COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. — It’s the biggest event of Induction Weekend that no one on the outside ever gets to see. It arrives on that Sunday night, far from the induction stage …
When all the living Hall of Famers come to dinner.
And so often, when that moment arrives, the questions these men ask is not: What’s for dinner? It’s more like: What the heck am I even doing here?
“I’m going to say this,” new Hall of Famer Adrián Beltré admitted the next day, at the annual Hall of Fame roundtable. “I don’t think I belong here, because I idolized so many players here that I could not believe I was in the room that night, having dinner with those guys.
“We walked in, and you can see all those guys,” Beltré went on. “It’s like you’re in heaven, right?”
The awe he felt is still a thing, but not just for him. And that should tell us something, because the two legends who have spent the last four decades inspiring the most awe in that room are no longer with us.
Willie Mays first attended that dinner in 1979, when men like Earl Averill and Cool Papa Bell were sitting at those tables. Hank Aaron first joined him in 1982, at a time when he was still surrounded by a group that included Luke Appling and Bill Dickey.
From then on, at least one of those two icons was in attendance for nearly every one of those gatherings, from the late ’70s until the pandemic. And let’s just say that when Mays and Aaron were present, there was never any question about who in that room was considered true baseball royalty. Nearly everyone else was just a baseball player.
But now that they’re both gone, I found myself wondering about a fascinating question. When all the living Hall of Famers assemble now, who else in the room makes them feel the way Mays and Aaron once made them feel?
So I spent this Induction Weekend asking seven of them that question. Their answers ranged from names you would expect (Sandy Koufax, Johnny Bench, Mike Schmidt) to names I bet you’d never expect (stay tuned for those). Now I’ll let them tell you why some of their fellow Hall of Famers are not like all the others.
Mays and Aaron reign forever
Willie Mays and Hank Aaron, baseball royalty. (Bettmann / Getty Images)
Willie Mays and Henry Aaron will never walk through the doors of the grand Otesaga Hotel again. But memories of them are still so vivid, and they’re still the names that some of these men mentioned first.
Aaron — “Mr. Aaron. I mean, he was my guy,” Craig Biggio said. “He was the guy. Like when I got inducted (in 2015) — his last year here, I think, was that year. And the picture on my computer is still him and my family. And I don’t call him Hank. I call him Mr. Aaron.
“Even with all the things that he’s been through and everything like that,” Biggio said, “that man was as classy and as great and as amazing, on the field and off the field, as anyone I’ve ever known.”
(Author’s note: Aaron’s last Induction Weekend was actually 2019, not 2015.)
Mays — “If Mays were to walk in this room right now,” said Ted Simmons, a 2020 inductee who never got to dine in Cooperstown with Mays or Aaron, “I’d back up, because let me tell you. I’d want to have a good look.”
Simmons then spun a tale that took him back a half century. This was 1973, when Mays was hanging on in his final season, as a Met, and Simmons was beginning to establish himself as a young All-Star catcher in St. Louis. Then there he was, crouching behind the plate — and up stepped Willie Mays.
“I remember going over him in a pregame meeting,” Simmons reminisced. “And then, when he came up the first time and I got ready to put the signals down … I looked him up and down, and I said to myself — I’m not lying — I said, ‘That’s Mays. That’s Mays, right?’
“Then I put the signals down, and off we went. But if you think I didn’t acknowledge that, you’re mistaken, because this was Mays. And there he was. And I just said: This is a long way from the 28705 (zip code) where I grew up.”
Sandy Koufax, movie star
“The class act just oozes out of his pores,” Ryne Sandberg said of Sandy Koufax, with his wife, Jane Purucker Clarke, at a statue unveiling in 2022. (Kirby Lee / Associated Press)
Sandy Koufax is 88 years old now. He hasn’t delivered a pitch since 1966, when he was still only 30. So he has been a Hall of Famer for an incredible 52 years. Koufax hasn’t attended an Induction Weekend since 2019. But that only adds to the mystique of a man viewed by the other Hall of Famers with astonishing reverence.
“I almost forgot about Sandy because I hadn’t seen him in a while,” said Dennis Eckersley, a 2004 inductee. “But I used to get lunch with him because I got friendly with him here. … So I got to know him a little bit, and I was in awe of him.”
And why, Eckersley was asked, did he feel those goosebumps? What was it about that man that inspired the word “awe”?
