Henry Aaron Makes History in Atlanta
ATLANTA, April 8, 1974–Atlanta Braves slugger Henry “Hank” Aaron edged into the record books tonight, passing the legend Babe Ruth as the leading home‐run hitter in baseball history. He slugged his 715th home run before a national television audience and 53,775 persons in Atlanta Stadium. Many hailed the achievement, but controversy emerged as some baseball analysts claimed the two sluggers did not face equal conditions, that in Babe Ruth’s time, the baseball itself was different, and that it was harder to hit home runs.
A white teenage boy waited for the Third Avenue bus. He was dressed in a Catholic school uniform and had a book bag over his shoulder. A grey-haired black man joined him at the bus stop. He carried a scuffed and dented lunch box in one hand, and the Daily News in the other. The man’s newspaper blazed in four-inch type, “715. Henry Does It!” The picture spread over half the front page, Hank Aaron, his dark skin against the white Braves uniform, arms driving the bat out and away.
The boy shrugged the bag off his shoulder and set it on the bus shelter bench. He flicked dark blond hair out of his eyes and smiled at the old man.
“Wasn’t that something last night?” he said.
“Oh my goodness yes.”
The man’s tired eyes twinkled alive.
They stepped back from the curb as an express bus hissed by. The boy leaned in for a moment to admire the front of the newspaper with the man. The man opened his paper and studied the article inside, a smile fixed in place.
The boy fiddled with his school tie, and looked up the street, then back at the man.
“Of course, it’s apples and oranges compared to Babe Ruth,” the boy said.
The man’s smile erased.
“What do you mean?”
The boy’s cheeks pinked. He swallowed.
“Well. . . it’s just. . . they say it’s not as hard. . . it was harder when Babe Ruth did it.”
The man sighed through tight lips. He squared to look at the boy.
“You think this man had it easy?”
He tapped the cover of the Daily News with thick fingers.
The boy looked away. He raked the hair out of his eyes with his hand.
“Well it’s what people are saying.”
He stared off for a bus.
The man eyed the boy and folded his newspaper.
“It sure seems like as soon as a man does something great folk want to take it away from him,” the man said in a low voice.
The boy’s shoulders sagged. He looked back at the man in a sideways glance. He pushed his hands into his pockets.
“Well,” the boy said, “it’s because the ball was different then, it was harder. . .” His voice faded and he stopped at the man’s look.
“Young man, I don’t think you understand.”
The man tucked his paper under his arm and edged to the curb, looking down the street for a bus.
The boy reached for the strap of his book bag, his shin barking against the edge of the bench. He stayed back.
They waited, neither speaking.
A bus slid up. The man climbed slowly on and moved toward the back. The boy got on and dropped into a side-facing seat near the front. He pinched his jacket collar closed at his neck. He studied the flecked linoleum between his loafers.
The old man gazed into the distance and they rode for a while.
The boy closed his eyes and then opened them and glanced back at the old man. He stared back down at his shoes. The bus whisked along.
Then the boy grabbed the stop request cord and yanked it. The bus jerked over to the curb. He looped on his book bag and stood. He eyed the man a last time, but when the man looked up he dropped his eyes and turned and got off the bus.
The old man watched him leave. He shook his head and opened his paper and began to read. The smile returned to his face.
John B. Mahaffie is a futurist with a love of the past. He writes short fiction and flash, and is at work on a novel. John’s fiction often explores the past. John lives and works in Washington, DC.
THE CITY KEY 