Playboy Interview: Henry Aaron

Baseball is still mainly an American game, but the whole world knows about the flamboyant Babe Ruth and his supposedly unbreakable home-run record. It took the world long enough to notice him, but by now everybody also knows that Henry Louis "Hank" Aaron, longtime outfielder for the Atlanta Braves, is about to break that record. And everybody knows that Aaron has been functioning lately under incredible pressure. Everything he does, on or off the diamond, makes headlines; camera crews and reporters follow his every move, and when he hits the record-breaking shot--if he hasn't by now--they're going to interrupt whatever program you're watching in order to bring you the news.

During the 1973 season, there was also a lot of publicity given to the hate mail, and threats on his life, that Aaron was receiving from people who, for one reason or another, didn't want anyone--especially a black man--to break Ruth's record. What's been lost, amid all the excitement, is the fact that Aaron didn't just come from nowhere to threaten the Babe. Breaking that record is like carving a statue out of a mountain, and Aaron has been chipping away at it over a 20-year span in the big leagues, during most of which he was both under publicized and underpaid. Along the way, he has amassed some remarkable statistics--including several dozen records--none of which seemed to upset the known universe the way his assault on Ruth's home-run total has. He's gotten more hits than any right-handed batter in history. He's tops in total bases and runs batted in. He was the first man ever to get both 500 home runs and 3000 hits--and only the ninth player in baseball history to reach the latter figure. He's won three Golden Glove awards for his defense work. He's had more at bats than anyone but Ty Cobb. And, despite various injuries, he's had 14 seasons in which he played at least 150 games. Perhaps nothing attests to Aaron's consistency and staying power more than the fact that he's never hit 50 home runs in a season--and, early in his career, wasn't really considered a power hitter.

On the other hand, a 12-and-a-half-pound baby figures to become a power hitter; that's what Aaron weighed when he was born on February 5, 1934, in Mobile, Alabama. His father, Herbert, somehow managed to put three of his eight kids through college, despite his meager salary as a rivet-bucker in a shipyard. Henry, though, just wanted to play ball. They didn't have baseball teams at Central High, nor at Josephine Allen, a private school where he finished his secondary education--so he played football instead. But by the age of 15 he was the shortstop for the Mobile Black Bears, a semipro team. And after completing high school, he accepted a $200 monthly salary to play with the Indianapolis Clowns of the old Negro American League. During that season, he was signed by the then--Boston Braves for $350 a month, finished the season with the Braves' farm club in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and a year later, playing for Jacksonville, won the South Atlantic League's batting championship and Most Valuable Player award.

Then, in 1954, he went up to the Braves' training camp, and when Bobby Thomson broke an ankle, Aaron became a regular outfielder for the team, which had moved to Milwaukee after signing Aaron to a contract. From then on, things were just nightmarish for National League pitchers. One said that trying to get a fast ball by Aaron was like trying to get the sun past a rooster. Another said that trying to fool him was like slapping a rattlesnake. Yet another thought that Aaron deliberately missed pitches he knew he could hit, just so he could get the same pitch later with men on base. And collectively, they tagged him with the nickname Bad Henry (he's also known as Hammerin' Hank or simply The Hammer).

But Aaron's style has always been low-key, his manner calm; he's played in cities that aren't big media centers; he's been in only two world series, in 1957 and 1958; and he's black. So for a long time people didn't pay much attention to him. Though stories used to go around that Aaron fell asleep during pitches, in fact, of course, he's a thinking hitter who keeps a mental book on every pitcher in the league, and whenever he's at the plate, he's trying to psych the pitcher into serving up a particular pitch. His memory is also impressive; at the end of any given season, he can recall just about every pitch he hit for a home run that year--who threw it, the situation at the time, etc. But it wasn't until the mid-Sixties that sports magazines started running feature articles about Aaron's remarkable talents; and it wasn't until 1967 that his salary reached the $100,000 mark. After the 1971 season--he hit 44 home runs that year, at the age of 37--the Braves finally signed him to a reported three-year contract at $200,000 a year. And more recently, Aaron has augmented that income by signing several lucrative advertising contracts, one with Magnavox, which will "borrow" the bat and ball with which he breaks the home-run record and display them around the country.

Ironically, as Aaron has come within striking distance of Babe Ruth's lifetime home-run total, the credit--and attention--he had craved for 19 years has finally come his way, with a vengeance. And not all of it has been friendly. Yet, in 1973, while virtually under siege, Aaron had a truly fantastic season, batting over 300 despite a very slow start and hitting 40 home runs even though, as a 39-year-old with the normal aches and pains, he sat out more than a few ball games. By the end of the season, one home run short of Ruth's total of 714, he had become an authentic hero to the black community; last fall, when he got married for the second time--to Billye Williams, who hosts a TV talk show in Atlanta--Jet gave it the same kind of coverage that Life used to give to coronations.

