WHEN I WAS A KID, everything revolved around baseball. I was swinging a bat as soon as I could walk and, despite being a small, skinny little fella, I had some pretty good hand-eye coordination-good enough that my dad fibbed a little on my birthday to get me signed up for little league while I was still five years old playing in the six- to eight-year-old division.
We didn’t have the sports networks, internet, or many television stations. Being a kid in the Atlanta suburbs, it was a given that I would favor the Atlanta Braves. Those were the days of Hank Aaron, Dale Murphy, and Phil Niekro! It was also the time of the Big Red Machine-the Cincinnati Reds, who were smashing records and winning! Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, Dave Concepción, Joe Morgan, George Foster, Tony Pérez, Ken Griffey Sr., and César Gerónimo, to name a few! My favorite was Charlie Hustle himself, Pete Rose!
When I was eight years old and playing for the eight- year-old Mets, my assistant coach had grown up with Pete Rose and stayed in touch. He had two boys of his own, one who was on my team and the other who was a few years older. The coach knew that Pete Rose was one of my favorite players, as I would often wear my red plastic Cincinnati Reds souvenir batting helmet, with number 14 handwritten on the back with a black magic marker, to practice.
He secured visitors’ side dugout-level tickets for the Braves vs. Reds game and invited me to go. It was the only time I would show up wearing an opposing team’s batting helmet. Our seats were to the side of the dugout, and we could look to our left and see everyone in there. One of the players stepped up and said hello to my coach. He said, “Pete is on his way up and will be here in minute!”
My heart started pumping. I had my glove, a baseball, and my Reds batting helmet and was ready to meet the one and only Pete Rose. We were early so we could catch batting practice. There wasn’t even anyone near us in the seats-just the four of us and the entire Cincinnati bench! A little commotion, and out from the locker room came Johnny Bench and Pete Rose. Johnny said hello, shook the coach’s hand, and gave us high-fives as he went out on the field. Pete said hello to my coach, and they began a long conversation about kids they grew up with and what they were doing now. “Have you heard from Billy? What about Susan?” This conversation included a couple of laughs, and I stood there in awe, just taking it all in.
I patiently waited my turn to tell Pete about my last headfirst slide and to get him to sign my helmet and baseball. The coach introduced all of us, saying, “Pete, you remember my boys, and this is their friend David, who is our second baseman and a big fan of yours, as you can see by his helmet.” I quickly removed the helmet to show him the number 14 handwritten on the back.
“Good to see you boys. I hope you enjoy the game! I gotta take some BP.” The coach quickly responded, “Thanks, Pete. David wanted to get you to autograph his helmet if you don’t mind.” Then, in a totally unexpected shift, Pete looked mad, turned to my coach, and let out a big, “F@$# YOU, TOM!” as he walked away.
None of us made a sound. I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened. I knew from the vibe that it wasn’t good but couldn’t figure out what we had done wrong. We were guests of Pete Rose, and now he hated us. We sat quietly for the next three hours and watched the game. My friends asked their dad why we couldn’t get Pete’s autograph, and he just said that Pete was being a jerk. Pete went in and out of the dugout a dozen times so close to us we could touch him. He never so much as looked at us again that night.
I don’t remember who won the game. I don’t remember if Pete got a hit or did anything spectacular on the field. I do remember in vivid detail the events leading up to our meeting and my disappointment. I remember feeling betrayed. I remember feeling that I did something wrong by showing him my helmet. I remember that I no longer liked Pete Rose. I put my Reds helmet under my seat and never wore it again. It went into the back of my closet to gather dust with a few old toys that I never played with anymore. Pete went on to retire and became a manager, got himself in trouble in a betting scandal, and was banned from the Hall of Fame.
It’s often said that you really don’t want to meet your heroes because you will usually be disappointed. I guess that is the way it goes with a lot of celebrities and professional athletes. Even though you probably aren’t hero status if you’re a leader of a fire company, battalion, shift, or department, you do carry a certain level of status when you are around. Are you too busy to say hello? Are you missing in action and never seen out in the station or on calls? Do you keep information to yourself as if it’s a commodity to protect your status? When someone needs something, do you show frustration and act like it’s a huge bother to you?
As leaders, we must pause and think about how our actions or inactions affect those we influence. The battalion chief stopping by the station might be routine for the veterans but a big deal to the brand-new rookie. Don’t ever be too busy or too distracted to just say hello, have a conversation, and look for an opportunity to provide some extra value and personal touch to each interaction. It may be just the right thing to build the trust needed for success!
As for me and Pete Rose, it was 50 years ago, so I’m letting it go. Maybe he had a bad day. I know he went on to support numerous charities and did a lot of good work over the years. The big scandal really wasn’t that big of a deal by today’s standards. He was betting for his team to win, after all! I think his record alone is worthy of the Hall of Fame.