RIP Frank Howard

[Brian Van Horn]

https://www.washingtonpost.com/obitu...k-howard-dies/

[roarfrom34]

RIP Hondo; such a nice man

[Peter_Spaeth]

I grew up in the DC area and saw him play many times during those few years. He hit what are still both the hardest home run I have ever seen (a shot down the left field line that seemed to take no time at all), and the longest (a mammoth, impossibly high shot that landed way the hell in the upper deck in a stadium I don't think anyone ever
cleared). The Senators were pretty bad, but man the players we got to see -- Mantle, Frank and Brooks, Kaline, Killebrew, Reggie, to name a few.

[FrankWakefield]

He was a good ball player, and a fellow whose skills on the ball field seemed a bit overshadowed by lesser skilled players. I hope his family finds peace.


Wasn't there a time when some misfortune resulted in him being deprived of ball cards he'd collected? I seem to halfway remember sending him a few cards. Anyone else remember that??

[icollectDCsports]

Sad day for Senators fans. RIP to our beloved Hondo.

[doug.goodman]

Sept 11, 1958

His first HR

[prestigecollectibles]

Sad news

[mortimer brewster]

Originally Posted by FrankWakefield

He was a good ball player, and a fellow whose skills on the ball field seemed a bit overshadowed by lesser skilled players. I hope his family finds peace.


Wasn't there a time when some misfortune resulted in him being deprived of ball cards he'd collected? I seem to halfway remember sending him a few cards. Anyone else remember that??

Are you thinking of Frank Thomas, the old outfielder for the Pirates and several other teams. His house was destroyed in a fire and he lost his card collection.

RIP Mr. Howard

[GeoPoto]

Frank O. "Hondo" Howard. Outfielder for Washington Senators and Texas Rangers in 1965-1972. 1,774 hits and 382 home runs in 16 MLB seasons. 4-time All-Star. 1963 World Series Champion. 1960 NL Rookie of the Year. 2-time AL HR Leader. 1970 AL RBI Leader. He had a career OBP of .352. He debuted with the Los Angeles Dodgers in 1958-1964. His best season was 1969 with Washington as he posted a .402 OBP with 48 home runs, 111 runs scored, and 111 RBIs in 702 plate appearances. In 1968 he hit 10 home runs in 20 at-bats. He finished his MLB playing career with the Detroit Tigers in 1972-1973. He managed the San Diego Padres in 1981 and the New York Mets in 1983. He was a coach with 5 different teams.

https://www.net54baseball.com/attach...1&d=1698738023
https://www.net54baseball.com/attach...1&d=1698738097

[FrankWakefield]

Thank You, Tom. You're correct. I'll try to keep that in mind.

[ValKehl]

Originally Posted by GeoPoto

Frank O. "Hondo" Howard. Outfielder for Washington Senators and Texas Rangers in 1965-1972. 1,774 hits and 382 home runs in 16 MLB seasons. 4-time All-Star. 1963 World Series Champion. 1960 NL Rookie of the Year. 2-time AL HR Leader. 1970 AL RBI Leader. He had a career OBP of .352. He debuted with the Los Angeles Dodgers in 1958-1964. His best season was 1969 with Washington as he posted a .402 OBP with 48 home runs, 111 runs scored, and 111 RBIs in 702 plate appearances. In 1968 he hit 10 home runs in 20 at-bats. He finished his MLB playing career with the Detroit Tigers in 1972-1973. He managed the San Diego Padres in 1981 and the New York Mets in 1983. He was a coach with 5 different teams.

I will also note that Howard batted .296 in 1969 and was 4th in the MVP voting. Also, "Hondo" struck out only 96 times that year, which is the only time he struck out fewer than 100 times in a full season. His success can be attributed to the arrival of Ted Williams in 1969 to manage the Senators to a record of 86 - 76, the only year the expansion Senators achieved a winning record before the team owner took them to Texas (which is why I will never root for the Rangers to win the WS - ditto for the Minnesota Twins!).

Having lived my entire life in the No. VA suburbs of DC, I greatly enjoyed watching Howard during the 7 years he played for the Senators. He was about all Washington fans had to root for, other than the 1969 team. "Hondo" will never make it into the MLB Hall of Fame, but he will always be in mine. Below are my two scarcest Howard cards (how often do you see a Darigold Farms card with the "superfluous" (per the Standard Catalog) tab still attached?) and the 13"x20" 1970 DC DMV Traffic Safety poster that hangs on a wall of my man cave.

