No balloons. No sirens. No speeches. No marching bands. Just a well-dressed, 66-year-old businessman having a bite to eat in a corner booth at a local restaurant — his restaurant.

The restaurant’s name is Church’s. It’s on Innes and it serves chicken.

The middle-sized businessman’s given name is Henry Louis Aaron. Between 1954 and 1976 he served 755 home runs over big league fences. No man has hit more.

But no one at Church’s makes much of a fuss over Aaron except maybe Livingstone football coach Greg Richardson, who has a few stars in his eyes.

The kids behind the counter just keep smiling and asking patrons, “What sides do you want with that?” They don’t trouble Mr. Aaron for autographs. Maybe they aren’t exactly sure who he is. Maybe they don’t know what he used to do for a living before he got involved in things like chicken franchises.

But their parents could tell them who this man was and what he did. In fact, Richardson could tell them. He could tell them about the man that most remember as “Hank” or simply “Hammer.”

Richardson vividly remembers the night that Aaron surpassed Babe Ruth’s career record for homers. He still gets chills thinking about it. Still gets choked up thinking about it.

“I remember the moment clearly,” he says. “I was elated for Hank then, and each time I see the replay, it all comes back. Then I’m elated for him all over again.

Aaron’s heart-stopping homer came on the night of April 8, 1974, in the Atlanta Braves’ home opener. Aaron, who had just turned 40, connected off L.A. left-hander Al Downing for a drive that cleared the left-center field fence at Fulton County Stadium.

The Babe’s 714 homers had loomed as a seemingly unapproachable standard since his retirement in 1935, one year after Aaron was born in Mobile, Ala.

People thought Ted Williams could challenge Ruth, but two wars got in the way. Then, in the ‘60s, the talk was of Willie Mays or Mickey Mantle making a run. But Candlestick Park’s swirling winds ruined Mays’ chances. Injuries slowed Mantle.

In the shadows, though, a 178-pound Milwaukee Brave with lightning in his wrists kept hitting 35-40 homers a year in a very difficult park in which to hit them. For the longest time, no one noticed.

“I didn’t mind not getting attention,” Aaron says. “I didn’t play in New York or California, but I couldn’t control that. Mama always told me not to worry about things I had no say over.”

How little respect did Aaron get in the ‘50s? His 1956 Topps gum card actually depicts Willie Mays. His ‘57 card portrays the right-handed slugger batting left-handed.

Aaron was 32 in ‘66 when the Braves moved to Atlanta — a hitter’s park. His homer numbers quietly accelerated. And then something totally unprecedented happened. When Aaron was 35, an age when most sluggers wind down, he ripped 45 homers. The next season, a 36-year-old Aaron launched 37. At the age of 37 in 1971, he crushed a career-high 47 blasts. It was only then, after he leaped past the 600-homer mark, that his name came to be mentioned in the same sentence as the Babe.

“The thing I was always proudest of was my consistency,” says Aaron. “I played 23 years and maybe I had two bad ones.”

The not-so-trivial pursuit of Ruth started in earnest late in ‘71, testing an aging Aaron’s powers of concentration to their fullest. His fellow players wanted him to break the record, but many fans didn’t. There was an avalanche of hate mail and death threats from racist fans who didn’t want a black man to break the sacred mark.

“It was tough, but once I put that uniform on, Iwas able to think about nothing but baseball,” says Aaron. “I blocked it all out.”

The “Hammer” finished the job against Downing on that night Richardson can’t forget. It was the fulfillment of a mission he started on April 23, 1954, the day he hit his first big league homer off Vic Raschi. Once on task, Aaron never wavered.

How good was Hank? He homered off 310 different pitchers and in 32 parks. No fewer than 17 of his homers came off Dodgers’ Hall of Famer Don Drysdale.

Aaron’s life has been a dream, but there were difficult times, too.

He played minor league ball in the still-segregated south and reached the big leagues just seven years after Jackie Robinson opened the door for black players. In that era, it was still no cakewalk.

“In St. Louis, I could stay with the team in the hotel, but couldn’t go in the dining room,” remembers Aaron. “In Cincinnati, you could go to the dining room, but it might take the rest of the day to get waited on.”

Still, just three years after he broke in, Aaron was National League MVP and the driving force as the Braves took the ‘57 World Series from the Yankees.

Now Aaron wants to be a driving force in communities around the south.

Communities like — Salisbury?

“Why build a Church’s here?” he says, pleased at the question. “Because this town can support it. Because there are three colleges here and this restaurant can employ those young people. And because it gives the man who runs this franchise a chance. That’s important. It’s always important to give back.”

Friends told Aaron when he retired from baseball not to retire from life. He’s taken their advice to heart. He’s constantly on the move checking on the chicken chain. He also owns an auto dealership in Atlanta and wants to establish a racing team. All that action keeps him young.

The institution that may benefit most from Aaron’s hands-on interest in Salisbury is Livingstone.

“He’s already supported a number of projects,” says Richardson. “Things like our recent athletic banquet. That’s why I’m here today — to say thank you.”

Richardson says his Bears can find no better role model than Aaron.

“Mr. Aaron is known as the best home run hitter of all-time,” says Richardson. “And to be known as the best is a very good thing.”

The best, but not necessarily the most recognizable.

After lunching with Richardson, Aaron walks outside past oblivious Generation X diners to his car, trailed by his entourage of one.