Hank Aaron (part eight)

The Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. was buried in Atlanta, Georgia in 1968, two days before Maundy Thursday. Tens of thousands came to see him at Morehouse College in the week leading up to his funeral, as he was when he died, under glass and laying in a coffin.

In silence the city wept. Tens of thousands of people unable to speak. The silence and depth of pain echoes to this day in Atlanta.

The day King died, he was working on a new sermon titled, Why America May Go to Hell. That night upon receiving the news of his death, Bobby Kennedy—two months before his own assassination—offered a eulogy in Indianapolis, where he was campaigning at the time for President, on the back of a flatbed pick-up truck. He quoted the poet Aeschylus, saying, “And even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the heart, until in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.”

And he went on to say that what is required now of Americans is not lawlessness or hatred, anger or violence, but the principles that the Reverend King was killed for, Love toward one another and compassion for those who suffer still, and the wisdom to understand what it was the Reverend King dedicated his life towards and ultimately sacrificed his body and flesh and life on earth for. That it won’t be the end of violence but the vast majority of Americans desire and seek justice and equality for all human beings that abide in our land. Then he finished by asking for all to say a prayer for our country and all of her people.

On the sixth anniversary of King’s death, Major League Baseball’s 1974 opening day, the Braves were in Cincinnati and the commissioner of the league was in attendance and asked Hank Aaron if there was anything baseball could do to honor the memory and legacy of King that day, and Aaron said they could hold a moment of silence before the game, only to have this request denied, being told that for scheduling reasons, there wouldn’t be permitted any time for it. Almost like they were just trying, even begging and desperate for him to lose his calm and composure.

Sportswriter Dave Kindred summarized the moment—that the commissioner of Major League Baseball was saying to Hank Aaron, and saying to Civil Rights too, that you’re important, but you’re not that important.

In the game’s first inning, Red’s pitcher Jack Billingham nearly lost his balance on the mound throwing a ball so hard over the plate, with Hank Aaron at-bat on a 3-1 count.

The pitch was a breaking ball that seemed to sink under the strike zone and appeared to be unhittable, and Aaron tagged it across the plate and the ball rocketed as it were headed and made for the constellations, giving him homerun 714 for his career, which tied Babe Ruth for the most by a player ever.

The fans in attendance cheered as he rounded the bases, and jumped in the air and held hands of praise above their heads, hugged each other and slapped each other’s palms, and probably a record was set for amount of beer splashed and spilled, and they screamed ecstatically as though they believed Aaron was playing for them, played on their team, as though he manifested in the flesh the dream of a new America for everyone.

One wonders about the spirit of Reverend King too, whether it was also in attendance that day, smiling and proud, and thinking to himself—as Aaron rounded the bases to opposing fans roaring for him and his glory—Why America may not go to Hell.