[ValKehl]

Originally Posted by Brian Van Horn

https://www.washingtonpost.com/obitu...k-howard-dies/

The piece that Brian linked us to appears on the front page of today's Washington Post. Another good read about Howard appears in the Sports Section of today's Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/sport...-dies-tribute/
For those who may not be able to accesss this piece due to a paywall, here are my favorite two bits from it:

Yet read what Howard told my colleague Dan Steinberg in 2016, when he was inducted into the Ring of Honor at Nationals Park. After his playing days, Howard spent more than two decades as a major league coach, including stints managing the San Diego Padres and the New York Mets. His central message to his charges wasn’t a batting tip. It was a life tip.

“I used to tell them, what does it cost us to treat our fellow Americans — or as far as that goes, our fellow human beings — what does it cost us to treat them with some general respect, some consideration, a little courtesy?” Howard told Dan. “You know, when I was coaching all those years, I used to talk to the players I had, and I said, look, I know you want your privacy. I know you want to get home to see your wife, your girlfriend, your kids. But take 10 minutes to sign some autographs. Give some kid a pat on the rear end and say, ‘I want to hit one for you tomorrow.’ Whether you do or not is immaterial. It’s just a small way of telling the fans we appreciate them. We get so wrapped up in trying to win a ballgame that we forget to thank them for their support. It’s common sense more than anything else.”

He could say all that because he lived it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
What happened that night (last game of 1971, before the team moved to Texas) is one of the indelible events in Washington baseball history. In the sixth, Howard launched a pitch from Yankees lefty Mike Kekich into that territory reserved for him — upper deck in left field. Howard was never a showman. On that night, he tossed his hat into the crowd. He blew a kiss as a curtain call.

And afterward — after the fans had stormed the field in search of sod souvenirs, after the umps had called the game a forfeit by the home team with two outs in the ninth — Howard further endeared himself to a town that was about to venture into the baseball wilderness.

“What can a guy do to top this?” he asked. “A guy like me has maybe five big thrills in his lifetime. Well, this was my biggest tonight. I’ll take it to the grave with me. This was Utopia. I can’t do anything else like it. It’s all downhill the rest of the way.”

[icollectDCsports]

Originally Posted by ValKehl

The piece that Brian linked us to appears on the front page of today's Washington Post. Another good read about Howard appears in the Sports Section of today's Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/sport...-dies-tribute/
For those who may not be able to accesss this piece due to a paywall, here are my favorite two bits from it:

Yet read what Howard told my colleague Dan Steinberg in 2016, when he was inducted into the Ring of Honor at Nationals Park. After his playing days, Howard spent more than two decades as a major league coach, including stints managing the San Diego Padres and the New York Mets. His central message to his charges wasn’t a batting tip. It was a life tip.

“I used to tell them, what does it cost us to treat our fellow Americans — or as far as that goes, our fellow human beings — what does it cost us to treat them with some general respect, some consideration, a little courtesy?” Howard told Dan. “You know, when I was coaching all those years, I used to talk to the players I had, and I said, look, I know you want your privacy. I know you want to get home to see your wife, your girlfriend, your kids. But take 10 minutes to sign some autographs. Give some kid a pat on the rear end and say, ‘I want to hit one for you tomorrow.’ Whether you do or not is immaterial. It’s just a small way of telling the fans we appreciate them. We get so wrapped up in trying to win a ballgame that we forget to thank them for their support. It’s common sense more than anything else.”

He could say all that because he lived it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
What happened that night (last game of 1971, before the team moved to Texas) is one of the indelible events in Washington baseball history. In the sixth, Howard launched a pitch from Yankees lefty Mike Kekich into that territory reserved for him — upper deck in left field. Howard was never a showman. On that night, he tossed his hat into the crowd. He blew a kiss as a curtain call.

And afterward — after the fans had stormed the field in search of sod souvenirs, after the umps had called the game a forfeit by the home team with two outs in the ninth — Howard further endeared himself to a town that was about to venture into the baseball wilderness.

“What can a guy do to top this?” he asked. “A guy like me has maybe five big thrills in his lifetime. Well, this was my biggest tonight. I’ll take it to the grave with me. This was Utopia. I can’t do anything else like it. It’s all downhill the rest of the way.”

