He touched a lot of lives, inside baseball and out. In mine, he probably saved my arm from being a poor excuse for a coat hanger. I didn't see it that way as a kid, however.
In the summer of 1968, I played little league, and I played with several of the Twins' kids. Two of those kids were Cam and Ken Killebrew.
The Killebrew boys were both excellent ballplayers, and they were feared by all opposing pitchers, myself included.
One hot summer day, I got to pitch against the Killebrew's team. I was 11, and this was either the first or second start I got, ever. As luck would have it, their father attended the game, because he had injured himself stretching for an out in the all-star game.
In those days, it was unusual for a father to be at a game, because most of them were played in the day, when moms would drive the kids to the ballpark. Or the kid, like me, would ride his bike. So when I saw their station wagon pull up and a guy was laying down in the back, I knew who it was. Everybody knew who it was.
The game began, and I did well enough. I remember striking Cam out, and somehow got Ken out too. This was a big deal to me, what with their dad watching and all.
Second time around the order, Cam came to the plate, and he fouled off my fist pitch. Then the second, and third. Then I threw a ball, which he took. Then something amazing happened.
The green station wagon's tailgate opened, and the Kiiler himself emerged, on crutches. He hobbled his way behind the backstop, in time for me to throw one more pitch. Murmurs spread throughout the crowd.
From behind the backstop, Harmon motioned to the umpire, who called time out. To my 11 year old brain, he obviously wanted to congratulate me on my play. But no, it was something else. Something terrible.
The umpire told me to throw another pitch. So I did. Another discussion. The count, still, was 1-2.
Then I found out what they were talking about. The umpire said I was throwing curve balls (which were illegal in little league). As he walked out to the mound, he said that if he caught me throwing another curve, he'd take me out of the game.
Of course I protested, but how do you argue with what was an obvious point, made by a current all-star and future hall of famer? Pitching to his kid?
I threw a chamgeup, ball two.
Another changeup, ball three.
And the payoff, fastball, down the middle. A meatball.
What do you think happened?
I'll tell you. That ball is probably still in orbit. And you know what? I can still hear the THWACK sound the bat made, exactly like his old man.
And if you've never HEARD a homerun by a Killebrew, it's something to behold.
We lost the game, and I didn't get to pitch for the rest of the season.
Oh, and I had been throwing curveballs. How the guy could see that form the parking lot, at that angle, I'll never know.
But I thank him for it, and for the memory, all these years later.
Harmon, you WERE the Minnesota Twins. You will be missed.