A Puckettful of Memories Left to Enjoy

Five years after he was laying carpet inside 1979 model Ford Thunderbirds on an assembly line--”If you own one, I might have installed the rug!”--Kirby Puckett was called up to the major leagues by the Minnesota Twins.

He was told to hustle his way across the country and report to the Twins in time for their May 7, 1984 game at Anaheim Stadium. This meant Puckett had to pack his bags in Old Orchard Beach, Me., catch a ride to the airport in nearby Portland, take a flight to Atlanta and make a connection to Los Angeles, where a club official would be waiting at 4 o’clock to drive him to the ballpark.

Puckett had $10 in his pocket as he boarded the plane. What he did not have was a phone number for anyone from the Twins, which meant he was unsure how to let them know that his airplane had been grounded in Atlanta with a windshield problem, and would be two hours late arriving at LAX. Kirby was so green, it never occurred to him to call the club’s offices in Minnesota and leave a message. Hey, the Twins were in Anaheim that day, not in Minneapolis.

When he landed at 6 p.m., nobody from the team was there. California was a foreign country to Kirby. He knew where to go, but not where it was. And, all he had in his wallet was 10 bucks.

A Japanese taxi driver threw Puckett’s baggage in the trunk and heard him say: “Anaheim Stadium.” The cabbie lowered the flag, and Puckett watched the meter numbers turn in disbelief until they read “$60.00” as they turned into the stadium lot.

Back in his hometown of Chicago, a cab driver would have smelled a scam, Puckett thought, at what happened next. Kirby explained that he needed to run inside to the locker room to get money to pay the fare. He volunteered to leave a suitcase in the car, as collateral. Much to his astonishment, the California cabbie told him: “OK.”

Puckett ran inside, found a team official, asked for the cab fare and told him: “You can take it out of my meal money.”

The guy from the Twins said: “Kirby, this is the show. We pay for your transportation.”

A few minutes later, Puckett ran back outside with the taxi driver’s fare and a $25 tip.

That was the introduction to major league baseball for Kirby Puckett, one of the most guileless and appealing players to come along in a long time. He retired from baseball last week because of a vision disorder, proud as much as anything of the fact that the Twins jersey he modeled at his retirement announcement was the only big-league team’s he ever wore.

Built like a rubber ball, Puckett was everything you ever wanted in a baseball player. He could run, throw, field, hit and hit with power. He had personality galore. If a case could be made for a Sandy Koufax to qualify for the Hall of Fame from a prematurely shortened career, one could similarly be made for Puckett, with his two World Series rings and 2,300-plus hits.

What a ballplayer, and what a character. Talk to any Twin who played with him, and they will have a Puck story. Puck in his snowmobile, stranded with Tom Brunansky on a lake of ice, trying to find Kent Hrbek’s lodge. Puck in a seafood restaurant, making Shane Mack’s eyes water with a jalapeno pepper, then watching in amazement as Chili Davis swallowed peppers by the handful, without so much as a wince.

Stub, Fire Hydrant, Fire Plug, Buddha, Pit Bull, Cannonball, Cannonball Head, Hockey Puck, Bucket Head, Brunswick . . . these were among the many nicknames Kirby acquired around the clubhouse, and he relished them all. After he organized an eight-ball pool tournament because he has no use for golf, Puckett naturally found himself with a new handle from the guys: “Minnesota Squats.” Broke him up.

Oh, the stories they tell. Just ask Frank Viola about bringing his 2-year-old boy to spring camp, where a team with a serious shortage of African-American players suddenly found itself with four. To Frank’s amazement and Kirby’s amusement, the little Viola boy went up to each of the four players, extended a hand and said: “Hi, Kirby Puckett. Hi, Kirby Puckett. Hi, Kirby Puckett. Hi, Kirby Puckett.”

Acting not much older than 2 himself upon arrival, Puckett called everybody “Mister,” including teammates such as Randy Bush who had been in the majors for all of two seasons.

That very first day at Anaheim, he couldn’t believe it when “Mr. Jackson” came by to shake hands. Reggie said it looked in batting practice like Puckett was a slugger. Not really, Puck said. Jackson pulled his hand back and, feigning outrage in a way that made Kirby giggle with delight, shouted, “What am I doing, talking to a singles hitter?”

The kid from the 14th floor of 4444 South State Street in the Chicago projects was in the big leagues, at last. He wanted 14 to be his uniform number, because his idol was Ernie Banks. But it belonged to Hrbek. His second choice was 24, the one Willie Mays wore, but Brunansky had that. So he took 34, in progression.

Taking a night off after his coast-to-coast journey, Puckett made his debut the next day. First time up, he hit a shot in the hole that Dick Schofield gloved, retiring the rookie on a bang-bang play. But when the game ended, Puckett was four for five.

That was the beginning of a beautiful baseball friendship. Puck was the apple-cheeked imp with the grown-up’s game. He was the one who invited pro wrestlers into the clubhouse. He was the one who made Cal Ripken double over laughing, even during Baltimore’s memorable 21-game losing streak, by calling over from the second-base bag: “Hey, Cal! I saw your wife outside. She must be 6 feet tall! Is she getting taller or am I getting shorter?”

Puckett was also the guy who called the Twins together during the World Series and told them: “Just jump on my shoulders. I’ll carry us!” That he did, until eventually Chili Davis got shirts made up that read: PUCK. JUMP ON! I’M DRIVIN’ THIS BUS.

He could have driven it, built it or installed the carpet. There was little that Kirby Puckett couldn’t do, except perhaps see the future from Anaheim that day in 1984, the future of a nice guy who finished first.