‘The Kid’ and the bond of brothers

JOSH KLEINBAUM

We made the promise in September 1992, sitting at a kitchen table

with a story from the local newspaper between us. Gary Carter stared

out of the newspaper’s pages. He was standing on second base, batting

helmet raised in salute, thanking the crowd that was thanking him.

I was 14 years old. My brother, Adam, was 16. We read about Gary’s

final major league at-bat, a double, and we talked about the memories

that “The Kid” had given us over the last eight years.

And we made the promise: When Gary got inducted into the Hall of

Fame, we’d be there together.

So on July 27, I sat in a lawn chair in upstate New York, baseball

heaven, on a cool summer day, watching my childhood hero take his

place among the sport’s immortals. Nearly 20,000 people were there

with me in Cooperstown. Something special drew each of us there, and

we each had a story to tell.

My story began nearly 18 years earlier, just before the 1985

season, when the New York Mets traded four players -- Hubie Brooks,

Mike Fitzgerald, Herm Winningham and Floyd Youmans -- to the Montreal

Expos for a young, effervescent catcher with a big afro and a

contagious grin.

Gary Carter, my brother told me, was the missing piece, the player

that would turn the Mets into champions.

For me, Gary came to the Mets at the perfect time. I was just

getting old enough to appreciate a great baseball player, and I was

getting to the age where I was looking for a role model.

No, “The Kid” wasn’t my role model. Honestly, I knew very little

about him. But he provided the window to my role model: My brother.

In his first game with the Mets, Gary hit a 10th-inning home run

to beat the Cardinals, 6-5, and Adam and I immediately latched onto

him.

In Little League, we were both catchers. We both wore No. 8. We

scooped up every Gary Carter baseball card we could find. We bought

his rookie card, an autographed baseball and an autographed picture.

We clipped stories from the local paper and taped them to a wall in

Adam’s bedroom.

There was something about Gary that you had to like. His nickname,

“The Kid,” was perfect, because that’s the way he played, with the

drive and enthusiasm and love of a child. To a little kid like me,

that was inspiring.

As a slow kid with hand-eye coordination that would make George

Wendt wince, I lived my athletic dreams vicariously through Gary.

When he singled with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning in

Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, beginning one of the most memorable

rallies in baseball history, I was there with him, rounding first

base. When Jesse Orosco leapt into Gary’s arms after the final out of

Game 7, I felt it, too.

I watched these games in a basement in New York suburbia, sitting

next to my brother.

So six years ago, Gary’s first year of Hall eligibility, we sat in

dorm rooms 760 miles apart, listening to a webcast announcing the

Hall of Fame inductees. And we called and commiserated after “The

Kid” was overlooked.

It happened again in 1999. And 2000. And 2001. And 2002. Each

year, we’d huddle up to a computer. Each year, we’d call each other

to share the disappointment.

When Gary finally made it this year, I grabbed my phone to call

Adam. I got his voice mail. He was trying to call me.

In his induction speech, Gary choked up when he began to talk

about his older brother. He thanked his brother for being his

inspiration. I could relate.

“I love you, big brother,” Gary said.

It wasn’t coincidence that by imitating Gary, I was also imitating

Adam. I had two heroes when I grew up. One was Gary Carter. The other

was Adam Kleinbaum.

So on that Sunday on July 27, when Gary Carter stood on that stage

and accepted that plaque and earned his spot as a baseball immortal,

Adam and I were there with him, feeling like we, too, had just been

inducted into the Hall of Fame.

To most people, Gary Carter is a Hall of Famer because he was the

best catcher of his time, with three gold gloves, a .262 career

average, 324 home runs, 1,225 runs batted in, 11 all-star game appearances and two all-star game MVPs. Hall of Fame statistics, for

sure.

But for me, he’s in the Hall for a much more important reason. He

brought me closer to my brother.

* JOSH KLEINBAUM is the La Canada Flintridge and La Crescenta

reporter for our sister paper, the News-Press. He can be reached at

637-3235 or by e-mail: josh.kleinbaum@latimes.com