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PART 2
On Waveland Avenue about one block west of Sheffield stands a Chicago fire station. As a first-grader, security is an issue. You couldn’t feel much more secure knowing that firemen were as close as Ernie Banks’ home run.
It was near this fire station that the joy of June 30, 1964 was made complete. For it was in this general area that Cub players would amble from the clubhouse to their cars. Players actually exposed themselves to plenty of fans like me who could see, talk, and perhaps even get an autograph. Today an imposing white metal fence secludes players’ cars from the fans. The barrier not only protects vehicles but sends a message to those on the other side of the fence: “We’re not one of you.”
As players strolled to their autos, some were gregarious and others were somber. Some liked the attention and others preferred anonymity. But even then I could almost always pick out the ballplayer. The way they carried themselves suggested that they were a tad more important than the average bear, because they were a Cub. It probably didn’t damage their esteem and psyches to have hundreds of kids (and young moms) pleading for an autograph…
My mom, in a moment of true inspiration, brought a ball and kept it in her purse (amazing things in that purse). Now it might have been due to other things in that purse, it might have been due to the horsehide, or it might have been something else entirely, but that ball was the sweetest smelling baseball I’ve ever come across. It possessed the most distinctive scent; even now, over forty years later, this faint fragrance on the ball provokes the sweetest memories. How fitting that the first autograph on this sweet-smelling ball should belong to sweet-swinging Billy.
Up close, Billy’s demeanor was jovial and approachable. Here was a young man who looked about twelve and appeared to be having the time of his life. I liked him a lot before this day; after he signed my ball, I’d be loyal to him forever. I remember a few special Billy Williams’ moments I saw in person: the time he drove a 10th inning homer to the catwalk in right to defeat the Big Red Machine; the time he smacked a ball off the upper deck scoreboard at the Old Comiskey Park in an exhibition game against the White Sox; the time he did a complete 360 to track down and catch Hank Aaron’s long drive to preserve Kenny Holtzman’s no-hitter; and the time he nailed a bittersweet homer against the Cardinals in September of ’74 which proved to be his last as a Chicago Cub. All these episodes I witnessed first-hand. Yet none of them stand out as meeting Billy face-to-face and he being gracious enough to sign my ball.