ESPN.com - Hunter always had his priorities straight

ESPN.com: Baseball

Thursday, September 9, 1999
Updated: September 10, 9:25 AM ET
Hunter always had his priorities straight

By Steve Wilstein
Associated Press

NEW YORK -- Catfish Hunter's blue eyes brimmed with tears last spring as he spoke about wishing he could trade his fame and fortune for a life of anonymity, good health and a chance to see his grandchildren grow up.

"I'd be a groundskeeper and not let anybody know me," he said, his strong, gravelly voice cracking as we looked at each other in the privacy of a small room at the New York Yankees' training camp.

Hunter wasn't simply speaking out of a fear of death from Lou Gehrig's disease. Everyone who knew him understood that he had always put family and faith above fame, had always gotten his priorities right.

REMEMBERING CATFISH

Officials at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., have placed a wreath on the plaque of Catfish Hunter and lowered their flag to half-staff. Hall of Fame chairman Edward W. Stack released the following statement:

"Today is a sad day for everyone in baseball with the passing of one of the game's legends. Not only was Catfish a dominant pitcher during his tenure in the major leagues, but he was a true gentleman and a Hall of Famer in ever sense of the word. His loss is felt not only in Cooperstown, but throughout the baseball community."

Hunter's Hall of Fame plaque reads: "The bigger the game, the better he pitched."

Other reaction from around baseball:

Yankees owner George Steinbrenner: "Catfish Hunter was the cornerstone of the Yankees success over the last quarter century. We were not winning before Catfish arrived, and since his arrival in 1975, the Yankees have the best record in baseball, as well as four World Championships. He exemplified class and dignity and taught us how to win."

Sal Bando, assistant to the president of the Milwaukee Brewers: "I tried to call him this morning. The line was busy and I was going to call him after the game to see how he was doing. It's a shock. He was one of my best friends on the club and we stayed in touch all these years.

"This is not only a personal loss but a loss for baseball and for all who knew him. His grace and professionalism will always be remembered and will be missed. My memories of Jim will last forever."

Former A's and Yankees teammate Reggie Jackson: "He was a fabulous human being. He was a man of honor. He was a man of loyalty."

Yankees coach and former teammate Chris Chambliss: "The last time we saw him was in Florida during spring training. It was comforting to see his sense of humor was still there. That's what made him special. Catfish was upbeat about everything."

Cincinnati pitching coach Don Gullett, a former Yankees teammate: "It's a very sad day for baseball. He was a consummate pro. A great father, husband, a great man."

Former A's teammate Vida Blue: "Catfish Hunter was a man among men. He was a genuine person. There was nothing phony about him. I learned a lot from him, both on and off the baseball field."

It hurts to write about Hunter in the past tense, to realize this great athlete, this genuinely decent man, is gone so soon.

There are plenty of scoundrels and fools in sports, plenty of phony heroes, but Hunter wasn't one of them. He exuded the kind of honesty and integrity that is instantly recognizable, and he had a sense of humor and an easy way of telling stories that made people like him right away.

He was the richest ballplayer of his time, a groundbreaker for all the big bucks thrown at athletes these days.

But, as former New York teammate and current Seattle manager Lou Piniella told me recently, "If you didn't know he was making that kind of money, you'd never guess it because he was humble, very reserved about being a star-type player. ... If you didn't like Catfish, you just didn't like people."

Even if you never met Hunter, it was easy to like him as a player. He was the consummate professional, "a big-game pitcher," as the expression goes.

I first met him when he pitched for the Oakland Athletics in the early '70s, playing on a ballclub that was as wild as it was successful. Stories about all-night escapades and pranks were already legendary, and Hunter was in the middle of them all.

Yet when manager Dick Williams handed him the ball and his teammates took the field behind him, they all knew Hunter could be relied upon to give them a good chance to win.

Hunter brought those qualities to the Yankees, and he helped turn that fractious team of Billy Martin, Reggie Jackson, Thurman Munson and Graig Nettles into a champion.

"I never thought I'd be 50 years old," Hunter said, thinking back on those days of pranks and parties. "I thought I'd die before then. Because ballplayers when I played ball loved to have a good time, go out together. I loved it. I think the guys today don't have as much fun as we did."

The essence of Hunter's game was control, a mastery of fastballs thrown at different speeds, sliders and curveballs that kept batters guessing.

He had learned how to pitch while throwing to his brother on the family farm in North Carolina. Even in those early sessions he sought control over raw speed, in no small part because he didn't want to splinter the side of his father's smoking shed where he practiced.

Hunter drew his life's lessons from baseball and the farm, and both contributed to his strength of character. From baseball, he learned to filter out distractions and worries, to focus on the moment. From raising cotton, peanuts, corn and soybeans, he learned to cope with the vagaries of the weather and the markets.

As much as anything about the disease that led to his death, Hunter resented the loss of control it imposed on his life.

He had to give up hunting and give away his beloved dogs that he had named after former teammates. He had to rely on his wife, Helen, to dress him and feed him. He hated feeling as if he were a burden.

He had always been so strong, but by the time we spoke at the Yankees' camp he couldn't even sign his autograph for a young boy who approached him.

Yet Hunter never lost faith, never questioned why he was singled out for this struggle, because to do so would mean questioning why he had been so blessed.

Those who knew him and reflect now on his life -- his Hall of Fame career, his five World Series rings, his humor, warmth, integrity and class -- know they, too, were blessed.