A Childhood Hero, A Baseball Legend, and a Promise That Came Full Circle Forty Years Later
Part of the From the Archives collection — pull up a chair and revisit the television, music, technology, and cultural moments that shaped earlier generations.
My grandmother on my mother’s side was a tiny but tough Irish immigrant named Margaret Kiernan Rice.
We called her Maggie.
Us grandkids adored her.
Every few weeks one of us would get a turn spending the weekend at her home in Normandy, Missouri. On Sundays we would walk hand in hand nearly a mile to St. Ann’s Catholic Church. Maggie never learned to drive, so walking and riding the bus were simply part of life.
One of my favorite memories was taking the bus with her to Sportsman’s Park to watch Cardinal baseball.
Maggie was a die-hard Cardinals fan.
Her son, my Uncle Jack Rice, was a sportswriter for the St. Louis Globe-Democrat and frequently shared behind-the-scenes stories about the team. Cardinal baseball was a constant topic of conversation in her kitchen, where KMOX radio was almost always playing in the background.
She had very definite opinions about the broadcasters.
Harry Caray’s famous home run call—“It might be, it could be, it IS!”—often drew an exasperated response from Maggie.
“Oh, Harry…”
Years later she was delighted when Jack Buck became the voice of the Cardinals.
One afternoon in May 1954, Maggie took me to Sportsman’s Park for a doubleheader.
I was only six years old.
Neither of us realized we were about to witness baseball history.
That day, Stan Musial hit five home runs in a doubleheader.
Five.
Not over a week.
Not over a month.
In a single day.
The crowd was electric.
Even as a little kid, I knew I was watching something special.
Baseball Trivia
Another youngster sitting in the stands that day was an eight-year-old boy named Nate Colbert.
Eighteen years later, Colbert would become the only player in Major League history to match Musial’s feat, hitting five home runs in a doubleheader for the San Diego Padres.
A few years later, when I was about ten years old, Uncle Jack took me along on an interview he was conducting with Stan Musial.
I was painfully shy.
After being introduced, I managed to tell Stan that I had been at Sportsman’s Park the day he hit five home runs.
Stan smiled.
“I remember that day too.”
I thought I might float right through the ceiling.
Wait until my friends heard about this.
“If someone had told that six-year-old boy sitting beside his grandmother at Sportsman’s Park that one day he would play golf with Stan Musial, he never would have believed it.”
Over the years I crossed paths with several members of the Cardinals organization through golf, including pitcher John Fulgham and eventually manager Whitey Herzog.
Those friendships would lead to something I never imagined.
In 1994 I was working as Director of Tour Operations for the John Jacobs Golf Schools in Scottsdale, Arizona, when I received a call from Whitey Herzog’s assistant.
Whitey had recently retired from the California Angels organization and was passing through Scottsdale on his way home to St. Louis.
He wanted to play golf.
Being a lifelong Cardinals fan, I was happy to arrange it.
On one condition.
I got to play with him.
To my surprise, he agreed.
We played eighteen holes at the Arizona Biltmore Golf Club.
Whitey was exactly as I had hoped—friendly, funny, and full of baseball stories.
Afterward we had dinner at Harry & Steve’s in Old Town Scottsdale.
Heads turned when we walked through the door.
Whitey’s shock of white hair made him instantly recognizable.
Over dinner we talked Cardinals baseball, old St. Louis memories, and mutual acquaintances.
Then Whitey said something that seemed too good to be true.
“Next time you’re in St. Louis, give me a call. I’ll set up a round with Stan.”
I thanked him.
But honestly?
I figured it was just one of those things people say after a few drinks.
A few months later I traveled to St. Louis for my mother’s wedding.
On a whim, I called the number Whitey had given me.
I fully expected the response to be:
“Richard who?”
Instead, Whitey remembered exactly who I was.
And he kept his word.
A few days later I found myself standing on the first tee at Sunset Hills Country Club with Whitey Herzog and Stan Musial.
I was like a kid on Christmas morning.
Stan couldn’t have been more gracious.
He remembered Uncle Jack.
He remembered the old days.
He treated me as though we’d known each other for years.
We spent the day playing golf, telling stories, and laughing.
As I drove home afterward, I couldn’t stop thinking about that six-year-old boy sitting beside his grandmother at Sportsman’s Park in 1954.
If someone had told him that one day he would play golf with Stan Musial, he never would have believed it.
Life has a funny way of coming full circle.
And that remains one of the greatest days of my life.
Not every story in The Richard Archives involves war, politics, or controversy. Some are simply memories worth preserving before they fade away. This is one of those stories.
WOW Dick, Thats really COOL! What a great memory to have!
Thanks T, it was truly a remarkable experience.