Yes, I knew Buck O'Neil

In the week just gone, I suppose 50 or so persons have asked me if I knew Buck O'Neil. To them, I was pleased to answer, "Yes, I knew Buck."

In fact, I first met Buck long before he became a national celebrity after being discovered by Ken Burns, who did a nine-part series on baseball that included several interviews with O'Neil.

Buck, you see, used to work as a scout for the Kansas City Royals. He had his seat down in front and even used to get through a game sometimes without signing any autographs until he started getting really famous.

"Do you know how old he is?" Bob Nelson once asked me. I had no idea, but when Nelson told me, I was shocked. It wasn't until the past year or so he began to look old. At 85, I'd have guessed Buck was 65. At 90, maybe 75. I think Buck just wore himself out the past couple years with constant travel and speaking engagements, to say nothing of the work with the Negro Leagues museum in Kansas City, where he spent a lot of time.

Buck, you know, played in Nevada with the Kansas City Monarchs several times. He was the one who hit what has long been reputed to have been the longest home run ever at Lyons Stadium. A number of years ago we were eating in the press club in the stadium when I asked O'Neil about it, thinking he'd just shrug his shoulders. Instead, Buck's face split into a wide grin and he said, "Of course. When you hit as few as I did you remember them all." So, he told the story and added some more about when the Monarchs used to barnstorm through Nevada and play on the old field southeast of Marmaduke Park before Lyons Stadium was built in 1947. Lyons Stadium was built because the field was torn down when the doctors' homes were built on the space it had occupied. "Yes, we dressed in the State Hospital," O'Neil said. "See? I remember all right. Yes, I remember Nevada."

O'Neil was with the Monarchs as they made their final visits to Nevada when the Negro leagues were in their death throes. And yes, Nevada beat the Monarchs two of the last three times they played, something that would have never happened in the old days.

What was fun was when O'Neil would come up to the press box along about the seventh inning of a lot of games and just talk, telling stories that would entrance you.

Buck winked at me one time when I asked him what he most liked about the game, "The ladies like ballplayers," he said with a wry grin and twinkle in his eyes.

Buck O'Neil talked about how they used to travel from town to town in a big Buick touring car. He loved the life. I once asked him if he missed playing in the majors and he shrugged his shoulders. "I might not have been good enough to play very long," he said with a laugh. "Besides, I wouldn't trade my life for anything."

We talked about how people lamented the color barrier in those days when it came to mind that if there were 400 Negro leaguers and 400 major leaguers that merged, some 400 people -- some white, some black -- would have been thrown out of jobs during the depression especially, when times were hard. "And you have to remember," Buck threw in. "Baseball didn't pay all that good back then. A whole team didn't have a million dollar budget."

In recent years, Buck didn't get out to the stadium as much because he was too busy. He was there wearing his No. 22 on a Royals jersey on Opening Day. He slapped hands with the players and joked with the pitching coach who asked him if he could give him five innings. Buck replied that he didn't think he could give him more than three.

I watched Buck that day and later when he actually batted in the Northern League All-Star game at Community America Ballpark. And I watched him speak on behalf of others instead of making his own acceptance speech at the Hall of Fame induction ceremony.

You could tell last summer that Buck was tiring out. At 94, you can't keep up a pace like that and he began to bend. Buck O'Neil was going around like he was 25, and his body simply wore out on him. And it went quickly once the process started. They said on the news he had bone cancer but didn't want anybody to know. But I can't verify that.

People are sad now, but you know what? If Buck O'Neil had lived 82 or 83 years he would have had a long life, but few would have remembered him. I can't think of anyone aside from Buck O'Neil, with the possible exception of Harland Sanders, who accomplished so much so late in life.

In his last 10 years, at a time when most people are already pushing up daisies, Buck O'Neil was carving out a memorial that will make him a Kansas City icon for generations. I am proud to have known him. And to have known his connection to Nevada.