in danger. And I tell them something else: What if I had decided to shoot my two-barreled .38 at those two boys, if I thought he was in a life-threatening situation, and had hit Hank Aaron instead, on the night he hit No. 715?"
As Hank rounded third, he saw his Braves teammates awaiting him at home plate. When he met them, they lifted him in the air, only to drop him into the arms of his mother. She hugged him tightly as Henry Aaron addressed the crowd. Later she told friends that she held Henry as tight as she did because she was trying to shield him in case anyone tried to shoot him. She was thankful it was over too.
Note: I have been working on a baseball book. I am telling stories about baseball and the Intersection the game frequently has with life. Sometimes these intersections happen between two or just a few. Other times it is literally millions of people. This story is one of those wider-reaching tales.