Since the opening of the new--and record-breaking--season seemed a perfect time to publish an interview with the beleaguered Braves star, Playboy sent Associate Editor Carl Snyder (who interviewed former world heavyweight boxing champ Joe Frazier in our March 1973 issue) to Atlanta several weeks before Aaron was due to begin spring training. Here is Snyder's report:

"I arranged to meet Aaron at his office in Atlanta Stadium. Arriving first. I chatted with his secretary, Carla Koplin, and inspected the various awards, clippings and souvenirs in the office, until Aaron arrived--dressed in a leather coat and carrying a book called 'The Living Bible Paraphrased.' While signing baseballs and making some decisions about his schedule, he kidded the people around the office--'You should read something like this, it'd be good for you'--with a sense of humor that he's shy about revealing in public; later, he checked to make sure my tape recorder hadn't been running.

"Our sessions, which were spread over three days, took place entirely in his '74 Chevy. He asked out front if we could do the interview in the car, and I said yes. Aaron told me he had turned down a book offer because the writer wanted to 'lock' him in a room. The interview was done in bits and pieces between various stops, including: the Y.M.C.A. in downtown Atlanta, where he was working out daily; the academy where his sons go to school; the dentist's, where I watched as one of his upper front teeth was polished (he was also in the process of getting a root-canal job); his financial advisor's office; his house, where we made one brief stop (on the way there, he proudly pointed out the home of Atlanta's new black mayor, Maynard Jackson, who'd been sworn in at a public ceremony the night I arrived in town); various gas stations and dry-cleaning places, where he'd invariably use the telephone; and several restaurants, the most noteworthy being Sgt. Wyatt's Country Bar-B-Que, where I had some dynamite ribs while Aaron and Sgt. Wyatt traded stories of hunting expeditions (besides being an avid fisherman, as he says in the interview, Aaron also loves to track elk in British Columbia).

"While Aaron was in one dry-cleaning place--I waited in the car--a bunch of black kids came by and recognized him; but he just frowned at them and wanted to know why they weren't in school. He's very concerned about his own kids--Gaile, Henry, Jr., Lary and Dorinda--and mentions them frequently. At one point, he asked me a few questions about the magazine business; he turned out to be surprisingly up to date on it, perhaps because Gaile, a journalism major at Fisk University in Tennessee, has already done some newspaper work during her summer vacations.

"As far as the interview was concerned, Aaron would think about each question before answering; if he didn't understand a question, or didn't like it, he would say so. I felt as I imagine pitchers must feel when they have to decide what to throw him. He is truly a man of few words, but he became animated whenever the conversation dealt with bigotry or racial discrimination. He didn't respond too much, however, whenever I mentioned Babe Ruth--and he made it clear that he didn't want to talk about any of his outside business interests. He's very conscious of how he appears to people; once he started whistling as we were walking through a parking lot, but when I glanced at him, he stopped. Aaron holds the world pretty much at arm's length; he moves very deliberately, whether he's driving or on foot; and he dominated every situation in which I saw him, as much by his silence as by his words. The man projects incredible strength and determination, more so in person than through the media. But you don't stay in the, big leagues for 21 years, or hit over 700 homers, if you're any kind of softy.

"We've all read or heard that Aaron, unlike Ruth, isn't the stuff that folk heroes are made of; I think that's wrong. He may not come up with the grand gestures that Ruth specialized in, but his laconic style is well suited to this age of overamplifying. Despite the remarks of some Atlanta bartenders--who tried to tell me that they were 'letting' Hank break the record--I think that in a few years the name Henry Aaron will have the same kind of legendary aura as John Henry, Paul Bunyan--or Babe Ruth, for that matter."

[Q] Playboy: We understand that when the Braves teach hitting to their young players, they don't exactly use you as a model.

[A] Aaron: Right. Everything I do is unorthodox--the way you're not supposed to do it. I hit off my front foot, I have a wiggle in my bat and I run on my heels. You wouldn't teach a kid to do any of those things. But it's just like everything else, you know--you can't fight results. Like Stan Musial; they said he'd never hit, standin' way back in the batter's box and crouchin' like he did. So it just proves that you have to do things your natural way. If you can do it better by hittin' a certain way--well, go ahead and do it.

[Q] Playboy: What exactly do you do when you're batting in a game?

[A] Aaron: Well, to be successful at hittin', you have to be able to guess what pitch you're goin' to get. And when you guess right--when you get your pitch--you've got to be able to do somethin' with it. You don't have to hit a home run every time up, but you have to be able to hit the ball hard. That's what I've been able to do for 20 years--to look for a certain pitch in a certain situation and to hit it hard. I feel I can hit just about any pitch out of the ball park if I get the one I'm lookin' for.

[Q] Playboy: Do you actually see the bat and the ball make contact?

[A] Aaron: Yeah, I can see contact--especially if I'm swingin' the bat right and hittin' the way I'm supposed to, with the bat out in front of me.

[Q] Playboy: Do you ever worry about getting hit by a pitch?

