Out Of The Junkyard
A Final Toast To Pops
By Guy Junker

In the late afternoon of October 6th, 1971, I crouched at the first base railing at Three Rivers Stadium. I was a 15-year-old kid who's mother once accused of having a brain shaped like a baseball. She wouldn't have been pleased to know that I had cut school to go to a ballgame, even one that could send the Pirates to the World Series.

As Dave Giusti got the last San Francisco Giant batter out, I jumped over the railing with hundreds of others who poured onto the field in celebration and then I found myself running right alongside Willie Stargell.

As he tried to find his way to the dugout, I patted him on the back and my fingers somehow got caught up momentarily with the gold chain he wore around his neck. A Pisces medallion dangled from it. If it's possible, he politely but forcefully brushed me aside and disappeared into the tunnel leading to the clubhouse.

A little over 16 years later, I was sitting in Willie's apartment in suburban Atlanta when I told him that story.

"It's a good thing I was in a good mood that day or you wouldn't be here to do this interview," he joked.

Several reporters had gathered to wait to find out if he had made the baseball hall of fame. I had little doubt the call would come and had even stuck a bottle of champagne in the back of his fridge while he was on the telephone earlier in the day.

When the phone did ring and he got the good news, he embraced his son, Wilver Jr., and they both wept. And that night the video clip of Willie opening my bottle of champagne made the network news.

It was one of my favorite days in my career.

I was not close with Stargell but had a cordial relationship with him. The last time I saw him was on the elevator last October at Three Rivers Stadium during the final baseball game played there. He turned to me and said "you're not taking any crap from Stan, are you?"

He of course was referring to my television partner, Stan Savran. I said "never," and he laughed, and it made me feel good that I had made him laugh.

Later that day, he threw out the last pitch at Three Rivers, a feeble, short toss that bounced to Jason Kendall. If anyone had any doubt about how sick he was, it disappeared then.

Then, like something out of a sappy Hollywood script, the aging hero died last month on the same day Pittsburgh celebrated a new era of baseball with the opening of PNC Park. Two days earlier a statue of Stargell was dedicated at the left field entrance. I guess life really is stranger than fiction.

If there is a heaven, Stargell probably is there now, but he wasn't always an angel on earth. During the infamous baseball drug trials here in Pittsburgh, he was implicated as a supplier of amphetamines to the rest of the Pirates. He denied it and baseball's commissioner at the time, Peter Ueberroth, exonerated him. But there were doubts.

After Chuck Tanner took Willie with him to the Atlanta Braves as a coach, the Pirates wanted to honor Stargell with a Hall of Fame night. But his gift demands caused the idea to be scrapped, leaving him looking petty and ungrateful.

I've seen him be difficult with fans, some very young and some very old, ignoring compliments and autograph requests.

Once, the radio station I worked for received a public service announcement for his bowling tournament to benefit his Sickle Cell Foundation. I asked him if he would read the thirty seconds of copy into a tape recorder to play on the air.

He told me "he didn't have time." It was more than two hours before the game and he was playing cards in the clubhouse.

Even when I was a kid, Stargell wasn't my baseball hero. On the field, Bill Mazeroski was and off the field, Roberto Clemente was. But Stargell was a hero to many.

And we, of course, want our heroes to be perfect, often creating an image no human can live up to. Stargell almost did. He could be moody and fickle and disagreeable. But not usually.

He was the greatest power hitter in Pirates history and on most days he was a wonderful person. If he was a friend, he was a friend. And he was a terrific teammate for those who played beside him.

His acts of kindness outweighed his impudence.

When Roberto Clemente died, Stargell used to say, "I'm just glad to have rubbed shoulders with him for a short time."

Now Willie's gone, too.

And I feel the same way about him.

Guy Junker is co-host of SportsBeat, weeknights at 6:30 on Fox Sports Net.