A Feller Unlike Any Other

Bob Feller had been in hospice care almost a week ago. I knew what that meant - the greatest Indian of all time had finally run his course.

But the man was 92, even if he seemed immortal until his leukemia diagnosis early this year. He's among the few athletes I encountered in person. There are any number obituaries floating around the Internets, so I'll keep these words to what you can't learn from them. Feller infamously hung around the Indians pressbox, every sports reporter opining on Feller's death has a first-person encounter to recall.

Baseball steeps in nostalgia and Feller, the longest-tenured living Hall of Famer, brought fans back to the Thirties, pitching to Lou Gehrig and pre-dating Ted Williams. At a time of mercenary athletes, the thought of a man so tied to one sports city is mystifying.

As a kid, I lived on photos and stories of the Indians. Feller was the Stephen Strasburg of the Great Depression, probably the sport's first rookie pitching phenom. Feller would have won 300 easily if not for his military service and other facts thanks to Dad's book he kept from Bob Feller Day in 1956, an celebration near the end of Feller's career.

During my baseball card collector days, he was a frequent site around Northeast Ohio. He signed autographs at a small baseball shop in Chesterland. On a rainy day, we drove to isolated shop and for $2, got a Feller autograph. Mom wasn't there (meaning no photos exist), but a few moments in a Hall of Famer's presence spruced up that Sunday.

Our first encounter came in Atlanta, when we got an autograph was at an Old Timers' Game which preceded a Braves game in Summer 1986. It rained till the start of the early game, highlighted by septuagenarian Luke Appling diving at an infield grounder and leaving on a stretcher. We saw Feller signing for a crowd of fans near the field; an usher tried to stop us and Dad dutifully ignored him. We spent a few seconds chatting with him and moved on.

Till my mind goes, I will always remember the Indians-A's doubleheader in summer 1988, when Jose Canseco closed in on his 40-40 season. We went to leave in the middle of the second game, and as we reached the concourse, my Dad yelled,"Hey, Bob!" I thought the older gentleman was someone from my father's Euclid neighborhood, until Feller stopped mid-strike and turned back to us. He seemed glad that someone noticed him, signed my program and with us for a few minutes. Ballplayers live in gated communities today; personal connections like that are hard to make. But Feller was made of tougher material from a bygone era. The AP obituary talked about Feller not being tolerant of fans; my experience says otherwise.

After another half-dozen times I saw him at card shows and just said hello when I walked by and few people even acknowledged him. At one show, they brought in Early Wynn and Bob Lemon so a fan could get three Hall of Famers for $15. Not a bad deal for autographs, especially since all three have since passed.

It is easy to accuse the man of too much self-promotion, about hitting every card show imaginable to keep his legacy alive. He signed a book for my aunt just last year, and never ventured far from the Indians. He didn't court much favor with Reds fans, either. I always enjoyed his loathing of Pete Rose and his promise to boycott the Hall if Rose ever won election. He even threatened to march off the stage if Marty Brenneman pitched Rose's induction during his acceptance speech. A little extreme, but Feller never struggled to express opinions.

My experience is not unique. It seems everyone in Cleveland has a Bob Feller story, most of them in his 50-plus years of retirement. With all those personal moments, few ballplayers could ask for a better legacy.