Amazon.com Review
For decades 714 was the holiest number in baseball. When
Hank Aaron began closing in on Babe Ruth's career home run record he also began receiving racist hate mail and death threats: "You are not going to break the record established by the great Babe Ruth if I can help it. My gun is watching your every black move."
In the midst of all the anger and hate, a white teenager named Sandy Tolan wrote a letter to Hank Aaron. "Don't listen to them, Mr. Aaron. We're in your corner. You're my hero. I believe in you." To his great surprise, several weeks later Tolan received a reply--from Hank Aaron himself. Tolan kept the letter, taping it into a scrapbook he was keeping to follow Aaron's home run record chase.
Twenty-five years later, Tolan, now a journalist, had the opportunity to finally meet Aaron. He recounts the meeting, and his decades-long admiration for the man in Me and Hank. No mere hagiography, Me and Hank lingers on a difficult question: Why was Hank Aaron's home run record less celebrated than Babe Ruth's? Or as Aaron himself put it in 1979, "Isn't it funny? Before I broke his record, it was the greatest of them all. Then I broke his record and suddenly the greatest record in baseball is Joe DiMaggio's hitting streak." Tolan uses Hank Aaron and the Babe's home run record as a prism through which to examine racial tensions in America--both in the 1970s and in the 1990s. Along the way he visits the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown (where Ruth has a room all his own while Aaron has "a wall and a locker"), meets Charlie Danrick, who sells audio tapes of old baseball games (the tape of number 715 "doesn't sell. It just lays there. People don't buy it."), and befriends a homeless black man from Atlanta who was in the stands on April 8, 1974 ("And when I seen him hit the ball ... it felt like he passed the civil rights bill to me.") At times angry but always thoughtful, Me and Hank provides a much-needed window into baseball, race relations, and even American history. --M. Stein
From Publishers Weekly
In 1973 baseball's greatest hitter, Hank Aaron, was nearing his greatest moment: surpassing Babe Ruth's 714 career home runs. As a result, Aaron received death threats and hundreds of pounds of hate mail, his daughter needed 24-hour FBI protection at college and his imminent achievement was all but vilified because many whites didn't want to see a black man best the cherished record of an iconic white man. Sixteen at the time and a lifelong fan of Aaron, the white Tolan was appalled at this racism and wrote his hero a letter of support. Aaron replied with a warmhearted letter, setting up the connection that sparked this enlightening memoir and prompted Tolan, a radio producer, to look up his hero in 1998. Tolan first visits Aaron to talk about breaking Ruth's record, then he interviews dozens of others on the same subject, including members of Aaron's family and his own. The result provides not just a chilling foil to the chivalric home run chase between McGuire and Sosa, but also a portrait of race relations from the 1950s until now. For blacks, Aaron's achievement was as significant as Jackie Robinson's crossing of the color line. But, while whites generally remember the well-publicized hatred that stalked Aaron, they have, according to Tolan, ignored his record (which remains undefeated) and made licensing Ruth's image a $3-million-a-year business. The author's sentimental recollections of childhood grow somewhat repetitious, and each chapter has the same tone of disbelieving outrage as Tolan's NPR piece that inspired the book. Still, the work is a worthy complement to Aaron's I Had a Hammer, and a valuable contribution to the civil rights bookshelf. Author tour; 20-city radio satellite tour. (June)
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.
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