[A] Aaron: I've never had any fear of bein' thrown at. I get hit sometimes, you know, but it only hurts for a little while, and it makes me more determined to get up and do somethin' the next time. If they frighten you, they can run you out of the league. Of course, I've been hit three or four times in the head. And sometimes they throw at you deliberately. I can remember once when Vernon Law, who didn't have a world of stuff but was noted for his control, hit me in the head with a pitch. Roy Face hit me in the head, too, and Drysdale threw close. But they've never been able to frighten me.

[Q] Playboy: Were you discouraged a year ago when you had such a tough time getting base hits?

[A] Aaron: No. I was confident, and I knew all along that I'd get things goin' again.

[Q] Playboy: What was the reason for your slow start?

[A] Aaron: Well, I went to spring trainin' knowin' that I had to work twice as hard as some of the younger players to get in shape. I've had one philosophy about playin' baseball, and that is to take spring trainin' very, very seriously. I know a lot of players go down there, finish their workouts or practice, and by one o'clock they're worried about gettin' to the golf course. But my main job is to do one thing, and that's to get the jump on everybody else, because the earlier I can get in shape, the sooner I can start doin' the things I want to do. If I get some momentum in trainin', it'll carry right on into the season. When we broke camp last year, I thought I was ready. But I wasn't, you know? It took me another three and a half weeks to really get myself in tiptop shape. And I felt awful; the ball club was goin' bad and people were puttin' everything on me. My legs felt weak, and my arm was no longer as strong as it used to be. That was why they moved me from right field to left field; they thought that if I didn't have to make that long throw, or cover all that space, it would benefit me and help the ball club, too--which it did.

But I felt ashamed about it. And people were sayin', "Well, the only thing he's concentratin' on is hittin' home runs." And it seemed that way. It looked that way. Because I had maybe 13 hits--and ten of 'em was home runs. It seemed at the time like I couldn't do anything else but hit home runs. And I didn't want to put Eddie Mathews, our manager, in the position of havin' to say, "Henry, we've gotta set you down; you're gettin' too old." I don't ever want anybody comin' up and tellin' me that, and I don't ever want anyone feelin' sorry for me. And at that point I thought maybe a lot of people were feelin' sorry for me, in a way--because while I was gettin' my share of home runs, they aren't all that counts. You've got to be able to get your share of base hits--and also to steal bases and things like that. This was also the time that the hate mail started pourin' in, because I was gettin' so close to Babe Ruth's record. It got so my life was bein' threatened just for doin' my job.

[Q] Playboy: What did you do about the threats?

[A] Aaron: All I could do was carry any threats on my life to the police department and to the commissioner's office. That was it. And the commissioner has assured me that anything their office can do, they'll do it.

[Q] Playboy: You have security?

[A] Aaron: Yeah, in certain areas--but they can't do but so much to help. I still get hate mail every day, but you get used to it after a while. Anyway, I don't really worry about hate too much since Jesse Jackson came to my rescue. And when I say "rescue," I mean that. Before then. I had heard of Jesse and I respected him. But after all of this stuff came out, Jesse met me at the airport one night in Chicago, and he had about 100, 200 kids to meet me. That's kind a late for kids to be out, but they sang songs and everything right there at the airport. After that. I got to know Jesse real well. I had dinner with him, and that whole weekend was dedicated to me. I got to know all his aides. And I came to believe in what he was doin'. I said that if there was anything I could do personally to help in any way, I would. I think we athletes sometimes sit back and as long as things are goin' good for us, we don't want to disturb the applecart. We forget where we came from. You know? If not for baseball, I'd just be an average black for white people to step on. We in sports get lost sometimes, wrapped up in our own little thing, and as long as we got a dollar. we forget about how there's 15,000,000 other blacks in America that's starvin' to death--not only blacks but whites and everybody else.

[Q] Playboy: With or without hate mail--to get back to that--you had your share of base hits by the end of the 1973 season.

[A] Aaron: Yeah--I hit .301, I think.

[Q] Playboy: You also ended the season with 713 homers, one short of the record. Were you disappointed to come to close and not make it?

[A] Aaron: No. It didn't bother me at all, to be frank with you. A lot of people said, "Well, what're you gonna do now? You gonna go in a gopher hole and lay there till next season?" Because, you know, I could have an automobile crash or get in an airplane and have it drop. I said, "Listen, whatever will be, will be--I can't change it. I've got to live my life the way I've been livin' for 40 years. I can't be any more careful than I've always been." Actually, if I'd taken full advantage of the situation--if I'd played some of the time in double-headers or if I'd played day games after night games--I probably could have hit that home run. But I wouldn't have been fair to my teammates, nor the manager, by doin' that. It's more important to get a winnin' attitude on the ball club. People said, "The ball club's gonna finish in fifth or sixth place anyhow; why not take advantage of it?" But that's kinda selfish--and I've never been a selfish--ball player. I'm a member of the Atlanta Braves, and whenever I leave here, I'd like for the young players to say, "Henry Aaron was a winnin'-type ballplayer; he wasn't just for himself. He didn't go out there just for the sake of hittin" a home run." Of course, it is a disappointment to close out my career with a losin' ball club, but I take into consideration that we're in a rebuildin' stage. We have some good ballplayers; it's just a matter of puttin' everything together. It'll probably be two, three years before we can develop the habits of a championship team.

