Mr. Tiger

Before the final game in the 88-year history of Tiger Stadium, one player spoke on behalf of more than 1,300 Tigers who had stood on the field and worn the Olde English D. In the afternoon sun, Al Kaline grabbed the microphone, stood near home plate and began speaking to the crowd: mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, all those who loved baseball and loved Detroit and suddenly felt gripped by the words of a Tigers hero.

Kaline — the man they called Mr. Tiger, the one who hit 399 career home runs and dazzled in the outfield with a certain elegance no other Motor City baseball player could quite match — talked about the old ballpark in its final days. He remarked on how its beauty was not found in dazzling architecture or creature comforts. He mentioned how it was built with concrete, steel and bricks, but held together with the powerful glue of memories. The true strength of Tiger Stadium, Kaline said, was derived from its “character, charm and history.”
Kaline was dazzling, graceful, wonderful as a player. But perhaps you could say the same about him. Character, charm and history. Kaline died Monday at age 85 at his home in Bloomfield Hills, Mich. His departure was felt in Detroit, in Michigan, across all of baseball.
“We lost an icon,” said Alan Trammell, the Tigers Hall of Fame shortstop. “He will never be forgotten, but he can’t be replaced.”

Kaline was born on Dec. 19, 1934, the son of a Baltimore broom maker. He made his major-league debut at age 18, a week after graduating high school, a face so young security workers at first refused to let him into the stadium. His presence never really left Detroit for the next 66 years. His spirit will be felt even longer.
Kaline played 22 seasons for the Tigers. He had a lifetime batting average of .297, amassed 3,007 career hits and won 10 Gold Gloves. He was a first-ballot Hall of Famer. He called games as a color analyst from 1975-2002. He spent his later years as a special assistant in the Tigers’ front office.
And even up until his final days, Kaline was a common sight in spring training, wearing a blue jersey and baseball pants, working with outfielders. He would still stop by Comerica Park during the season, and sometimes you could find Kaline alone before a game, perched over the dugout railing, gazing out onto the field.

Tigers fans of a certain era grew up wanting to be Al Kaline. They tossed baseballs up in their backyards, envisioned they wore No. 6 and tracked down balls in the right-field corner. They emulated his batting stance, tacked his poster to bedroom walls. He resonated with common fans and modern stars alike.
“Such a kind and generous man who meant so much to so many,” Justin Verlander posted on Twitter. “I hope you knew how much I enjoyed our conversations about baseball, life, or just giving each other a hard time. I am honored to have been able to call you my friend for all these years.”
Kaline, too, was available to all in his orbit. John Hicks, a former Tigers catcher, posted about Kaline grabbing him and putting him in headlocks by his locker. Late last September, Kaline huddled close with rookie catcher Jake Rogers in the back of the clubhouse, talking about hitting.
“Al Kaline was one of the best people and players of all-time,” Rogers posted on Twitter. “I always enjoyed our conversations and will forever cherish those.”
Tigers pitcher Matthew Boyd wrote of Kaline’s welcoming ways and his listening ear. Fellow pitcher Daniel Norris wrote of Kaline’s love and compassion. “He taught us about baseball,” Norris wrote, “but more importantly he taught us how to be better men.”

On that final night at Tiger Stadium, Kaline approached a young hitter named Robert Fick in the clubhouse before the game. Kaline told Fick he would hit a home run that day. Fick was a rookie, and simply being in Kaline’s presence was an honor. In the eighth inning of that game, Fick hit a grand slam off the famed right-field roof, the go-ahead hit and a searing moment in Tigers lore. In an interview last summer, Fick told The Athletic he once wanted to name his son Kaline.
“Al was … talk about a God,” Fick said. “Just a classy man. Once you meet him, you know why he only has 399 career home runs. Because no human being on the earth would walk away from the game with 399 home runs. But that didn’t mean anything to him. The stats don’t mean anything to him. He was just great.”
After that game, legends from Tigers history gathered behind the center field fence. They all came out one by one, taking the field at Tiger Stadium one final time. Kaline received the loudest ovation. He called it one of the best nights of his life.
The Tigers introduced double-play duo Alan Trammell and Lou Whitaker together, the final players to take the field. Trammell was not quite comfortable with the honor, because he believed it should have belonged to Kaline.
 

Mr. Tiger

“I felt very strongly that Mr. Tiger should have been the last guy,” Trammell said. “I told him, and Al, as gracious as he always is, said, ‘Don’t worry about it, it isn’t a big deal to me.’”
Strange as it seems, there was a time in Kaline’s career when he grew on edge. A salary dispute in 1956 led to him getting booed. He played through injuries and broke bats. He became a little more guarded, a little more surly with reporters. Eventually the hard feelings passed and Kaline’s kindness shone through. He retired as a legend. And his defining trait — more than the 1968 World Series, more than the statue in the Comerica Park outfield, more than the No. 6 adorned to the stadium’s walls — is the way he was always there.
“It was consistency,” said Jim Leyland, the former Tigers manager.
Kaline touched lives from Leyland to Kirk Gibson to newly drafted kids. Last summer, Tigers first-round pick Riley Greene took batting practice in Comerica Park, blasting balls over the right-field fence like a young Kaline. Kaline stood behind the batting cage with a watchful eye, later complimenting Greene’s power, passing the torch on down a little further.
“Someone that was always willing to give back,” Tigers shortstop Niko Goodrum wrote. “A man that always made you feel good about yourself and gave you hope when you were in his presence.”

Kaline’s impact was felt on the field, in the booth, in the stands. And now, it will always be felt in our memories.
This spring, everyone knew Kaline’s health was declining. He still made the trip to Lakeland, what became his final spring training. One night, he and his wife, Madge Louise, shared dinner with Leyland. “It was kind of eerie, almost,” Leyland said over the phone Monday.
They laughed and told old stories, men who have known each other since Leyland was a minor-league catcher in the 1960s.

They went back to the hotel that evening, and before parting ways, Kaline stopped Leyland, and he pulled him in for a hug. A Kaline gesture if there ever were one.

“Thank you,” Kaline said, “for being my friend all these years.”