“He’s Sandy Koufax,” Eckersley replied, with a look that said it all. “It’s hard to explain it. He’s Sandy Koufax.”
This is where the conversation took a hard turn away from the question many people have been asking since Mays’ death — the who’s the best living player now question. It’s hard to make the argument that the answer to that question is Sandy Koufax, since, despite his unhittable peak, he finished his career with “only” 165 victories, fewer than Derek Lowe or Kevin Millwood.
But if the question is more like who has That Aura about him, then that’s different. Who has that aura? Oh, Sandy Koufax has it, all right — unmistakably.
“Oh, yeah. His name. His aura. The Dodgers back in the day,” said 2005 inductee Ryne Sandberg. “He has a movie-star look about him. He’s a very handsome guy, even as he got older. But just talking to him, the class. The class act just oozes out of his pores. You get that feeling that you don’t know if you’re with the best left-handed pitcher ever or if you’re with a top-notch movie star, or somewhere in between.”
Juan Marichal, last link to the pre-expansion era
Juan Marichal, 86, was the oldest Hall of Famer at Sunday’s dinner. (Gregory Fisher / USA Today)
Let’s think more about The Aura — and why certain people have it. If the only vision we have of a player seems like it came out of an old, grainy black-and-white newsreel, that alone makes him feel like a figure from a different time and place. Doesn’t it?
Does that add to the mythology of Koufax? Of course, it does. And Juan Marichal, the oldest Hall of Famer at that dinner Sunday night (at 86 years old), is in that same class.
Marichal’s first game with the Giants was on July 19, 1960, when there were still only eight teams in each league. Mays and Orlando Cepeda were in his lineup that day. Marichal took a no-hittter into the eighth and punched out 12.
It wasn’t merely a huge day in San Francisco. It was one of the most important baseball moments ever in the Dominican Republic, where Adrian Beltré grew up, hearing about the legend of Marichal.
“He definitely has that aura,” Beltré told me. “And not just with me. With the whole group. You can tell how all the guys are respectful of him. He’s so grateful to everybody. And the way he acts with everybody and talks to anybody, I mean, he has That Thing, that thing that you can tell. He was a really good player, but he has that humanity in him. And he’s got that humbleness to him that people just gravitate to him as a person.”
Cal Ripken Jr., the modern-day Lou Gehrig
Scott Rolen reminisced about watching Cal Ripken Jr. break Lou Gehrig’s consecutive games played record when he was in the minor leagues. (Denis Paquin / Associated Press)
Sometimes, it’s not simply about what you’ve done. It’s what you represent. Do we really have to explain what Cal Ripken Jr. represents? He’s this group’s Tony Stark — the Iron Man of baseball.
He broke one of those Records That Could Never Be Broken, the consecutive games streak of the great Lou Gehrig. And he did that in a time (1995) when every one of these Hall of Famers was alive to see it, to feel it, to remember its impact. So of course, his name came up.
There’s an easy argument that he’s the greatest living shortstop, and the greatest of the last 100 years. So Ripken belongs in two discussions: Who has That Aura … and Who’s the greatest living player now that Mays is gone?
“The pretty cool answer, for me,” said 2023 inductee Scott Rolen, “has got to be Ripken. I can still remember being in Double A, watching him take that victory lap around the field at Camden Yards, breaking the all-time record. That’s pretty iconic.”
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Mike Schmidt, the gold standard at third base
“He is, for me, in my opinion, the pinnacle,” Adrian Beltré said of fellow third baseman Mike Schmidt. (Gregory Fisher / USA Today)
To enter the Greatest Living Player debate, you don’t need to buy a ticket if you’re The Best Ever at your position. So that’s Mike Schmidt, widely acknowledged these days as the best all-around third baseman of his time … or any time.
It was no surprise that Schmidt’s name was mentioned a lot, especially from the men who entered the Hall in the past couple of years.
Of course, Rolen mentioned Schmidt, the third-base giant who preceded him in Philadelphia. But Schmidt’s peak came before Rolen was quite old enough to remember it. Then his arrival in Philadelphia prompted so many comparisons that Rolen was reluctant to wade into that discussion, even now, despite his immense respect for Schmidt and all he represents.
The 2024 inductees, on the other hand, had none of those reservations.
“Michael Jack Schmidt,” said Todd Helton. “That was my guy. So it was cool seeing him.”