[Q] Playboy: Do any of your teammates resent your success?

[A] Aaron: I'm sure that some have been jealous--but I wouldn't be in a position to name them.

[Q] Playboy: Was there ever any jealousy between you and Eddie Mathews?

[A] Aaron: If there ever was, it was friendly. It was never the kind of thing where he would come up in the ninth innin' and I wouldn't want him to hit the home run that would win the game. It was a friendly-type rivalry, and I think this is a healthy situation. Back in the days when Spahn and Burdette were pitchin' on our ball club, they would compete with each other in wins and losses, but after the ball game they would go and drink beer, maybe have dinner together. One record that's very dear to my heart is the record that Mathews and I hold as far as hittin' home runs as teammates. We happened to break the record of Ruth and Gehrig--and I think that the record we set will probably never be broken, because it's so hard to find two teammates who compare so equally in their work, in their skill at the job, and are gonna play together that long. Mays and McCovey might have done it if they had come up at the same time. But you never hear any talk about this record; it's never been played up at all. I don't know whether it's because Eddie and I played together all those years in smaller cities or whether it's because Mathews was basically the same-type player I was--not flashy, although he was probably a little bit flashier than I was--or if it's because this particular record happened to be broken by a black player and a white player.

[Q] Playboy: In those years, you didn't get much publicity. Wasn't that depressing?

[A] Aaron: Well, I've always been one to roll with the punches. I felt all along that one day, if I just stayed healthy, the attention some ballplayers were gettin' had to roll my way. Because I had the credentials. I wasn't an overnight success; I was able to perform over a period of years, you know, and to really get my thing down. When you're number two, you try harder. If I'd been playin' in New York City, I would have been nationally known maybe ten, 15 years ago. But I happened to play in two smaller cities. I've never criticized the newspapers; I felt all along that the media were just hoppin' on whatever they thought, at that time, was a hot item. And I just wasn't a flashy-type ballplayer. Maybe, somewhere down the line, this has hurt me. Years ago somebody said, "Why don't you be more flashy?" I don't know what they wanted--maybe for me to pretend I was hurt every time I slid into a base or to have my cap fly off every time I ran.

But I just did the things I knew I could do in the only way I knew I could do them. I'm a very low-key guy--this is just Henry Aaron's style--and I can't change. Today, Willie Stargell is in a situation just about like the one I was in a few years ago. He's had three of the greatest seasons, back to back, that any ballplayer has ever had, and yet he's been slighted as far as the M.V.P. award. If he'd been playin' in a city like New York, he probably would have been the Most Valuable Player. But the last three years, I've just tried to maintain the same kind of home-run pace as Willie--or McCovey or Johnny Bench.

[Q] Playboy: But your own home-run pace picked up considerably during that time. Are you a better hitter now than you used to be?

[A] Aaron: No, I don't think I'm nearly the hitter that I was ten years ago. I'd have to be kiddin' myself to think that, at age 40, I'm as quick with my bat as I was 15 years ago. There's no way I could be. On given days I am, but if I have to play ten days in a row or play a day game after a night game. I just can't generate the bat speed that I used to. This is a young man's game, and that's the way it'll always be. However, I think that's one reason why I hit more home runs now than, say, 15 years ago: The older you get, the carefuller you get. When you get to the plate, you don't want to swing at anything unless you know exactly what you're swingin' at. But I would say that ten years ago, there's no way they could have defensed me the way they have the last three years.

[Q] Playboy: You mean----

[A] Aaron: By puttin' on the shift. That's another think that's made me more of a home-run hitter: I have to hit with power to beat the shift. It's completely gotten me away from thinkin' about an average or of just hittin' the ball through the infield to the other side. I have to hit with power and I'm concentratin' so much that when I get my pitch and hit the ball--well, it might be my only hit of the game, but it's a home run.

[Q] Playboy: Have you done anything special to get in shape for this season?

[A] Aaron: Well, I haven't picked up any baseballs yet, but I've worked out at the Y every mornin' at nine o'clock, swimmin' and playin' a lot of handball. People probably thought I was busy as hell this winter, but I wasn't. I promised after the season was over that I would stay away from the banquet circuit--and I didn't put on but three pounds. I feel like I've been blessed in that respect; I've never had any problem with my weight. And I've been able to come back from my injuries, whether you want to call that fortunate or unfortunate. I had an operation for calcium in my leg, I'm not sure what year, and before that I had a hemorrhoid operation. And I broke my ankle in my first major-league season, but begin' so young. I was able to recuperate with no ill effect.

[Q] Playboy: No loss of speed?

[A] Aaron: Well, I never was a speed demon. I was always a pretty good base runner, but it was the element of surprise: Nobody ever thought I was gonna steal.

[Q] Playboy: What's the hardest part of the game to cope with as you get older?

