I can’t claim to have known Stan Musial, who died this evening at the age of 92, and you’re sure to find far more thorough tributes to “The Man” in various other corners of the baseball media landscape.
But I figured I’d share some memories from the couple of times I was lucky enough to meet him.
I was a sophomore third-string catcher on the JV baseball team at St. Louis’ Chaminade College Prep in 2003 and our starting third baseman — a talented freshman with a very familiar batting stance named Andrew Edmonds — was one of Stan’s grandsons. Andrew of course wore No. 6, even when he eventually shifted his focus to ice hockey.
Stan would show up at Chaminade’s baseball field every few weeks, sit with his wife in matching lawn chairs just behind the backstop, and sign autographs for the duration of sloppy seven-inning high school games. I always felt bad that people were hounding him, but he never stopped shaking hands or scribbling away on different items except during his grandson’s plate appearances. St. Louis loved Stan and Stan loved St. Louis right back. It was an active mutual affection that seems likely to somehow remain.
I feel like everyone I know in St. Louis has a ball signed by Stan Musial. They spill loosely out of cabinets at my parents’ house and I keep one at my apartment that he signed for me personally. He told me not to put it in a case — “get it dirty” — so I usually keep it in my softball glove. It has a significantly different feel tonight.
Stan knew his signature gave people joy so he signed everything. He was simple like that. Pure class.