One night earlier, Michael Mays — Willie’s son — was at the Carver Theatre in downtown Birmingham for the showing of a HBO documentary. His father couldn’t attend, but Michael called it a “full-circle moment for his family.”
On Tuesday at Rickwood Field, Mays’s impact on the Birmingham community was obvious. Fans submitted a standing ovation as his highlights played on the video board. “Say Hey,” a 1950s R&B song by the Treniers, blasted over the speakers as fans broke out in chants of “Willie!”
Outside of the stadium, which recently was renovated ahead of a major league matchup between the Giants and St. Louis Cardinals set for Thursday, the mood was somber. Fans gradually gathered around a display honoring Mays. Some wiped away tears. Family members traded phones to take photos.
Ashley McCray, husband Joel and son Colin were among those who gravitated to the display. They were sitting in the stands when they heard the news. Ashley, 46, said she started to cry. As she recalled the moment, her husband tried to hold back tears of his own. They felt it was important to commemorate where they were.
“It’s a moment in history,” Ashley said. “I just looked at [Colin] and I said, ‘How many people can say they were at the Rickwood Classic the day Willie Mays died, right?’ I said, ‘That’s the story I’m going to be telling your kids one day.’ ”
“He was one of the best in Alabama,” said Joel, 46. “You had him, Hank Aaron and a few others, but he stood out leaps and bounds above others. … A great loss.”
Later, John Chaney, 67, stopped by with his grandson Christian Johnson, 22. Chaney was in the stands when a fan sitting close by informed him of the news. It gave him a chance to reflect: Chaney has been coming to Rickwood since he was a child. His grandfather grew up three blocks from the stadium, so as a kid he would walk there and head for the section of the park where Black patrons were allowed to sit. His uncle played for the Black Barons, he said.
As a kid, Chaney would imitate Mays’s playing style, trying to re-create his iconic basket catch. And there he was Tuesday night with his grandson, passing on his love of the game and his love of Mays.
“Everything,” Johnson said when asked what Mays meant to him. “It doesn’t take much to do research. Especially with me loving the game of baseball, watching movies, it was nothing to do that research and fall in love with the type of man that he was.”
Before Chaney and Johnson left, they picked up a Mays jersey with No. 24 on the back.
Mays’s impact was not lost on the younger fans at Tuesday’s game. Joshua Porterfield, 28, said he learned about Mays in school, about his efforts in the community and about his commitment to helping Black athletes.
Porterfield — and many others who gathered at the display — felt his death was symbolic to an extent. This week at Rickwood Field is a celebration of the Negro Leagues’ players — including Mays — who brought peerless talent to the game.
“I think it was a blessing for him to pass on the day that Rickwood Stadium was resurrected,” Porterfield said. “It was a beautiful death. And I’m not going to say death — I’m going to say a beautiful transition into the next life, man. If I could go out that way in my 90s and made a monumental stride for human rights, that’s how I’d like to go.”
That sentiment was echoed by Al Elliot, a 51-year-old Birmingham native. He was one of the first to head to the display honoring Mays.
“There’s no such thing as a perfect time to pass away, but for it to be in the middle of a celebration of your accomplishment, I can’t think of a better way,” he said. “It’s not perfect, but I think that’s pretty good.”
