It's only natural for kids to have heroes, or role models, outside of home and community. I'm sure most readers could point to a few from childhood, and, usually, it was an actor or sports figure.
The recent passing of former Detroit Tigers pitching legend Mickey Lolich, at age 85, transported me back to my own youth. I was reminded of some October afternoons when I was a young adolescent, and a legendary star turn on the major league diamond.
Lolich's passing also reminded me of a memorable week shared with another Michigan sports legend about a decade-and-a-half ago.
Southpaw Mickey Lolich pitched in Detroit's mound rotation from 1963 through 1975. He had stints with the New York Mets and San Diego Padres from 1976 until his 1979 retirement. In his heyday during, mostly, less-than-stellar Tigers seasons, Lolich was averaging 17 wins a year.
During the 1965-75 decade, it was easy for Lolich to get lost among star hurlers such as Koufax, Gibson, Carlton, Seaver, Palmer, and Detroit teammate Denny McLain.
With his physique, often described as "portly," Lolich sometimes gave the impression that he was happy enough to pass up the workout room in favor of a stop-off at the doughnut shop en route to hanging out with pals at the corner beer hall. All on his iconic motorcycle.
In a seeming self-caricature, Lolich owned and operated a doughnut shop in a Detroit suburb. One former employee described him as "down-to-earth," and one who treated them with respect. At least one former customer noted seeing Lolich working both the drive-thru and the counter in his flour-drenched white apron.
Lolich embraced the image.
"I figure if they see a guy like me doing well, it will give that fat guy on the sofa someone to cheer for," he once told an interviewer. He never got "Bull Durham's" Crash Davis lecture about cliches.
Yep, average boys who weren't so light on the scales could dream of the majors, too.
Pixabay
Aside from "portly" impressions, what Lolich also gave was innings pitched. He surpassed 300 of them a season over four consecutive years. Only top starters, now, pitch more than 200 innings a year.
Pitchers who turn in more than one or two complete games a season are now celebrated. Lolich rarely completed less than 15 games during full seasons. In 1971, he turned in 29 of them. He would have laughed at the notion of pitch counts.
In an August 1974 matchup against the California Angels' Nolan Ryan, both Lolich and the future hall of famer twirled 11-inning complete games. Ryan struck out 19 Tigers, but Lolich walked away with a 1-0 shutout.
$4 would have bought you a field box seat for that game, and a cheaper ducat would have landed you in the "nosebleed" section. Imagine.
Lolich was selected as MVP of his only World Series, 1968. It wasn't a close call. After Detroit's prized 31-game winner, Denny McLain, slumped in two starts against St. Louis great Bob Gibson, Tigers manager Mayo Smith turned to Lolich.
All that the "portly" southpaw did was return three complete game wins in the seven-game series, surrendering only five runs over 27 innings. He would outduel Gibson 4-1 in the final game.
There were no evening World Series games until 1971. Young fans excited about the Series, such as myself, had to get creative — or depend on luck — to follow the on-field action. I once snuck a transistor radio into study hall to follow one October tilt, with a cleverly placed earphone. Sympathetic teachers, usually a coach, would sometimes provide updates. In '68, teacher Bill Upton would scribble Tigers/Cards scores on the blackboard over a few innings.
In my mid-teens, if I knew that Lolich was pitching in an NBC game-of-the-week on Saturday afternoon, or in one of Ernie Harwell's nighttime WJR broadcasts out of Detroit (assuming a good atmospheric skip), you knew where I could be found.
Though thrilling to contemplate, I never held any serious notions of meeting this hero from my youth. I had a few decades to wait on that.
Pixabay
Enter Michigan high school sports hall of famer Jerry Barr, and an unforgettable West Coast baseball junket with Charlotte's Broach Tours company in 2011. Before I knew all of that, or that he had once been drafted by the Washington Senators, Jerry was simply an affable 71-year old widower whom I had chatted up in an Oakland motel lobby on the tour's first day.
We became fast friends after I discovered he had worked as a "stringer," assigned to collect sports tidbits for the Associated Press in Detroit during the late 1970s and '80s. His beat was the Detroit Tigers, and he had formed a personal friendship with Mickey Lolich, then in retirement.
You can imagine my starry eyes.
Jerry was full of bonhomie, tales and stories, many of them about Tigers over a couple of decades. Robin, at first, seemed sure he was full of something else.
At Oakland's Alameda Coliseum, Jerry was trying to reach his pal, Mickey Lolich, on the phone. "I forgot this is Mick's day to go shooting," he noted at one point. That earned me a surreptitious eye-roll from Robin.
The baseball gods, however, smiled upon me the next morning. I saw Jerry in the motel parking lot with his phone. Spying me, he motioned me over and grinned into the phone, "Hey Mickey, say hello to Doug Smith." He pushed the phone into my hand, and the next few moments passed in a blur as I was yukking it up with my long-ago hero. I recall him saying that he had been a Durham Bull, and we chatted about that classic old ballpark.
I might as well have been 14 or 15 again as I thanked him for great baseball memories, and especially for the '68 World Series. "Aw, we just had fun with that!" he chuckled.
Jerry had about as much fun with that moment as I did. "Are the guys back home gonna believe ya?" he inquired. He couldn't resist a bit of mischief, though. "Mick told me that talking to you on the phone was going to cost me a case of bourbon," he kidded.
"I'll chip in, Jerry," I retorted. "That was a lot of fun!"
Jerry's antics transformed a good trip into a memorable one. Growing a tad frustrated with the pace of our bus driver, Jerry leaned toward Robin and me with a sidelong look and said, "This guy needs training wheels." Moments later he observed to folks nearby, "I don't mind cars passing us, but that old lady on a walker was just too much!"
At the minor league field in Fresno, a portion of Luftenburg's Bridal Shop formed a partial left field wall. Large letters hawked wedding dresses, tuxedo rentals, and similar items. Jerry drew guffaws with the exclamation, "Hit sign, win free bride!"
Jerry had spent time raving about visiting an In-N-Out Burger location while on the trip. During a quick rest stop at a McDonalds, tour leader Tom Broach and I noticed that Jerry was deep into a good snooze. Tom and I eased into the In-N-Out next door and set some plans. When the bus started rolling again, poor Jerry was chagrined to notice that he had missed an opportunity.
I then presented Jerry an "In-N-Out Burger" T-shirt that seemed to fit. When he still expressed interest in a burger, a grinning Tom, who had enjoyed Jerry's stories as much as I had, delivered the coup de grace, producing a soda and a sackful of In-N-Out burger and fries. For once, Jerry was quiet as he munched happily on the fare. The big ol' kid!
At the various ball yards, Jerry could barely remain seated as he had a great time schmoozing with ladies both on and off the tour. I don't recall spying other than grins on their faces as Jerry — who, I think, was sure that he was still about 35 — worked his magic.
I was sad to recently learn that Jerry had passed away in late October 2024. Somewhere out there, the baseball gods — who occupy a luxury suite inside Mount Olympus's ball park — are still smiling on those who continue to love the game, and dream.
Down on that field, Jerry Barr and his pal, 'Mick' Lolich, are having a catch — and planning their next trip to the doughnut shop.
Columnist Douglas Smith lives and writes in Rockingham.
