None kinder than Kiner
IKNOW I’M supposed to be sad. How can the passing of an icon the magnitude of Ralph Kiner be anything but sad? Yet as I reflect on Ralph’s life, and my association with him,
am overcome with warmth, smiles and pride that I was privileged to have not only known him and worked with him, but to have called him my friend.
That hardly makes me unique, or even different. Anyone who met Ralph Kiner was treated like a lifelong friend. He had the easiest disposition of any human being I have ever been around. Nothing seemed to bother him. He dated Elizabeth Taylor, Janet Leigh and Ava Gardner, he hobnobbed with the biggest celebrities in Hollywood, he knew the legendary figures in baseball, but waiters in restaurants, cab drivers, and fans he met at the ballpark were treated as though they were Tinseltown royalty as well. There wasn’t a pretentious bone in the man’s body.
In 1983, I was working as the sports director of WHN Radio, the Mets’ flagship station then. The Mets trained in St. Petersburg in those days, and one night during spring training at about 8:30 I ran into Ralph outside the hotel bar. I didn’t know him well at that point, but we started talking baseball, and after about ten minutes I asked him if he wanted to go inside and have a drink. For three and a half hours, right up until midnight, we talked baseball. Actually, he talked, and I listened. I prodded him with a question here, or jogged his memory there, but by the time we were done, I felt as though I had won the lottery. Once my head hit the pillow as I tried to drift off to sleep, the thought came to me that if someone had thrown me a party, and given me a gift certificate for a three and a half hour private session with Ralph Kiner to talk baseball as a gift, it would have been the greatest present you could have given me. I’ve thought of that night constantly since receiving the news of Ralph’s passing, and more than thirty years later, it remains one of the most cherished memories of my career.
In 1999, when I was Ralph’s partner on Mets telecasts, the Mets honored the 1969 team on the 30th anniversary of their epic World Series win. I was honored to serve as the master of ceremonies on the field at Shea Stadium, introducing my boyhood idols, and when I made it up to the broadcast booth to open the game telecast, Ralph was waiting for me with an almost paternal smile that recalled Ward Cleaver.
He said, “Did you ever think when you were in high school that someday you would stand on the field at Shea Stadium introducing the 1969 Mets?” I told him that during the entirety of the ceremonies, that was all I could think of, and he seemed as genuinely happy for me to have had that experience as I was for myself.
That was Ralph. He got it. He made you feel at ease and created a connection that came naturally, honestly, and left impressions that will last forever. Tom Seaver was a great pitcher. Mike Piazza was a great hitter. Gil Hodges was a great manager. I would submit, however, that you could make a very strong case that Ralph Kiner, who never played for the New York Mets, is the most beloved figure in the history of the franchise. Having known him, having worked with him, and having seen and heard him introduce us to what was the new National League franchise in New York, chronicling the euphoric highs and diasspointing lows with the genuine warmth of a treasured family member, how can I be sad? I’m thrilled to have been even the tiniest, peripheral part of this wonderful man’s life. A life truly worth celebrating.