[A] Aaron: That would have to be the travel, because you get so much of it. And the older you get, the more it tires you out--packin' and unpackin', movin' through airports and time zones, goin' in and out of hotels. It really takes a toll on you. And I just don't go out. You know? I stay in my room--in seclusion. Because if I'm recognized, I wind up signin' a bunch of autographs instead of seein' the things I want to see. But lately it's been gettin' so I can't even rest in the hotel, because once the kids find out where I am, they just come to my room and knock on the door, and all day long I have to sign autographs.

[Q] Playboy: You don't like that?

[A] Aaron: I just hate to get in a crowd where I'm gonna be subject to people stickin' pencils in my face. They might accidentally poke one of my eyes out. You know? So I don't get into that situation. I've always been a loner anyway, I don't know? why--and sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. Because lately I've had to be alone more than ever. I just couldn't go anyplace. I've had to be isolated, which I'm already accustomed to, but still, you like to have some kind of outlet--to talk to people, or go to the movies, or do something. But it just hasn't been possible, the last few months, and I don't think it's gonna get better.

[Q] Playboy: Rumor has it that your recreation usually involves going off by yourself anyway.

[A] Aaron: Well, I like to go fishin', you know. I go back to Mobile a lot, and I have my boat there--actually, two boats, a 27-foot cabin cruiser and a 13-footer, which I keep at my mother's house. I go fresh-water fishin', deep-sea fishin' out on the Gulf, and I've gone to Mexico to fish. I love fresh-water fishin' the best, but I'll go anyplace as long as there's fishin'.

[Q] Playboy: Is it the challenge of bringing in the catch or the chance to get away?

[A] Aaron: Both. But I suppose just gettin' away is the most important thing--not havin' to hear the telephone ring and not bein' able to look at a TV. That is just the greatest thing in the world.

[Q] Playboy: Being isolated in the wilderness, obviously, is very different from being isolated in a room where there's nothing but a TV and a telephone. During the season, isn't it hard to stay in your hotel so much?

[A] Aaron: Not the way baseball is played today. Practically all the games are night games. So if you're playin' on the West Coast, say, and the game is over at 11:30, it's 12 o'clock or 12:30 by the time you get back in the hotel. And then you sleep till the next day, about 11 or 12--so actually the day is shot again. It think baseball players spend half their lives either ridin' in a plane or in bed sleepin'.

[Q] Playboy: Have you read Ball Four?

[A] Aaron: Yes--part of it.

[Q] Playboy: According to Jim Bouton, ballplayers on the road don't always go to bed in order to sleep. The guys in the book seem interested more in boozing and woman chasing than in playing baseball, and they come off as pretty immature characters. Is that accurate?

[A] Aaron: I suppose it is. But I'm sure that a lot of doctors and other professional people are just as immature as baseball players. They get drunk, they chase women and everything else. There are also a lot of immature women. They chase ball players just like the guys chase them. It's not a one-sided story.

[Q] Playboy: According to Bouton, a lot of ballplayers also take pep pills in order to play better.

[A] Aaron: Well, to be honest with you, I've never seen a ball player take anything to stimulate him before a game. Maybe they do, and maybe Bouton has seen it--but I never have. I've taken a mild sedative in order to go to sleep, and I've seen other guys do the same--but I just don't believe you could function if you took somethin' to stimulate you.

[Q] Playboy: A lot of fans claim they need stimulants when they try to watch baseball. Is the game too slow, out of touch with the times?

[A] Aaron: I know a lot of people say baseball is dull, but it's survived wars and everything else that's come along. Football has gained in popularity, but I was glad to see that, because I've always been a great football fan. Back in the Green Bay days, when Vince Lombardi had the old team back there, I used to go out and watch football in Milwaukee--just sit on one seat and stretch my legs out over three other ones. But it hasn't taken anything away from baseball; you can't really compare baseball and football.

[Q] Playboy: What do you think of attempts to liven up the game, such as the American League's designated-hitter rule?

[A] Aaron: I think it's a fantastic rule. I think it's one of the greatest things that's ever happened to baseball. And talkin' to the American League players and fans, they love it, too--simply because it doesn't leave the game with a dull moment. If you've got a pitcher up there, you're either gonna bunt with him or he's gonna strike out. You do get pitchers that'll hit the ball consistently--your Tom Seavers, your Gibsons, maybe a Rick Wise. But for every one of those guys, they've got ten other guys that ain't gonna touch the ball. It's gonna be an automatic out. Well, maybe that's a good thing--the fans can go buy popcorn. Seriously, though, I think it's a great rule. And it's helped a lot of ballplayers who probably wouldn't be in the big leagues now. Like Orlando Cepeda, who had a lot of trouble with his knees; it's given him a new lease on life. Or Tony Oliva; he was one of the brightest young stars that ever came into the league, some years ago, and he had knee trouble, too. So that rule's gonna help him an awful lot.

[Q] Playboy: What about other changes people keep proposing, such as standardizing the ball parks?

