London column: Bob Feller visited Salisbury

FILE- In this Feb. 28, 1941, file photo, Cleveland Indians star pitcher Bob Feller works on his form during spring training baseball in Fort Myers, Fla. Feller, the Iowa farm boy whose powerful right arm earned him the nickname "Rapid Robert" and made him one of baseball's greatest pitchers during a Hall of Fame career with the Indians, has died Wednesday, Dec. 15, 2010. He was 92. (AP Photo/File)

FILE - In this March 6, 2010, file photo, Hall of Fame pitcher Bob Feller tips his hats to fans before a spring training baseball game between the Cincinnati Reds and Cleveland Indians in Goodyear, Ariz. Feller, the Iowa farm boy whose powerful right arm earned him the nickname "Rapid Robert" and made him one of baseball's greatest pitchers during a Hall of Fame career with the Indians, has died Wednesday, Dec. 15, 2010. He was 92. (AP Photo/Mark Duncan, File)

By Mike London

mlondon@salisburypost.com

Baseball great Bob Feller died Wednesday night, and while it isn’t a major shock when a 92-year-old passes, his death hit me because he’s someone I had a chance to talk to a few times.

There have been a thousand stories written about the hard-throwing hurler in the past 48 hours.

Some described him as gruff. It’s possible he became more reclusive later in life, but when he visited Salisbury decades ago he played the role of hero perfectly.

He was 65 when I met him. Tall and with military posture. Blessed with a full head of white hair, he was opinionated. He could’ve been a preacher or a senator.

Those were the long-gone days when 50 percent of American males between 6 and 60 fervently collected baseball cards, and I actually made a living selling them.

There was a card show held at Salisbury Mall in the summer of 1984, and Feller, if you can believe it, was one of the vendors. He often set up his booth at shows around the state and peddled his own stuff. At least you knew when you bought an autograph from him it was on the level.

Feller actually signed so many autographs, for such reasonable fees, and for so many years, that memorabilia dealers used to joke that the real challenge was finding a Bob Feller photo that hadn’t been signed.

At that 1984 show, Feller manned the booth right across from the one I was occupying for John’s House of Collectibles. The exact date was July 19. The reason I know that is Feller was kind enough to sign a copy of “Bob Feller’s Strikeout Story” for me and dated it. That book was published in 1947, and I came across it at one of those clearance sales at the Rowan Public Library.

As an avid baseball fan, working 20 feet from Bob Feller was like being a music major who’s been thrown into a studio with The Beatles.

Feller graciously answered all my questions when he didn’t have a line of customers. He said the best day of his life came when he was 10. His father, who grew corn and wheat on a farm in Van Meter, Iowa, surprised him with a pinstriped baseball uniform, his first real baseballs and two gloves.

He talked about being small for his age until he was 12. After that, he “grew like a stalk of corn.” By 1936, when he was 17, his overwhelming fastball — dubbed the “Van Meter heater” — had taken him to the majors with the Cleveland Indians.

His first official strikeout victim was Gastonia’s Buddy Lewis, who played for the Washington Senators.

When he was 19, Feller was named to the American League All-Star team.

When he was 22, the fireballer had a big-league record of 107-54 and was well on his way to being the best pitcher who ever lived. In 1941, Feller fanned 260, won 25 games and completed 40 of his 44 starts.

But two months after that 1941 season, Peal Harbor was bombed, and the country was thrust into World War II. Feller immediately enlisted in the armed forces, the first big-leaguer to do so. It was at that point he crossed the line from great athlete to genuine hero.

He entered an elite Naval training program at Norfolk, Va., that included local legend Joe Ferebee. He was Bob Feller, the famous All-Star, so there’s no doubt he could’ve spent the war putting on pitching exhibitions and making fundraising speeches, but he requested active duty.

He was placed in charge of a 24-man antiaircraft battery on board the battleship, USS Alabama, and was involved in many hot engagements in the Pacific, including the pivotal Battle of the Philippine Sea.

Feller, who earned eight battle stars, was discharged in time to finish the 1945 season with the Indians, but he essentially lost four prime years to the war. He won 266 times and made the Hall of Fame, but he may well have won 360 games.

His first full season following the war, he won 26 games while striking out an astonishing 348 batters, and he pitched a no-hitter against Joe DiMaggio and the New York Yankees.

Feller helped Cleveland win the World Series in 1948 — something the Indians haven’t done since. He won his final game in 1955, the year I was born. He threw his last pitch at age 37. The biggest salary he ever raked in was a modest $40,000.

I once asked the great man about those four seasons he lost and the 100 potential wins Pearl Harbor swept away, and his response is easy to remember.

“The only win that mattered was World War II,” he said, and he repeated that answer to every reporter who asked that same question over the years. Maybe he rehearsed it, but he believed it.

I’m not sure people now are as noble and worthy as they were in Feller’s time. He may have left behind 10 million autographs, but I’m thrilled to own one of them.