Driving northeast on I-88 yesterday evening, I saw the sign: Cooperstown Exit -- National Baseball Hall of Fame. A choice presented itself: arrive in Albany by 7:30 p.m. for a casual solo dinner, or go hungry and detour to Cooperstown. Arriving at the hotel hungry at about 10:30 p.m., this baseball fan had made the right decision: an incredible experience to knock off the life list. The National Baseball Hall of Fame isn’t huge. Though staffers had to kick me out when the doors closed at 9 p.m., I’d hit the high points (and then some) during my 21/2 hours at the “museum.” Not reading every exhibit piece thoroughly will give me an excuse to visit again. The main drag through Cooperstown has nifty gift shops and ice cream parlors that I totally ignored but would like to enjoy with Annette and the boys someday.
There are many highlights, starting with the actual main hall containing all the plaques. I snapped pics via iPhone of some of my favorites. Former Twins and Brewers like Kirby and Robin Yount. And of course the legends, like Babe, Ty Cobb, Jackie Robinson, Teddy Baseball, Honus Wagner, and a few others. One fact that might surprise folks: There were five inductees in the inaugural class that occupy the center of the front rotunda. Ty Cobb occupies the centermost spot with Babe Ruth offset to the lower left. I doubt that’s a simple layout left to chance, since most baseball purists probably would say that Cobb was the more complete ballplayer. After viewing the life-size sculptures(?) of Ruth and Williams, I found myself alone with all 292 plaques, so I grabbed a bench and just quietly absorbed the aura. A pretty busy place, the National Baseball Hall of Fame probably doesn’t provide such moments of solitude very often, but that’s a benefit to showing up on a weekday evening, me thinks. Eventually a couple of loud kids came roaring through. This parent of three very loud, energetic boys understands that kids at times need to cut loose and be obnoxious. My boys will fully understand that if they ever enter that National Baseball Hall of Fame that they are entering sacred ground. No, it’s not a church, but it’s a special place to lifelong baseball fans, and they will remain quiet and respectful. They can run wild up and down the street upon exciting the hall.
Heading upstairs, you’ll see one room with an interesting, and short group of displays on the history of the Hall. Well done. The 10-minute movie is forgettable, especially the faux fence and scoreboard that emerges at the end, complete with unsubtle sponsorships from the likes of several companies and sports media conglomerates that don’t deserve mention here.
The second floor exhibits, particularly the History of the Game section, are the second-best part of the building. Abner Doubleday inventing the game is just lore, and baseball probably was a conglomeration of many stick-and-ball games that have existed for hundreds of years. Historians agree that the New York Knickerbockers wrote down the first set of rules for the game in 1845, and there is an actual photograph of two teams on a field (with bats on the ground in front of them) from 1859. Hard to believe the game truly predates the Civil War. Troops returning from the War between the States helped spread the game around the country.
The Babe Ruth corner is incredible. To see the “Called Shot” bat or home run ball No. 714 is almost befuddling -- it’s that amazing. There are lockers from greats like Henry Aaron, Joe DiMaggio and Lou Gehrig. Normally very anti-Yankees, I didn’t feel that way while touring the BB Hall of Fame. All ballplayers are good guys, even Yankees, unless of course they’re roid-ragers or cheaters.
Speaking of cheaters, Pete Rose doesn’t have a plaque (keep it that way) but pictures of him exist in displays of the Big Red Machine of the '70s and Phillies teams from the early '80s. That’s appropriate but he’d better never get a plaque. One small placard does mention Giamatti’s decision to ban Rose from the game.
A section devoted to the African-American baseball story moved me the most. The story of black Americans and baseball is a microcosm, maybe a macrocosm, of the larger African-American story in this country. It’s terribly sad and unjust, yet ultimately a story of incredible achievement. A little history that most baseball fans, including this one, probably don’t know: At least a few black men played in baseball clubs in NY and elsewhere until a de facto color barrier was implemented in the 1880s. Racism eventually forced them off the teams. A few journalists endorsed and supported integration of baseball during that post-Civil War era, but Jim Crow laws and institutionalized racism nationwide ultimately repressed it for more than 60 years. The Jackie Robinson section is incredible; I actually got a little misty-eyed when I saw his jersey and jacket, bats he used. Under a steady barrage of insults and even threats on his life, that guy won rookie of the year in 1947, was N.L. MVP in 1949, achieved a .311 lifetime batting average, played in six world series, hit 137 home runs, and stole 197 bases. He excelled on the field and not only changed baseball but helped improve the entire country. What a hero. Every person in this country owes this great man a debt of gratitude.
The final section of the second floor contains lockers for all existing major league teams with some fun recent historic treasures. Example, the locker for the Minnesota Twins contained the batting helmut and bat that Jason Kubel used to hit for the cycle during a game the squad won 11-9 early in the 2009 season. A buddy and I attended that game, and Kubel’s grand slam to complete the cycle was one of my top two live moments at a ballgame. A Christian Guzman inside-the-park home run back in 2001 is still either first of a very close second. The locker also contained several Joe Mauer bats from his batting title years. (Doesn’t look like we’ll be adding another in 2010, now does it Mr. Hometown Catcher?)
One small beef about the Hall: the relatively clueless staff. Yes, they were friendly, but most couldn’t answer any questions, like where to find Henry Aaron’s No. 715 home run ball. Also, a nice display and life-size statute to a great baseball ambassador Buck O’Neill left me with some questions, notably why no “lifetime achievement award” in his name had been awarded since 2008 when he received it. The first two (young) people couldn’t fathom my question, and a 40-something was pretty baffled, too, but he at least searched for an answer, sought me out in the gift shop right before closing time, and explain the discrepancy. Apparently the Buck O’Neill award will only occur every three years, so the Hall will name the second recipient in 2011. They should just inducted the man, the first black minor league manager, and whose commentary was arguably the best thing about Ken Burns’ Baseball series (actually a Red Sox and Yankees lovefest) on PBS.
Oh yeah, the giftshop. Had to buy the boys a T-shirt and some postcards showing the plaques of some legendary players. Bought a Rod Carew postcard. Maybe stand in line among the rubes for TwinsFest next winter to have him sign it. Or not.
American tourist traps mostly embarrass me. They typically revolve around a perfectly good natural resource, say the Black Hills, Wisconsin Dells, or Grand Canyon, then drown said treasure in overpriced pap and cheesy private exhibits. The Hall is a respectfully well done operation, and the community of New England-esque Cooperstown has not been swallowed by rampant development or gaudy exhibitions. I’ll be returning with my whole family and would recommend it to anyone who cares about the game, its greatest platers, and its role in America history.
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