[A] Aaron: I think every ball park should be built or fixed for that particular club. If you've got a good pitchin' staff, then make it a large ball park. For example, the Dodgers, ever since they've been in Los Angeles, have concentrated on speed and pitchin'. When they had Koufax and Drysdale, they felt they could beat anyone if you just gave them two runs. If you've got sluggers, make it a park where people can see home runs; they're not gonna come into the stadium just to see the team lose, lose, lose. But make it a fair park. If a pitcher makes a mistake and a guy hits the ball 340 feet, that's supposed to be a home run, regardless of what you think about it. Just like a hitter don't have any business swingin' at bad pitches, a pitcher don't have any business makin' a bad pitch. If he does, then he's supposed to be hurt by it.

[Q] Playboy: What about the orange baseball? Would that make it easier for hitters to see what they're swinging at?

[A] Aaron: Well, I can't argue with Charley Finley. Much as people might say that his ideas are no good, the fact is that he has brought a lot of good ideas into baseball. He brought in the colored uniforms, and before he did, they were just goin' with the same old dull ones. But really, I can't say whether I like this idea until I swing at an orange baseball.

[Q] Playboy: Do you agree with the people who claim that night baseball is responsible for the decline in .300 hitters?

[A]Aaron: No, I don't. In fact, when I was much younger. I would prefer playin' night games. It didn't bother me at all. Now that I'm older--and don't ask me the reason for this--I would much rather play day games. It just seems like every time I gotta play a night game, I'm tired--maybe from just lyin' around the hotel. But I've talked to most of the younger players on our club right now, and for some reason, they would much rather play night games.

[Q] Playboy: If night baseball isn't the problem, why are batting averages generally lower than they used to be?

[A] Aaron: Well, the owners and the management don't concentrate on battin' as much as they do on pitchin'. They're worried about gettin' five, six or seven innin's out of the pitcher, then bringin' in a fresh one. They're not as concerned with the hitter as they used to be.

[Q] Playboy: Is the disappearance of the minor leagues part of the difficulty in developing fresh baseball talent?

[A] Aaron: Well, it's true that a lot of minor-league cities have been stripped of their teams. Ball clubs used to carry as many as three or four triple-A farm clubs. Major-league players used to go play in the California league after they could no longer play in the big leagues--but now they have to go to Japan. The economic structure of baseball has changed in such a way that the owners can't afford to have triple-A teams. I think the kids comin' up today have had somethin' to do with it. They're smarter, they're better athletes and they demand more money. When I first came to the big leagues, the minimum was $5000--and I don't care if you're talkin' 'bout how a dollar is worth a dollar or 90 cents or ten cents; $5000 is still just $5000. So I think that in this way, the game has changed along with society and everything else--and it's changed for the good.

A few years ago, they were spreadin' a lot of big bonuses around, and we had four or five big-bonus players on our club. All these kids got about a hundred or so thousand dollars to sign a contract. It took me about 14 years to start makin' that kind of money. People said, "Don't you resent them?" No, they were just a lot smarter, and they had agents to negotiate their contracts for them. Which I didn't; the only somebody I had negotiatin' my contract was Syd Pollack, the owner of the old Indianapolis Clowns. When he sold one of his black players, he would just give you so much money and keep the rest. It was that simple. White ballplayers were coming' out of college, or the Babe Ruth League, and they were givin' 'em big bonuses--but they weren't givin' any to black players.

[Q] Playboy: When you went to the National League in 1954, did you get hassled for being black, as Jackie Robinson did?

[A] Aaron: I went through the thing of segregated housin' in spring trainin'. But when I got to cities like Philadelphia, Chicago and New York, they were integrated, and I never heard any name-call-in' there. Jackie went through things every place he went; North and South, he was reminded that they didn't want him to play major-league baseball. Only a handful of us could have taken even a little dab of what he took. But when I came up to the Braves, I was under pressure to excel; I knew I wasn't gonna keep a job just because I had a great year in the Sally League. I had to show the Man that I could play major-league ball. So I got off to a good start in spring trainin', and when Bobby Thomson broke his ankle, I was the best ballplayer they had down there to replace him. So I got my chance. And fortunately, I played under a manager--Charlie Grimm--who let me make mistakes and profit by 'em.

[Q] Playboy: Was he your best manager?

[A] Aaron: No. Ben Geraghty had to be the greatest manager I ever had. I played for Ben in the Sally League, and it was the first year they ever had blacks in the league. There were three of us on the team. I'm also sure it was the first time Ben Geraghty had ever managed blacks--and he was just super. Ben used to sit down and talk and have a bottle of beer with us. And he knew an awful lot about baseball, more than just hittin' the ball--how to play the game itself, how to approach it. But the league was highly segregated, and Jacksonville wasn't one of your liberal cities; the fans didn't want us playing there.

[Q] Playboy: How do you account for your ability to perform under the kind of pressure you faced in Jacksonville--or that you faced last season?

[A] Aaron: Just by bein' black. I think every black person is prepared to deal with pressure because they're born under adversity, and they live under pressure every day of their lives. They know damn well that they've gotta go out there and do better than the average person in order to keep their job.

[Q] Playboy: 'When did you first become aware that to be black meant getting second-class treatment?

