This is from Jerry Reuss on Facebook
In the spring of 1969, I was nineteen years old when I attended my first Major League Spring Training with the hometown Cardinals —less than two years after graduation from Ritenour High School, located in the St. Louis suburbs.
The landscape of baseball was changing with expansion, San Diego and Montreal in the National League and Kansas City and Seattle in the American League. Baseball created a playoff system to qualify a team for the World Series, watched the minimum salary rise from $7000 to $10,000 and instituted rule changes made to benefit hitters as two pitchers dominated baseball in 1968 — Denny McClain won 31 games for Detroit while the Cardinals' Bob Gibson was 22-9 with 28 complete games, 13 shutouts and an ERA of just 1.12 — arguably, the greatest performance ever by a pitcher for an entire season.
There I was in the locker room of Al Lang Field with the core of a Cardinals team that was World Champions in 1967 and National League Champs in 1968. I still had my baseball cards from a few years earlier sitting at home while I watched that collection come alive in the cramped spring training headquarters. The Cardinals arranged the lockers numerically which put me, wearing 49, just a few feet away from the man who wore 45 — Bob Gibson.
Gibson had a persona larger than life. Based on three World Series appearances in 5 years (7-2, with eight complete games and two World Championships) coupled with his 1968 season, his every move was observed. He walked in a spotlight he neither embraced or denied; for him, it was business as usual. He had a voice that boomed through walls, even some doors as he needled teammates, Lou Brock, Tim McCarver and others who gave it back to him as good as they received.
But it was his intensity I remember most. He watched, observed and drew accurate conclusions of the people around him...especially media. He could pick out the grandstanders who wanted to use him and had very little patience with those who approached him and weren't prepared. He respected those who did their homework and was more than generous with his time.
When I first met him, I asked if I could call him "Bob." He paused, squinted and immediately understood I was asking out of respect. With the intensity softening in his eyes, he smiled and asked if he could call me "Jerry" even though he most often referred to me as "Lefty." That was the beginning of a relationship that lasted for decades.
We weren't close but I sought him out just to say hello whenever our teams met. Sometimes, it was just hello but after he retired and our paths crossed, a bit of conversation was added. We ran into one another in Cooperstown, airports, B.A.T. dinners, autograph appearances and once when I coached for the Iowa Cubs in his hometown of Omaha. My son recalled the conversation he had with Bob when I introduced him during a layover at the Denver airport. "One of the nicest guys I ever met," he remembered.
Bob, thanks for being who you were. For me, that was more important than what you did! RIP.