Willie Mac winners, led by Krukow, share stories
Many folks at AT&T Park choked back tears as they spoke about McCovey, including those who knew him, played alongside him and broke bread with him, and those who only watched him play.
Asked why he was one of the first in line to enter the ballpark, San Francisco native Phil Farrelly said, “Him,” a word he barely uttered as his throat constricted.
The 78-year-old ex-Marine, who drove from Petaluma, knew how much McCovey ached in life, not just in his later years, but when he played.
Farrelly and some friends once went to a Giants game toward the end of McCovey’s career and saw it in his legs as they sat behind the home dugout.
“He comes out. He’s a big dude,” Farrelly said. “He’s got those tight uniforms on, and I could see how much his legs were wrapped up. I never really realized how much pain he played with. That stuck with me. It still does.”
As the fans watched from the stands, a raft of former and current Giants players, team executives, owners and employees sat in two sections of folding chairs on the field.
Buster Posey was there, walking ably two months after his hip surgery, joined by fellow Willie Mac Award winners Dave Dravecky, Nick Hundley, Marvin Benard, Tiny Felder, Jack Clark and Shawon Dunston, who were asked to come to the podium in front of the mound as another Willie Mac winner, Mike Krukow, spoke.
Dravecky brought the stadium to tears when he praised and thanked McCovey’s wife, Estela, for the sacrifices she made over the past several years to take care of him and ensure he got the medical attention he needed.
Dravecky also got one of the bigger laughs when he said he hopes to pitch to McCovey in heaven someday, “and I can watch him hit a hanging slider into the universe.”
There were more laughs. Those who attended learned from Orlando Cepeda that McCovey was a neat freak who even spread all of the ashtrays in his house the same distance apart.
Giants President and CEO Larry Baer revealed that when he was 7, his folks took him to a McCovey appearance in San Francisco and the big man had Baer sit on his lap. When Baer relayed the memory to McCovey years later, Mac responded, “That’s why I had all those knee surgeries.”
Baer pointed out the wreath that the Giants had encircled around McCovey’s retired number down the left-field line and said, “Willie’s persona is chiseled in our collective souls.”
Barry Bonds sat in the front row of the VIP section with Willie Mays. Bonds spoke briefly. Mays did not, although he eulogized McCovey at a private graveside service Thursday morning.
Hall of Fame President Jeff Idelson relayed conversations he had over the past week with Ozzie Smith and Billy Williams, two of the three living enshrinees from McCovey’s hometown of Mobile, Ala. McCovey and Satchel Paige were the other two.
The fans cheered at times, not too loudly, and it seemed appropriate. Some, such as 47-year-old Erin Wild of San Francisco, never saw him swing a bat. But she had to attend.
“When I heard about Willie Mac’s passing, I realized that life is really short,” she said. “Even though I never saw him play, I do remember seeing him in the tunnel after games at times and wanted to pay my respects today.”