[A] Aaron: I suppose when I was about ten, not because of anything that happened to me, but just realizin' that we were livin' on the wrong side of the tracks and that my father was barely makin' ends meet. But Mobile has always been a little bit more open than the average Southern city. Spring Hill College, for example, has been integrated for as long as I can remember; there's always been blacks and whites goin' to school there.

[Q] Playboy: What kind of future did you look forward to as a kid in Mobile?

[A] Aaron: I never thought about anything but playin' baseball. My mother and father wanted me to go on to college after I got out of high school, but I wanted to play major-league ball--and after Jackie broke in, I thought blacks had as good a chance as anybody if they could show they had major-league skills. My mother was a little disappointed that I didn't go on to school, and I would be very disappointed if one of my kids didn't go on to college, regardless of what kind of ability they might have in sports.

[Q] Playboy: After you'd played with the Braves in Milwaukee for 11 years, the franchise moved to Atlanta. Were you uptight about returning to the South at that point in your career?

[A] Aaron: Well, I didn't want to be labeled a wooden god when I got here in Atlanta--and then have them discover that I can strike out with the bases loaded, too. I just wanted to be a baseball player. As it turned out, movin' here was one of the most fortunate things that ever happened to me in an economic sense, because it's a growin' city, and I got here just in time to be in on that. On the other hand, Milwaqukee was a great city to me, to my family. I was born in the South, my ex-wife was born in the South, and we were accustomed to the habits and the happenin's of the South. But the kids were content in Milwaukee, they were happy with their friends, and they had no real contact with segregation.

[Q] Playboy: Isn't there segregation in Milwaukee?

[A] Aaron: Of course, segregation is everywhere--but they didn't come in contact with it up there, because they were so small. Anyway, I had no animosity about movin' here, but some little things I said were blown out of proportion. People said, "Well, he said he didn't want to move here because lie didn't want the Ku Klux Klan knockin' on his door." But I never made those statements. I feel quite comfortable stayin' here.

[Q] Playboy: The city looks fairly well integrated. Is that an illustion?

[A] Aaron: Well. Atlanta is a metropolitan city and it has its problems, but they're no bigger or more outstandin' than other cities' problems. You're gonna run into people anywhere that don't want their kids to go to school with black kids, don't want to sit next to you at the lunch counter or--out of meanness--just don't want to give you respect as a human bein'. You know? And rather than bein' judged by your character, you're judged by your color. You're gonna find this everyplace. In fact, I have never lived a day in my life that in some way--some small way, somewhere--someone didn't remind me that I'm black.

[Q] Playboy: For example?

[A] Aaron: For an example, last night. I go to a basketball game where my kid is playin'. And I'm lookin' at the referee deliberately callin' fouls on him just because he's the only black kid out there. I'm not askin' 'em to give him anything, but it just tears me apart inside. I can take it, you know, but I say: How in the hell can a man stand out there, a grown man, and be so hateful and resentful toward a kid? But they are; they stand out there callin' these fouls, and the kid can't do nothin'. I had to go out and talk to him. But what can you do? What the hell can you do? I get angry; I get so angry I feel like goin' out there and punchin' somebody in the mouth. If it was myself, it would never bother me, because, as a grown person, I would know how to get back at 'em. But he's a kid, and all he's doin' out there is playin' the same type of game that the other nine white boys are playin'. But if he gets any kind of aggressive out there--like they are--they're gonna call fouls on him. It's a shame, but that's just the way it is.

[Q] Playboy: Do black and white ballplayers socialize together?

[A] Aaron: They socialize more now than they used to. Some of the young players, the younger kids that aren't married, they--what you call it?--they date. I've seen white players with black girls and black players with white girls. But when I first came up, you never saw that.

[Q] Playboy: In recent years, you've been very outspoken about racial inequities in baseball, but at one time you had a reputation for being quiet. What happened to turn you around?

[A] Aaron: I've always spoken out. But before, when I said somethin', nobody listened. It's just like a high school student versus a guy with a master's degree. I've got my master's degree now, in baseball, and I paid my dues--and now that I'm closin' in on one of the most prodigious records in the world, every time I say somethin', it's in print. And that's the difference. I've said the same thing over and over again--that I think there's injustice in baseball. As far as my personal wealth is concerned, I owe everything to baseball. But I still say that I've given baseball more than it's given me. And I think the average black player can say the same thing.

[Q] Playboy: Why haven't the major leagues ever had a black manager?

[A] Aaron: I don't know what the answer is. I don't know what they could be afraid of. My brother Tommie's managin' in Savannah; he took over for Clint Courtney last year and did a good job. But as for a black gettin' a chance to manage a major-league club, I don't know. It's been decades since Jackie Robinson broke into baseball, since the black player proved he's super on the field. Now it's time for the owners to give him a job that's equal to his character. And baseball, as much good as it's done for a lot of people, has dragged its foot on this situation much too long, much longer than any other sport.

