A Hot Dog and a Beer With My Childhood Idol

Having a rare weekend off from my duties as a sports writer with The State Newspaper in Columbia, South Carolina, I secured press credentials for an Atlanta Braves series at Atlanta Fulton County Stadium. The credentials would give me access to major league baseball that I previously never experienced.
The only stipulation for my credentials was that I had to be working press. I couldn’t just hang around the field admiring Dale Murphy, Bob Horner and other players belting batting practice home runs. So, I took along my trusty Sony tape recorder and microphone to stick in players’ faces and pretend to be working.
I found myself in the middle of the Braves’ clubhouse, marveling at my fortune to actually be standing in a sanctuary reserved for major league baseball players. Talk about a dream come true. Players I’ve been watching on TBS were suddenly walking past me, in full uniform and cleats, speaking to me and at times wondering what the hell I was doing in their clubhouse. I was working,…. remember? I had the tape recorder and microphone to prove it.

After briefly speaking to Dale Murphy, I glanced over at a giant of a man sitting on a bench enjoying a hot dog and a cold beer. He was the Atlanta Braves’ first base coach, and I absolutely had to meet him. This is a man I grew up idolizing.
Clutching my microphone, I walked over to the gentleman and introduced myself. I started asking questions, only to receive short, curt answers. All of a sudden, it occurred to me that my childhood idol, Willie Stargell, possibly wasn’t the man I thought he was. Here’s a man I admired so much growing up dismissing me simply because I had the audacity of sticking a microphone in his face while he was trying to enjoy a hot dog and a beer.
I wondered to myself if my feelings toward this great baseball player for my beloved Pittsburgh Pirates would ever be the same.
Finally, after receiving my fourth or fifth one-word answer, I shut off my tape recorder and said to Mr. Stargell, “Look Willie. I’m not here to interview you. I grew up in Morgantown, West Virginia with posters of you on my bedroom wall. I wore №. 8 in Little League. I even wound my bat like you did while standing at the plate.”
“Why you jiving me,” Stargell answered back. “If you want to interview me, interview me. If you want to just come over to meet me, don’t jive me with a fake interview.”
I explained to Stargell that I was required to be working press. He said, “That’s fine. Just don’t jive me.”
He then uttered nine words that I’ll never forget. “Would you like a hot dog and a beer?” I answered, “I’d love that.”
Stargell got up, walked across the clubhouse and brought me a hot dog and a beer. I then sat down on a bench across from him, spending the next 20 minutes eating a hot dog, drinking a cold beer and talking baseball with Willie Stargell.
We talked about the Pittsburgh Pirates. We discussed the 1979 “Family” that won the World Series. And, best of all, we talked about Roberto Clemente, another hero of mine who was a teammate of Willie’s in Pittsburgh.
Willie Stargell went from a “don’t jive me” jerk to a man who more than lived up to my vision of him. Those 20 minutes talking with him were among the most special 20 minutes of my life on so many levels.

Much of my childhood and teen years were spent watching Willie Stargell launch moon shots in a Pittsburgh Pirates uniform. As I sat in Forbes Field and Three Rivers Stadium watching the Pirates play, and seeing Stargell patrolling left field and covering first base, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine one day I’d be having that conversation with him in the Braves clubhouse just a few years down the road.
Willie Stargell hit 475 career home runs, was part of two World Series championship teams in Pittsburgh and was a first ballot Hall of Famer. His place in Cooperstown was well earned.
I actually did do some reporting from that weekend in Atlanta. I wrote a feature entitled, “The Day I Had a Hot Dog and a Beer With My Childhood Idol.” I sent Stargell a copy of my story, only to not hear anything from him. I really didn’t expect to.
About a year later, I received a letter from a Wilver Dornel Stargell. In the letter, he wrote the following:
The best part of my life is meeting someone such as yourself whose life I touched in a positive way.

Your childhood idols never really leave you. They live in your heart forever. I was fortunate to have Willie Stargell to look up to and admire. He earned that admiration by living his life with class, dignity and honor.
Willie Stargell died on April 9, 2001 at the age of 61. Tears are not a frequent companion, but I cried when I heard the news of his passing. The baseball world lost a true giant. I lost a part of my childhood that I will forever cherish. And I lost someone who really did touch my life in a profoundly positive way.
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