Memories of Mayberry: Meeting Mr. Bobby

Home-state Hero

Story Collection

Memories of Mayberry is a collection of stories about growing up during the 50s & 60s in Walterboro, a small town nestled deep in the heart of the South Carolina Lowcountry.

Bobby Richardson, NY Yankees 2nd baseman, c. 1963/Me and Mr. Bobby, 2012/Bobby & Betsy

From the Sand Hills region to the Big Apple, New York Yankees 2nd Baseman Bobby Richardson was every South Carolina boy’s hero. He was one of ours.

By the time I finally met him, he was known simply as “Mr. Bobby”. He was the 2012 graduation commencement speaker at Sumter Christian School, where my daughters attended.

As in many small towns across America, baseball was a big deal in the Lowcountry when I was growing up in the 50s and early 60s.

Every afternoon from early April to the end of June, the ballfield behind Forest Hills Elementary was transformed into a big social event. The bleachers were packed at every game with Parents, siblings, and most importantly, girls we hoped to impress.

My introduction to baseball was around age six or seven in the farm team league. I was an outfielder on the Yankees, coached by one of my Mom’s relatives, Mr. Albert “Abbie” Lucas. The main thing I remember about coach Lucas was that he would sometimes give us rides in his restored late 1920s or early 30s Ford convertible.

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A breakfast regular every morning at the Guignard (pronounced Ginyard) Diner, Mr. Bobby, like Will Rogers, never met a stranger he didn’t like. To the locals, he was one of the guys, living a quiet life in an older Sumter neighborhood with large lots and brick ranch-style homes.

Devout Christians and gracious as ever, Mr. Bobby and his wife, Betsy would make it a point to introduce themselves to new families in their neighborhood with freshly baked cookies or loaves of bread. They continue to work with numerous charities which help disadvantaged children find their way in life.

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While we were interested in most of the baseball greats of that era, Bobbly Richardson was a home-state hero - One of our own. Most of us had many of his baseball cards. Every time a new one came out, we would begin comparing and swapping for the cards we wanted. Sometimes, if it was one we wanted badly, we would throw in extra items such as other players’ cards, or even our favorite marbles (the other pastime of that day). We idolized him.

Of course, not all of us could play 2nd base. There just weren’t enough teams. This fueled fierce competition at the beginning of every season to secure that position, but in reality, most of us were just not that good. My friend, Joey was able to snag 2nd base for his team. The closest I ever got was Rightfield.

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When I was a month shy of thirteen, we moved to the Charleston area. That timing was not the greatest for a vulnerable small-town teenager to move to a larger, more metropolitan environment, particularly during the rapid cultural and social upheavals of the mid-60s. It disrupted many things in my life, including my passion for baseball.

Forty-seven years of water had passed under the bridge by the time I attended that graduation ceremony. I had long forgotten my home state hero. I did not remember that he lived in the same town of Sumter where he grew up and where we had just moved.

So, even though my girls were several years away from graduation when I found out who the speaker was, the memories resurfaced. I had to go. I knew it was time to finally meet the man that every boy in my hometown aspired to emulate, Bobby Richardson - Mr. Bobby.

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