I've heard some talk that if baseball ever fires a black manager, then how's the black community gonna feel? Hell, black players are fired every day from jobs; how do they feel about them losin' those jobs? I realize that if I was the manager of a ball club, that if I wasn't doin' the job, pretty soon somebody would come along and take my job away from me; and they should. It's the easiest thing in the world to replace a manager, but it's harder'n hell for you to replace 40 ballplayers. I realize this, you know--I'm not that dumb. So I think that's a stupid thing for them to say.

[Q] Playboy: Will this be your last season?

[A] Aaron: I hope so. I'm lookin' forward to it bein' my last season.

[Q] Playboy: If the National League should go for the designated-hitter rule, would you consider prolonging your career in that capacity?

[A] Aaron: Well, they don't have it now, and if they don't have it by the time I retire, I'm not gonna worry about it. I don't think, in any case, that I would consider it until after I break the record, because there's been enough asterisks behind that thing already--you know, people talkin' about how I been to but so many times more than Babe Ruth. etc.

[Q] Playboy: What do you say to people when they bring that up?

[A] Aaron: I don't say anything to them, because you can argue with a person the rest of your life about baseball, about what Ruth would have done today compared with what he did 40 years ago. I just walk away, so as not to give 'em the satisfaction of me holdin' a conversation. You know? But I'll give you my thinkin' on that: I'm not out tryin' to destroy Babe Ruth's record. Personally, I don't think any black man can destroy a white man's record, because it just ain't gonna happen in this time. The press ain't gonna let it happen: white people in general ain't gonna let it happen, and it just ain't gonna happen.

But I still say that regardless of how you look at it, whether you say Ruth would have hit so many more home runs if he hadn't been a pitcher, I wasn't responsible for him bein' a pitcher. You know? If he felt like he wanted to be a pitcher for five years, that was his business. They say, "Well, he didn't go to bat but so many times, so you can't legally say you hit more home runs." Well, you know, I got 3500 or 3600 hits, too, and I can argue the point that maybe Ruth hit all these home runs and had this fantastic battin' average--but he never did get 3000 base hits. You can argue till you're blue in the face about records and how a person would do, so I just don't say anything. I just.keep doin' the best I can.

[Q] Playboy: Looking back over your 700-plus homers, are there any that you feel were especially important?

[A] Aaron: Several. One is the home run I hit off Billy Muffett in '57 that clinched the pennant for the Milwaukee Braves. That's probably the most outstandin' one, simply because it put us in the world series against the Yankees. My 700th home run was also one of the most excitin'--and historical--moments of my career. And then there's the first home run I hit in an All-Star game, which came rather late--in '71. I thought I was never gonna do it.

[Q] Playboy: Since you've been within striking distance of the home-run record, have you ever doubted that you were going to make it?

[A] Aaron: Yes. Two years ago, during the baseball strike. I felt I had to take advantage of every opportunity, every chance--and I knew I wasn't the youngest player in the league. So if I took off for 11 days like that, I was gonna have to work that much harder to get myself in shape. I thought, that year, if I could have ended up hittin' 40 home runs, then it probably would have been a waltz for me last year. But I didn't hit that many home runs, and that put a lot of pressure on me for the '73 season. I knew that if I had any chance of doin' it, I had to have a great season last year--I mean, a great season, I'm not talkin' about one where I hit 25 or 30 home runs, you know. I wanted to go into this season with less than five home runs to go, because it's gonna be awful tough for me to get 20 or 25 more. And I still feel that way. A ballplayer's likely to have a bad season any year, and at my age I have to take that into consideration.

[Q] Playboy: After 20 years in the big leagues, do you feel as though you've outlived your time?

[A] Aaron: Not really. Stan Musial played till he was about 43 or 44, I guess. Ted Williams played until he was 41 or 42. Willie Mays just retired: and Eddie just retired about five years ago. So if I can finish another year, I feel like I'm still ahead of the game.

[Q] Playboy: Do you want to manage after you hang up your spikes?

[A] Aaron: No. I wouldn't want to manage--I'm sure of that.

[Q] Playboy: What do you want to do?

[A] Aaron: Well, I'd like to remain in baseball in some capacity. There haven't been too many real opportunities for blacks after they stop playin', other than coachin' first base. I don't want to be a first-base coach; I think that would be somewhat of a demotion rather than a promotion. I wouldn't like to be a "superscout," either. I would like to work in the front office in some way. Like I say, black players haven't put a dent in the front office yet, so it's time to look in that direction--and I think that with the knowledge I've picked up over the years, I would certainly be an asset to some organization. If not--well, I've been fortunate enough to invest in a few deals that have paid off, and if I had to quit the game today or tomorrow, I could go on livin'. I don't think I'd have to go out and beg pennies.

[Q] Playboy: Are you sorry that your playing career is nearing the end?

[A] Aaron: Well, I always knew the day was gonna come; nobody goes on forever. And I've had a great career. I don't have anything to be ashamed of. I worked hard for what I've achieved, and I appreciate everything anybody has ever done for me. But it's not like a doctor's career nor a lawyer's career. They can go on practicin' forever. In sports, there just comes a day when you have to quit; it was a blessin' of the Lord that I was able to play so long.