Yep. That’s who Hondo was. Genuinely great guy.

[Gorditadogg]

What a bomber. 10 HRs in 6 games, in 1968! Before steroids.

Sent from my SM-S906U using Tapatalk

[butchie_t]

I knew this day would come. I was selfishly hoping it would never ever come. But it is inevitable. A part of me went with Hondo yesterday. It ain't about me but I certainly feel the loss and am very happy I got to see him play for my Senators. I cannot ask for anything more than that.

RIP HONDO!

Edit:

A recent Frank Howard acquisition from Net54 member WhatsNext. (Thank you again).

[brian1961]

Thanks, Brian and Val, and all of youse guys, for your wonderful contributions in saluting a great baseball player and a great man, Frank Howard. His passing hurts real bad; I'm having a tough time with his departure. Sure, he was up there in years; really, he lived a long time for such a huge man. Still, we're hurtin' bad, aren't we?

Val, like you, I placed Frank Howard in my personal hall of fame a long time ago.

I don't know how to load up an image, but my favorite threesome of Hondo items are a 1967 Coca-Cola Premium by Dexter Press, a complete, unfolded 1971 Milk Duds box, and a 1971 Kellogg's 3-D, which I consider one of his best-looking cards. Then again, I remembered I purchased his 1970 Topps Super Baseball in PSA 8. Now, that is a great Frank Howard card, encompassing his towering size, and taken in '69, his best year.

Man, his advice to the younger players was sure wise.

We often judge players worth, whether as people or cardboard / collectible value, by whether or not they're enshrined in the BBHOF. Frank Howard is enshrined in my heart and mind, and I have a strong feeling he's also in those of a LOT of other baseball fans.

RIP, Mr. Howard. We love you and we're gonna miss you. May God comfort and console his widow and their children. --- Brian Powell

[jingram058]

I love all my Frank Howard cards, none more than the one in my 1962 Topps set.

He is one of my all-time favorites. My mother loved him. She called him "Big Frank".

RIP, sir, you are and always will be missed.

[GeoPoto]

Another memorable circumstance related to Hondo is that the Senators painted every seat in RFK's upper deck that received one of Frank's blasts white. Not only was this cool while Frank and the Senators were playing in RFK, but those seats continued to be white for years afterward. So those of us fortunate enough to attend WFT games, concerts, etc., were provided recurring reminders of Frank's exploits, which as Val pointed out, were really the only baseball highlights of our youth.

And another card.

https://www.net54baseball.com/attach...1&d=1698778829

[NiceDocter]

I grew up in the DC area ( but an Orioles fan!)….. my Dad got us tickets for the 1969 All Star game in RFK stadium. Howard was the home town hero on a terrible team …… got a standing ovation when he came up to bat, and he did not disappoint! Way to go Hondo!!!!!! https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=dsq_3ZiVLl8 PS we were sitting just above where that ball went in the Upper Deck right center field!!

[ValKehl]

Today's Washington Post has another tribute piece about Frank Howard, this one by Tom Boswell, the now-retired, former dean of DC's sports columnists. Because this is the best piece about "Hondo" that I've read, I have copied and pasted it below so that interested folks won't be prevented from reading it by a paywall. What I find especially surprising in this piece is Howard's very favorable stats comparison to Bryce Harper, both of whom played 7 seasons in Washington. ENJOY!

Frank Howard: A giant baseball star when the game was larger than life

One summer night in the 1960s, our family went to RFK Stadium to see Frank Howard. I could say we went to see the lousy Washington Senators. But who would believe me?

You went to see Howard, who died Monday at 87, as he tried to become the first man to land — a ball — on the moon. You knew that “Hondo,” a gigantic humble fellow who tried to please everyone, would slip a disk to oblige.

So when Howard came to bat in the first inning, a half-in-the-bag fan near us in the grandstand bellowed, sarcastically, over and over, “Hondo, my hero, if you hit a home run, I will eat this newspaper.” And he waved his sports page.

Howard, at 6-foot-7 and 270 pounds, ran ponderously, fielded precariously and, to compensate, hustled to admirable but embarrassing excess. He also struck out often by the standards of the time, though today he would be downright abstemious.

Each time Howard batted, he struck out — to the delight of the middle-aged, potbellied troll who, in a “crowd” of perhaps a few thousand, attracted an amused audience.

