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by Tim Vandehey A few years back, while visiting my wife's family during the holidays in Kansas City, MO, I made a pilgrimage to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, situated in an older part of the city, down the street from Ruby's Soul Food restaurant. It's a wonderful place, connected to an equally splendid jazz museum. I'm a huge baseball fan and had been looking forward to the visit, but I got an unexpected treat: as I was walking across the central foyer to the museum entrance, I saw an impeccably dressed, dignified elderly man walking gingerly in the other direction, stopping every few feet to greet well-wishers with a smile that lit up the room like a beacon. I recognized him immediately. I turned to my father and whispered, "That's Buck O'Neil."
I had never met the man, but I knew who Buck was long before he passed away a few days ago at the age of 94. Like many Americans who had not followed the history of the Negro Leagues, I came to know Mr. O'Neil through Ken Burns' elegaic 1993 documentary, Baseball. I was struck by the vivacity and charm and positive energy of this man who, 81 at the time of the film, was such a force for forward motion in the black baseball community. Look at all the positive change that's happened, he seemed to be saying. Don't worry about me or feel sad for me, he did say many times, I had my career and it was glorious. Look at how far we've come and the things that lie ahead.O'Neil was chairman of the Negro Leagues museum and the major driving force in getting it built and stocked with a marvelous cross section of memorabilia, including a wonderful diamond in the center of the space that features life-size bronze statues of the greatest Negro Leagues players, players like Cool Papa Bell and Buck's good friend, pitcher Satchel Paige. It was Buck's drive and passion for creating a place where the sports and cultural contributions of black ballplayers, owners and managers could be promoted and remembered that brought the museum to life, and his continuing passion for the game made him one of the most beloved ambassadors the game has ever known, in spite of his advancing years. No, he never made it to the major leagues, reaching his peak as a player for the Kansas City Monarchs years before Jackie Robinson broke baseball's color barrier in 1947. And although he was an exceptional manager, he never had the chance to manage in the majors, either. And of course, he missed by a single vote induction into baseball's Hall of Fame in 2006, a terrible injustice which, sadly, must be corrected posthumously. But Buck O'Neil did so much in his life that the regrets quickly fade into shadows. He became a successful major league coach and scout. He became a legendary figure and role model for the African-American community. And he spent the last decades of his long life ensuring that the greatness of the black ballplayers of the early 20th century, who laid the groundwork for the Barry Bondses of today, would never be forgotten. I'm only 41, and I hope to walk this earth for many decades to come. But when I look at a model for how I would like to live my life, I want to live like John Jordan "Buck" O'Neil. As I was working with Mark Victor Hansen and Art Linkletter to help them write the recent book How to Make the Rest of Your Life the Best of Your Life , I was hoping to interview Buck, but I was not able to schedule an interview in time to meet my deadline and had to leave him out of the book. I regret I will never do that interview. But I look with far more pride than regret on this warm, wonderful man who lived with such purpose and passion and love and charm--pride that he was a part of the human race and that his legacy will live on. Buck O'Neil lived a long time and spent those long years doing and sharing what he loved the most, and didn't stop until the day he left us. I hope we are all so fortunate. Tim Vandehey is a freelance writer. He can be reached at
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