Then there was the newest Hall of Fame third baseman. It made perfect sense that Mike Schmidt was the very first name to roll off Adrián Beltré’s tongue when this conversation took off.
“I think mainly, for me, that guy is really Mike Schmidt,” Beltré said. “He is … in my opinion, the pinnacle. Even though I never saw him play, I understood what he meant to the game, what he did at third base.”
Johnny Bench, the best there ever was
“You get here, and he runs the show.” Scot Rolen said of Johnny Bench at Induction Weekend. (Jim McIsaac / Getty Images)
There’s a case for Yogi Berra as the best catcher ever. If you’d like to argue for Bill Dickey or Pudge Rodriguez, Mike Piazza or Gary Carter, go right ahead. But the correct answer is Johnny Bench. So Bench holds a special place in the Cooperstown pantheon — for that and many other reasons.
More than 50 Hall of Famers attended that dinner Sunday night. But when those legends assemble, there is never any doubt about which of them will arise to take charge of every big occasion, from beginning to end of Induction Weekend.
Johnny Bench is that guy. For years, he has taken on the responsibility to represent the group, lead the group and speak for the group. So his fellow Hall of Famers can’t help but pay back that respect, for a man willing to act as the spokesman for the greatest players walking around our planet.
“Johnny’s presence is huge,” Rolen said. “Cal was kind of leading the charge in Major League Baseball when I was trying to get there. And Johnny came before that. But I know what he carries and what presence he has. You get here, and he runs the show.”
Ryne Sandberg grew up riveted by the magnetism of the Big Red Machine, even from 2,000 miles away in Washington state. So no one needs to explain to him why you can’t have any of these conversations without tipping a cap to Johnny Bench.
“His name is just synonymous with baseball,” Sandberg said. “And (loving him) as a kid, and the Big Red Machine, and the catcher, and being that guy and that hitter. … He’s the full package as well. He has the charisma. He’s the character (in the group).
“He has the ability to work a room. He has the ability to stand up there and give a speech and have everybody rolling, and it would be top-notch. He just has that about him. When you say he presides over the group, he does. That’s just what he does.”
Reggie Jackson, captain of the Nickname Hall of Fame
“Mr. October, man, is not a name that everybody gets.” (Thomas B. Shea / USA Today)
When you’re talking about aura, isn’t that what the mythological status of Reginald M. Jackson is all about?
You just have to watch Reggie walk by, and the highlights begin to roll in the minds of folks of a certain age: the three-homer eruption in a World Series clincher … the All-Star Game home run that nearly soared out of Tiger Stadium … and so many more.
Jackson has missed the last two Induction Weekends. But before that, he was a constant for three decades. So even when he’s in the presence of fellow Hall of Famers, he’s larger than life — not to mention louder than life.
“I remember walking down one of these steps (at the Otesaga), I think last year,” said Ted Simmons. “And coming up in the other direction was Reggie Jackson. And think what you want about him. But Reggie Jackson is pretty close to that stratosphere we’re talking about.
“Mr. October, man, is not a name that everybody gets. I mean, there’s something going on there. So if there’s a guy who was on that kind of projectile, he was on it. And I don’t care what you think about Reggie Jackson. He was a superstar. There’s a lot of nicknames. I’m real proud of mine, in fact. I’m proud of being Simba. But they don’t call me Mr. October. And they don’t call anybody else Mr. October. There’s only one: Reggie Jackson.”
George Brett, the Yankee killer
The 41st anniversary of the fabled Pine Tar Game was this week. If it’s not the most famous home run of George Brett’s career, it at least goes down as the most famous overturned home run of anybody’s career.
Does it matter anymore, to the living Hall of Famers, that American League president Lee MacPhail eventually ruled that it counted after all? It does not. It just adds to the legacy of one of the greatest third basemen in history, the greatest Kansas City Royal in history and a man who has spent the past 25 years as one of the most beloved Hall of Famers in this group.
“I always loved George Brett,” Craig Biggio said. “You know, growing up as an East Coast kid and watching him beating up on the Yankees and the whole Pine Tar deal, I loved all that. I was never really a Yankees fan or a Mets fan growing up. So watching him do his magic and then being up here and eating dinner with him, that type of stuff is kind of amazing to me.”
Rod Carew and Jim Kaat, connections to another time
Todd Helton has a special connection to Jim Kaat, who was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2022. (Gregory Fisher / USA Today)
One of the beauties of Cooperstown is that it’s a reminder that baseball is more than just a game. It’s one of those forces in life that connects generations — especially fathers and sons.