Finally, however, justice prevailed. Howard connected, the ball got very small very fast, and every head in our section turned toward Mr. Hondo My Hero.

With as much dignity as his Falstaffian state allowed, he rose, tore the paper into long thin vertical strips and, decorously, chewed and swallowed them. Until then, I had never known that it took longer to eat a column by Shirley Povich than to read it.

For the next several years, as Howard’s home run totals went from a humble 21 and 18 in 1965 and 1966 to 36 and finally to two home run titles in three years — when he smashed 44, 48 and 44 — it became a Boswell family ritual when he homered to say, “Hondo, my hero!” That was in honor of, who knows, Howard’s heroics, the beery fan who kept his word or that whole night of laughter.

In recent times, Washington has had teams that finished first in the National League East four times, won more games than anybody else in baseball and, another year, won the World Series.

Then, we had Frank Howard.

Lest he be damned with even a hint of faint praise, let me underline that Hondo, in his Washington days, became a mighty man. He and Bryce Harper both played seven full seasons in D.C. Howard hit 237 homers; Harper hit 184.

Howard had 670 RBI, Harper 521. Both hit .279. Howard slugged .513, Harper .512. Wins above replacement, per Baseball-Reference, in Washington: Harper 27.8, Howard 26.5.

Harper was wonderful here. Howard, in his way, was fully comparable. My gift, as a bar bet and as a tip of the hat to Howard’s relentless, unselfish, rhino-on-fire hustle, is that he also had more triples as a National than Harper (20 to 18).

For many years after Hondo retired in 1973, the easiest interview in baseball may have been, “Tell me a Frank Howard story.” Tommy John gave up his legendary upper-deck white-seat home run to center field at RFK Stadium, one of the longer homers ever. “It was a line drive. I almost jumped for it,” John told me. Then he laughed. No one could react that quickly. But John did turn around in time “to see it rising.” By the time he got back to the dugout, he looked like a ghost. “If it had hit me, it would have killed me.”

For years, as Hall of Famers came to RFK for the Cracker Jack Old Timers Classic, or MLB teams played exhibitions, or finally when the Nationals played there, I was often asked by players during batting practice, when the white seat came up, “Where was home plate back then?” I would say, “Right where it is now.” Some said, “That’s not possible.” Others just thought it.

When Howard retired and I was a young reporter, I was sent to Spokane, Wash., in 1976 to write about his first season as a Class AAA manager, a stint that preceded more than 20 years as an MLB coach. He was in demand because he showed every player that the game was an honor to play and a feast to be enjoyed.

“Boys, in this game you never play as long as you want to or as well as you want to. And sooner than any of you thinks, your day will come to get that pink slip that says ‘released,’ ” Howard told his players one day. “When they pull those shades, they pull them for a lifetime. When it’s over, no one can bring it back for you. It’s a short road we run in this business. So run hard.”

To make his point, Howard would sometimes sneak up behind a player and whisper, “Released.” His players began pulling the joke on each other.

“He’s got us running getting dressed,” third baseman Tom Bianco said. “We lead the league in hustle, rules and meetings. We’re up to two meetings a day. We even had a meeting after a rainout to go over the rain.”

“We call him the 300-pound greenie,” said another player, Steve Bowling. “His energy is infinite.”

Howard’s blend of old-school hard guy and heart-of-gold good guy — both true — was always his killer combo.

“He’ll yell: ‘Stop the bus! Got to get some beer for my boys. They’re playing some hard baseball,’ ” Bianco said.

“He’ll buy a case for everybody on the bus, then say, ‘We got any Coke drinkers?’ And he’ll buy each of them a six-pack of Coke,” Bowling said.

After games, Howard liked to say, “How can you wheel that lumber tomorrow if you don’t pound that Budweiser tonight?” Granted, that’s not a sentiment that has aged well. But he would say it while lighting his cigar with three matches.

Hondo played when the salaries were still low but the sense of mythmaking was still Ruthian. When he came through the minors in the late 1950s, he played in Spokane — and hit a line drive off the left field wall that bounced back to the shortstop. That will inform an identity.

For $72,500 per year, his average salary as a Senator, nobody was going to tell Howard that his bat might be too heavy, his swing too big and his strategy — “Flat-out whale it like a crazy man” — might not be optimal. He was huge, fit, coordinated and a former Ohio State basketball star. The result: an Aaron Judge who swung as hard as he could, not as hard as you should. Those aren’t allowed any more.

