My Pete Rose story

[Forever Spinning Vinyl]

I was an eight year old Reds fanatic living across the street from what used to be my future Step-Dad's bar on Pike Street in Covington in 1976, which was to be my final Summer living in the lower 48 states. My future Step-Dad and my Mom had split, he sold his bar and moved with his best friend to Alaska. We were going to fly back to her hometown in Germany before the next School year started in the Fall. Later, he would call her up and say "The things that made us argue in Kentucky don't exist up here, change your plane tickets to Anchorage and if things don't work out, I'll buy you two a one-way plane ride to Germany." She took on the challenge and it worked out. But, we didn't know any of this at that time so my Mom and I walked down Pike street to a shoe store on Madison Avenue to buy new shoes to look sharp for my Grandparents on our trip back to Germany.

While we were looking at kids shoes, my Mom taps me on the shoulder and points towards the cash register and there stood Pete Rose with a friend/assistant/bookey? Knowing that I may never see one of my idols ever again, she nudged me towards the register and said "Go ask him for an autograph". Later, when telling this story to my baseball teammates in Alaska, she filled in that she had overheard him telling the clerk when he came in that he had just gotten back from a road trip ahead of a seven day home stand. He had just finished a signing session at one of his friend's new business' "Grand Opening" around the corner and he needed new "stepping out" shoes because his old pair got damaged during the flight home from the road trip.

So here I was, a shy eight year old with little to no confidence and a youthful stutter/stammering problem walking up to interrupt my biggest hero in the world. I tugged on his pant leg and he looked down at me "Uh . . . Mr. . . . um . . . uh . . . Mr. Rose, sir? . . . um . . . Can I . . . um . . . Can I have your . . . um . . . Can I have your autograph, sir?" He got down on one knee, threw his left arm over my shoulders and as his friend handed him a leftover picture from the signing and a pen from the register, he said "Sure, son. Do you play baseball?".

Outside of laughter, he never got in another word. Being shy with almost no confidence and breaking the ice with a legend? Absolutely terrifying . . . but I can answer some f***ing questions! What follows actually happened, everything that I said was 100% true and my stutter/stammer was gone for now.

"Yes, sir Mr. Rose, sir. I love baseball. It's my favorite sport. I'm only an outfielder right now and since it's my first year, I'm not good enough to play 3rd base yet(I was too young to know that he was an All-Star RF and LF before the move to 3rd), but I'm gonna be good enough next year, I promise. The Reds are my favorite team and you're my favorite player. I'm #14 on my team. We went early to the coaches house to get the uniforms. I was the first one there and went down the line of uniforms but #14 was gone. The coaches son took #14 before I got there so I threatened him in his house, in front of his Dad. 'You're not #14, you're not even good enough to start. I'm #14 and Coach said 'uniforms will be given out at 6 pm' and it wasn't even 6 yet when we got here. I was here first. That's not fair! I'M PETE ROSE!!' His Dad made him go into his room and bring me the #14 jersey. We've won every game so far and I've gotten at least one hit in every game." - (My Mom grabs my arm, puts the autographed photo in her purse, thanks him and starts dragging me away while I'm still talking) - "Thanks, Mr. Rose, sir. Good luck with the game tonight. We'll be listening on the radio. We watch every game that's on TV and listen to the radio of every game not on TV. You're the best player in the whole world!"

These pictures are the closest to what I remember about his face while being pulled away except his smile was bigger from laughing so hard and his eyes were squinting from his cheeks being pushed up by his huge smile.


This is close to the outfit he was wearing


Later, as we made our way to the register, Pete was gone and I was bummed that my new best friend was no longer there. Mom paid for my shoes and we walked home. When my Mom took the shoe box out of the bag, there were 14 tickets, two for each game of the home stand in the bag. Pete instructed the clerk to sneak them into the bag when he checked us out. 10 of the tickets, the days she had to work, Mom had sold or traded for food, and we went to two of the games. I know it's stupid now, but I felt at that when we were at those two games, that he, my new best friend, was playing those games for me.