So when Todd Helton gazed around the room at his fellow Hall of Famers at dinner Sunday night, part of the emotion that swept over him was the powerful personal connection that two of the players in that room convey.
To him, Rod Carew and Jim Kaat were more than baseball players whose long, distinguished careers led them to this place. They were links to the short-lived baseball career of his late father, Jerry.
In his speech Sunday, Helton explained that link, saying: “My dad had a brief history in the minor leagues with the Minnesota Twins. After that, he poured that passion for baseball into me. I will never forget being in the backyard, pretending I was Jim Kaat, the first baseball player I ever knew of.”
Helton also spoke in that speech of the first VCR his family ever owned — “for the sole purpose of me watching this 15-minute video of Rod Carew on ‘The Baseball Bunch.’ He was talking about hitting the ball the other way. It was literally the only video we owned, and I must have watched it a million times.”
As he delivered those words, Carew and Kaat sat behind Helton on the stage. Then at dinner Sunday night, Helton was overcome one more time by the sight of those two living links to his father, who died in 2015.
“Obviously, there was the Jim Kaat story,” Helton said the day after that dinner. “As I said, my dad played for the Twins. And he caught him one year in spring training. So that’s who we talked about, was Jim Kaat. Both left-handers. So that’s who I pretended to be. So that was just so cool to see him. And obviously, Rod Carew too, because as I also said, I’ve watched his video a million times.”
But this time, when Helton’s count rose to a million and one visions of Rod Carew — this was different. This was real. This was the magic of Cooperstown.
Other names that came up
THE STARS NO LONGER WITH US: Mays and Aaron weren’t the only missing heroes whose names were dropped in these conversations. Tom Seaver came up. Al Kaline came up. Bob Gibson came up.
“The last few years,” Eckersley said, “we had all those guys leaving. We lost Gibson and (Joe) Morgan, (Don) Sutton and (Lou) Brock, and on and on and on. So the whole room has changed.”
But when Eckersley walks into that room, the men he is most in awe of are still “all the guys I watched when I was 10.”
“They stand out,” he said. “And they always will. Because you were 10. You didn’t have the perspective then, at all. Right? But then again, when I was 10, they didn’t have the spotlight like they do now. You could be a good player. And you might think he’s a superstar if he played for the right teams. But there’s not very many of them.”
THE STARS OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY: Here’s another thought. Do we only have to confine this conversation to the best players of the 20th century?
At first, I was surprised when I began hearing the names of men who played in the 2000s. But why not? There were no rules or time limits to this discussion. So why wouldn’t those names be part of this?
Jim Thome’s name came up — because “there are the guys I played against — the Jim Thomes,” Helton said. “Jim is a great guy and a great person … and there’s certainly an aura factor with him.”
And if we’re talking aura … “I think about the guys who came after me,” said Eckersley. “Griffey Jr. would be a guy to think about in that Greatest Living Player thing.
“In some ways, I’m more in awe of the guys who just came in (to the Hall), like the (Derek) Jeters,” Eckersley went on. “I mean, look at all the publicity they have, guys like Mariano (Rivera) and Jeter and (David) Ortiz. Those guys, they’re bigger than life. Wow. But as great as they are, you can’t put them in Mays’ category.”
So here we are, right back where we began. It was special to talk about every one of these men — living, breathing Hall of Famers with a force field of greatness that surrounds them. We can talk about their aura. We can debate where they stand in the Greatest Living Player discussion. Heck, we just did.
But does that mean it’s safe to drop their names in the same sentence as the late, great Willie Mays? Even for the Hall of Famers who were part of this conversation, that was too big a leap.
“You can maybe try to do it position-by-position,” said Ted Simmons. “But it’s really hard to do. You can’t do it safely.
“But with Mays, you could do it. He played in the right place (New York in the 1950s). He was a way-above-everybody-else type star. And with that kind of focus in that kind of place, with that kind of player, you could jump to that stratosphere. That’s not to say there couldn’t have been others who could do that, but it doesn’t matter — because they could. But Mays did.”
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(Top photo: From left, Hank Aaron, Johnny Bench, Sandy Koufax and Willie Mays are introduced at the 2015 All-Star Game: Icon Sportswire via Associated Press)
