In a profession where chasing stories is part of the job description, having one handed to you is rare. But thanks to a recent turn of events, and diligent work by a longtime friend, it has now happened to me twice.
The fact that both times revolve around the same story and came almost 66 years apart requires some explanation. Long story short, it revolves around my first byline — the first story I wrote for the Baltimore News-Post, forerunner of the late, lamented Baltimore News-American.
It was July 7, 1958, and I was barely two months into what I thought was a cool summer job, working as a $1 an hour, 39-hour-per-week part-time copy boy, mostly running race results. At least until John Steadman “handed” me what would become the first of many assignments — and the first of a handful of “exclusives” that would mark a somewhat checkered career now in its eighth decade.
To be honest, the assignment and the story were more convenient than relevant, a rather inauspicious debut to say the least. The MLB All-Star Game just happened to be in Baltimore for the first time on July 8, 1958, and the biggest story was the return of Al Kaline, already a local legend at the age of 24, for his fourth appearance at the Midsummer Classic.
Since I had pitched for Calvert Hall against Kaline’s Southern High teams during a three-year period in the early 50s, Steadman thought it made for an easy local angle story for the special section the paper ran the day before the game. The fact that my efforts could best be described as unsuccessful mattered little. A story is a story, and the consolation is/was that I had a lot of company when it came to trying to get Kaline out. But having faced someone who would become a Hall of Famer remains a meaningful memory.
Fast forward a few decades and for some reason that first story, first byline became a mystery to me. The fact of the matter is that I’ve never been much of a collector and have copies of only a few stories that have special meaning to me. Eventually it dawned on me that the first story was one of them, and not only did I not have a copy, I had only a vague idea of what I had written.
Throughout the years it became a mission to find a copy of that story, without success. I pretty much had given up. Somewhere along the way, about the time I was passing the three-quarter pole, I casually mentioned to longtime friend and colleague Bill Stetka, now the director of alumni relations for the Orioles, about my all but abandoned quest. I knew the club had a vast collection of scrapbooks from those early years, but I had little hope that a story from a special section might somehow show up.
At this point you can probably see where this is headed, so a quick cut to the real “chase” of this story. As I got settled into my seat on Opening Day this year, Stetka showed up with a big folder with my name on it and “handed” it to me.
Inside was a scanned copy of the story that had eluded my search but not my memory. “How I Pitched Kaline,” the headline said — more than a little misleading, I have to admit.
I’ve been known to show emotion at times and this was one of them. I also have to admit that seeing a copy of this story brought tears to my eyes — and realizing the effort my friend had made, the hug Stetka and I shared was a one-of-a-kind experience.
Now for the fun part. Not unexpectedly, remember this was a novice at work, the story itself — the one I’d been trying to find for a long time — was not a very good one. I could give it a C-plus only because of originality.
One thing I learned was, on my very first try, I had buried the lede. While suggesting that “cautiously” was the best way to pitch to Kaline, I noted that high and outside was also a good alternative.
“High and outside” actually should have been part of the lede. Because that’s the only way I (and a lot of others) could get past Kaline. And, in fact, in the last game we played against each other, that was the game plan.
Walter Youse, then in his first year as coach at Calvert Hall, had decided the best chance to win the game was to walk Kaline intentionally every time he came to the plate. “High and outside” is how Al would remember me as we crossed paths and became good friends as our careers entwined.
The strategy worked that day, much to the consternation of the mob of scouts who had descended on Herring Run, Diamond #4, to see one of Kaline’s last games as an amateur. In reality, “high and outside” should have been the lead angle in that story 66 years ago. I committed the cardinal sin of “burying the lede” on my very first try.
It was Steadman, my mentor who somehow guided me down this crazy path, who “handed” me the assignment. And it was Stetka who “handed” me a copy of the story I somehow couldn’t get out of my mind.
And 66 years later, I thank them for the story that was “handed” to me — twice.
Jim Henneman can be contacted at JimH@pressboxonline.com
Originally published June 19, 2024