When Willie Mays breathed his last, Ralph Garr and Dale Murphy were left with gratitude and the warmth of memories.
The two Braves legends were witness to Mays’ singular greatness on a baseball diamond, Garr as a major-league contemporary and Murphy as a boy watching his favorite player perform magic for the San Francisco Giants at Candlestick Park.
But the indelible imprint that Mays left on both men surpassed his genius for the game. In the wake of Mays’ death June 18 at the age of 93, Murphy and Garr gladly shared their stories and thoughts in phone interviews with The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
The conversations shared two particular commonalities among others. In speaking of Mays, the two beloved Braves both associated Mays with Hank Aaron, and their admiration and respect for the greatest Brave again was made clear. And, in the funny way that life sometimes works, both told a story about Mays and a baseball glove.
“I wouldn’t take anything for that time that I saw,” said Garr, speaking of the portion of his career that overlapped with Mays and his mentor Aaron. “I know that I caught them sort of at the end (of their careers), but they were still marvelous baseball players. I looked up to (Mays) in every way. He was a wonderful man.”
Since Mays’ death, Murphy has found himself contemplating his ties with the incomparable star. Murphy became a Mays fan when his family moved to the Bay Area from Portland, Oregon, for his fifth- and sixth-grade years. He holds fond memories of watching Mays play center field at Candlestick, having no idea that he would one day roam the same outfield as a center fielder for the Braves.
“And so that connection and fan that I was, it just really made an impact on me to appreciate the game and appreciate what Willie did for the game,” Murphy said. “His era – Hank’s era.”
Murphy waxed nostalgic in speaking of Mays, who entered his life at an impressionable age. It was a stroke of fortune. The best player on the first major-league team that Murphy followed closely (Candlestick Park was the first major-league stadium he visited) happened to be arguably the best player in the game’s history.
He went to Giants games with his family, listened to games on the radio and learned to read box scores to keep up with Mays’ exploits.
“I just fell in love with Willie Mays, like everybody else did who went to San Francisco Giants games,” Murphy said. “He had a flair that we all talk about.”
Murphy remembered how, when Mays played catch to warm up in the outfield before the top of the first inning at Candlestick, he tossed the ball over the outfield fence into an open area in front of the stands, where fans congregated in anticipation.
“And I was like, ‘Man, we’re sitting in some nice seats, but I wish I was out there in the outfield,’” Murphy said. “He was just kind of mystical in a way for a little kid, if that’s the right word.”
As a peer, Garr admired the completeness of Mays’ game and his flashiness, symbolized in the way his cap flew off his head as he ran for fly balls or rounded the bases. Players loved it, Garr said.
“Oh, loved to watch him play,” Garr said. “He did everything on the field you could do. There wasn’t anything on the baseball field that Willie Mays couldn’t do.”
The regard that Mays held was distinct. At Murphy’s peak, when he won back-to-back National League MVP awards and became the fourth player at that time to record a season of 30 home runs and 30 stolen bases with a .300 batting average (following Mays, Aaron and Ken Williams), he drew comparisons with Mays. I asked Murphy about what he thought about that.
“Oh, wow,” he said, pausing several seconds. “Wow. Speechless.”
Murphy stumbled for words.
“You know, I had some good years,” he said. “There’s probably not a higher compliment to be mentioned and compared to a player like Willie. But as I said, I had a few good years. Willie had 20. And Hank had 20.”
When he was a boy, Murphy was given a Willie Mays signature glove by his father, Charles, that he still has possession of. He also had a Mays baseball card with a photo of him with his glove, “and I literally remember looking at his baseball card and looking at his glove and trying to identify if this really, truly was Willie’s glove,” Murphy said. “And I have to say, it was a really, really good glove.”
Murphy got to know Mays when he reached the majors. On account of his being somewhat shy and the chances to cross paths Mays not many, he didn’t get to know Mays well.
“Now, I would’ve been like, what do they say?” Murphy asked. “I would have fanboyed him.”
Garr had no such inhibitions. Perhaps it was because he had a connection through Aaron, who introduced him and Braves teammate Dusty Baker early on in their careers to Mays.
“He was glad to introduce us to Willie,” Garr said. “And (Mays) had a smile on his face. It made you feel welcome, his smile. He was a wonderful, wonderful human being.”
Garr said he asked for a memento from Mays, who gave gloves to both Garr and Baker. Garr used his until it wore out.
“I kept it I don’t know how long,” Garr said. “I kept it forever.”
Garr and Murphy both see the meaning of Mays’ life beyond home runs and stolen bases. Born in 1931, he grew up in the legally segregated South in Fairfield, Alabama, outside of Birmingham. He dealt with unconscionable forms of racism even after reaching the Giants. And yet, he helped move the nation forward with his dominance on the field and personal grace.
“The older I get, the more I understand what Hank and Willie and all those players, African American players, went through to get to the big leagues,” Murphy said. “My admiration and respect just keep growing year in and year out.”
In an interview with a Salt Lake City radio station last week, Murphy said that it’s hard for him to comprehend what it would have been like to face the discrimination and hatred that Black players historically faced while trying to excel at the game.
“The point I’m making, these guys went through a degree of difficulty – the greats of the game – that we can’t even understand,” Murphy said on ESPN 700. “Now, obviously, there’s discrimination now. The African American players still go through discrimination. We have issues with that in our country. But when you think about the degree that those players coming up in the ‘40s, ‘50s and ‘60s went through, it’s hard to imagine becoming the greats of the game, like Willie and Hank, and going through that.”
Garr spoke with gratitude for Mays’ play and charisma and the impact that they had on America. He called Mays the right man for the job.
“All I can say is it was a gift from God, and I thank God for everything that Willie Mays did,” Garr said. “Even when he first went to San Francisco, the people were booing him. But he kept fighting until he won all the fans over, because he didn’t like negativeness.”
Garr, 78, lives in the Houston area with his wife, Ruby. Murphy, 68, resides in Utah with his wife, Nancy. The two greats’ appreciation for Mays encompasses the greater story – that his excellence and style on the baseball field and warmth off it opened doors and eyes while inspiring millions even as his circumstances could have fostered bitterness and defeat.
“It’s remarkable that he went through all of that – all of those different types of humiliation and everything,” Garr said. “And he always had a smile. And they didn’t break his spirit from being a marvelous baseball player and a good human being.”
Mays is gone. In the memories of Garr, Murphy and countless others, he lives on.
Credit: HYOSUB SHIN / AJC
Credit: HYOSUB SHIN / AJC
Credit: Jason Getz / Jason.Getz@ajc.com
Credit: Jason Getz / Jason.Getz@ajc.com
Credit: Curtis Compton / Curtis.Compton@
Credit: Curtis Compton / Curtis.Compton@
Credit: Curtis Compton / curtis.compton@ajc.com
Credit: Curtis Compton / curtis.compton@ajc.com
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