McCovey, who was 80 years old, died Wednesday. He was a giant and smiling giant. “Rickey,” Jim “Peanut”, Davenport’s friend, said, “Rikey, shake hands With Willie McCovey.” I reached out to hold his hand and tried to look in his eyes as my dad always wanted. His eyes were far too high. McCovey reached down to grab my hand, and my entire arm until the elbow. McCovey’s hand was thick, calloused, and as warm as his smile. He said, “Any friend of Peanut is a friend to mine.” Bobby, my brother, met McCovey and Orlando Cepeda, Juan Marichal and Felipe Alou, as well as McCovey and Felipe Alou, the Giants’ stars of that day. Davenport took us to the visitors’ clubhouse at Colt 45s before the game. Cepeda would score the winning run in the ninth inning. Cepeda’s home run was predicted by my dad just moments before it happened, which ended a wonderful day and evening. Bobby and I learned many life lessons from that day, even though I’m not sure if we realized it at the time. This was 1962. Our elementary school was also segregated. The public swimming pool was also segregated. Our little league baseball team was also in place. To ensure that white and black children would not play together, our elders changed our baseball team from Little League to Dixie Youth. We didn’t understand that. We wanted to play baseball and one day be in the big leagues. A little history is needed here. Davenport, who passed away two years ago was a white man hailing from Siluria in Alabama, near Birmingham. He was a former quarterback at Mississippi Southern College and third base in baseball. After helping beat the Crimson Tide in Alabama twice in a row, McCovey quickly rose through the San Francisco Giants to become a fixture at 3B, a two-time National League All-Star and a great glove man. He is also a clutch hitter. McCovey was a Mobile-born black man. Mays, now 87, was a black man who hailed from Westfield, Alabama. He is the greatest baseball player our eyes have ever seen. Davenport and McCovey were all Alabama men, who came from segregated backgrounds during the worst days under George Wallace. They were friends in every sense of that word. They were a team and showed mutual respect in both the lobby and the clubhouse. Alou, a Dominican Republic brown man, was even more impressive. Cepeda was a Puerto Rican brown man. Marichal, the greatest baseball pitcher (with the best leg kick), was also a Dominican. All three were teammates in the San Francisco Giants, one of the most storied baseball teams of that time. The 1962 Giants took the New York Yankees into Game Seven of the World Series. McCovey was batting with the Yankees leading 1-0 and runners at second base and third in the ninth. He hit what he later described as the hardest ball he’d ever hit. Bobby Richardson scored the final out. McCovey answered years later that he wanted to be remembered as the man who hit a line drive above Bobby Richardson’s head. My brother and me will always remember McCovey’s warmth and smile. We will also remember how three Alabama men from so many different backgrounds combined with Latinos to create one of the most successful teams in baseball. We returned to Hattiesburg to see our segregated schools, our segregated baseball, and the state governed and governed by Ross Barnett. We knew there was another world.