June 29, 2024

By Patrick Kennedy

Canadian Baseball Network

The June 18 passing of the incomparable Willie Mays – growing up, he was my favourite National League baseball player and Mickey Mantle was “my guy” in the so-called junior circuit – set me thinking about Mays being the “oldest living member” (OLM) in baseball’s Hall of Fame.

I thought about the OLM distinction itself, and how it offers a small measure of peculiar pride and pleasure. The “Say Hey Kid” was the hall’s OLM until he took a game-ending called third strike at age 93. His death instantly elevated former shortstop Luis Aparicio, the Venezuelan vacuum cleaner, to OLM status.

It's a strange accolade, one that’s earned simply by waking up each morning and, as the Irish like to say, “looking down at the grass and not up at the roots.” Nothing more. An individual’s character, skill and statistics play no part in the promotion. The only statistic that counts is a heartbeat, even a faint one. You breathe, you move up once the resident OLM stops.

Whoever wears the crown, it’s generally a short reign, and one that’s dubious.

I interviewed Aparicio with help from a translator at his 1984 induction ceremony in Cooperstown, New York. It was a banner year for selections and in particular for old Brooklyn Dodger fans. Joining Aparicio on that sweltering July day 40 years ago were 1930s Red Sox catcher Rick Ferrell, Minnesota Twins slugger Harmon Killebrew, and ex-Brooklyn Dodgers Don Drysdale and Harold “Peewee” Reese.

In speaking briefly with the shy, intensely guarded Aparicio, I had the feeling he’d have preferred to be back in his hometown of Maracaibo instead of upper New York State surrounded by the throng of fans that had gathered for induction weekend. Perhaps that explains why the first native Venezuelan Hall of Famer has not been back to Cooperstown since.

“Little Looie,” as he was dubbed, might be convinced to return this summer on what is the ruby anniversary of his enshrinement, especially now that he’s the Hall’s OLM.

You can be the OLM of a club or an organization or even an august body like the Canadian Senate. Georges-Casimir Dessaulles (1827-1930) was 102 when he made his exit from the chamber. Or it could simply be the oldest living something or other, such as Eva Marie Saint, Hollywood’s oldest living actor who turns 100 on July 4. Nipping at Saint’s heels is Lassie’s TV mom June Lockhart, who just turned 99, the same age Dick Van Dyke, in third place, will turn in December. The most common category, of course, is OLM of the human race, which, understandably, seems to change as often as an Italian government.

The OLM of the worldwide tree family is a Great Basin bristlecone in California aptly named Methuselah. Tree-ring data tells us the hearty plant is 4,853 years old. While it was putting roots down as a seedling, the ancient Egyptians were busy building the pyramids at Giza.

A giant Seychelles tortoise named Jonathan, age 192 give or take – he doesn’t look a day over 190 - is thought to be the oldest living land animal. Residing on the Island of Saint Helena in the South Atlantic, Jonathan’s estimated birth year predates the invention of the postal stamp, the photograph, even Joe Biden. Nearing the start of his third century on earth, Jonathan is a liberal-minded modern male. Twenty-five years ago, he came out of his shell, er, I mean the closet, and has been in a relationship with a fellow male tortoise ever since.

According to atlasobscura.com website, the OLM of the rose family is the Rose of Hildesheim, otherwise known as the Thousand-Year Rose. That sobriquet needs an update. The rose, which grows up the side of Germany’s Hildesheim Cathedral, is believed to have been planted when the church itself was erected in the early seventh century. That’s some erection, and without Miracle Gro.

A spin around the Internet turns up other ‘oldest living’ oddities, such as the oldest living domestic cat (Flossie, 29 and still hissing), oldest living Olympian (103-year-old Hungarian gymnast Agnes Keleti, who is no longer doing back flips off the uneven bars), and oldest living fossil (Keith Richards). A personal favourite just for beating long odds is the OLM of the mafia, or as he’s listed on crimereads.com “oldest living Godfather.” The title belongs – make that belonged - to Vincent “Jimmy Blue Eyes” Alo, who actually earned his nickname not for his eye colour but for all the black eyes he got. Alo ran with the likes of Meyer Lansky and Lucky Luciano and somehow reached the ripe age of 97 without succumbing to lead poisoning, a common cause of death among wise guys.

Locally, the OLM of the Kingston & District Sports Hall of Fame is builder 92-year-old Pat Hegarty. Hot on Paddy’s trail are curler Margaret McDonald (91), hockey’s Don Cherry (90), and builder Roy “Scotty” Martin (89).

The OLM designation is a temporary honour, a kudo generally accompanied by a tinge of sadness, because rules dictate that the person you replace be dead as a doornail. You’re on top because the previous OLM is now at the bottom - six feet down in a rectangular box or a pile of ashes in an urn. You accept the accolade with the grim understanding that you’ll surrender it before too long.

Back to Willie Mays, the five-tool titan who was one of baseball’s greatest players. He inherited the OLM title four years ago from longtime Los Angeles Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda, who succeeded legendary St. Louis Cardinals skipper Red Schoendienst. And now Willie has passed the torch to 90-year-old Aparicio, the diminutive 13-time All-Star who played 18 seasons, compiled 2,677 career hits, led the American League in stolen bases for nine consecutive seasons and earned nine Gold Glove awards.

That’s an impressive track record, and personally I hope Aparicio has a lengthy OLM reign. I say that only because directly behind him on the list is former commissioner and used car salesman Bud Selig, 89. For baseball purists who recall Commissioner Selig’s divisive tenure during the height of the pumped-up steroid era, that would be a Barry Bonds bicep-size pill to swallow. Not to wish ol’ Bud any misfortune, but if he was to, say, wander into the path of a speeding bus, the next in line as OLM is 88-year-old pitcher Sandy Koufax.

Then again, the peerless Dodger southpaw might only wear the crown for a few days, at which time it would pass to Pittsburgh second baseman Bill Mazeroski, then to former Blue Jays general manager Pat Gillick, and then…

Such is the fickle nature of the OLM badge.

Patrick Kennedy is a retired Whig-Standard reporter. He can be reached at pjckennedy35@gmail.com