Perhaps old-timer Rocky Bridges gave Howard the perfect nickname: Big Bird. He’s huge but “Sesame Street” on the inside. When Howard finally got to manage the Padres, the general manager who fired him said, “Frank’s just too nice.”

Howard was a better leader as a teammate than as a boss. “I remember some darn foul ball landing in the upper deck, and there’s Frank Howard running into the left field railing chasing after it. Some people laughed at that kind of hustle,” said Senators pitcher Dick Bosman, who won an ERA title. “Put him on my team every day. Give me the guy that dies with every defeat. When you looked at Hondo, you said to yourself, ‘Take a lesson.’ ”

Though he is known, and always thought of himself, primarily as a Senator, Howard was a star with the Los Angeles Dodgers. He was the National League rookie of the year in 1960, he was the Dodgers’ team leader with 31 homers on a 102-win team in 1962, and he got a ring and hit a home run in the 1963 World Series for L.A.

Then he indirectly helped win two more Dodgers pennants in 1965 and ’66 by being the main piece in a trade for Senators ace left-hander Claude Osteen, who completed a dominant trio with Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale.

Many players, coming from the glamour of Los Angeles with the cachet of being “a winner,” would have hated the cheapskate hopeless Senators owned by flimflamming Bob Short. Howard, never bitter, adapted and, in time, took the team in his arms and epitomized it.

“We always had a few guys on those Washington teams that weren’t playing with a full deck,” he once told me. “And, brother, I was one of ’em.”

Those Nats were often bad, except for an 86-76 year under Ted Williams in 1969, but they played hard, like Howard. And they were close. Once, when four Nats roomed together to save money, Hondo assigned Bosman to cook.

“Bozzie, why don’t you throw on about 18 eggs and six or eight steaks? … Now you guys take all you want. … Hey, take some more now. … Okay, everybody got enough?”

Then Howard would eat the rest out of the big serving bowls. “Anybody doesn’t want one of them steaks, you just flop that thing over here on my plate,” he would say. “The big boy might have to crank out another [homer] tonight.”

When Howard was eligible for the Hall of Fame, he got only 1.4 percent of the writers’ vote in 1979. With his galumphing rampages around the bases and outfield and his Tilt-a-Whirl strikeouts, he didn’t look like Cooperstown to them.

Howard is no Hall of Famer. But modern analytics embrace him. He played in an era of pitching dominance. In 1968, the Year of the Pitcher — after which MLB lowered the mound to even the fight — Howard hit 44 homers.

Maybe the best stat for comparing offensive performance between eras is adjusted OPS+. By that measure, Howard is tied for 69th in history at 142 — 42 percent better than the league average hitter. At 143, we find Paul Goldschmidt, Harper, Harmon Killebrew and Eddie Mathews. At 142, Freddie Freeman, and at 141, Ronald Acuña Jr., Chipper Jones and David Ortiz.

If Howard had run into Williams 10 years earlier, who knows what might have been? Ted taught him the value of knowing the strike zone and drawing walks if he didn’t get a whale-able pitch.

“Us dumb hitters,” said Howard, who had more walks than strikeouts in 1969 and ’70 and an OPS close to 1.000 both years. “Too soon old. Too late smart.”

Perhaps Howard never quite understood the impact he had on young Washington fans. If you were between age 7 and 21 when the Nats absconded for Texas, then you were still no older than 54 when the Expos moved to Washington. Those fans, and their children and grandchildren, became part of the next fan base that saw true superstars and a parade.

During the 33 years when D.C. did not have a franchise, the Hondo fans and those white seats were a core piece of what kept Washington fighting to get another team. That Frank chose to live here, as part of the community, added to the sense that baseball was gone but not forgotten.

Frank Howard never thought of himself as a symbol. But for many, he was. Just two weeks ago, at a surprise birthday party for a friend, a man was introduced to me this way: “He saw the white-seat homer to center field in person. I bet you two have things to talk about.”

And we sure did.

[rjackson44]

Loved him

[sirraffles]

He was a mountain.

[icollectDCsports]

Originally Posted by ValKehl

Today's Washington Post has another tribute piece about Frank Howard, this one by Tom Boswell, the now-retired, former dean of DC's sports columnists. Because this is the best piece about "Hondo" that I've read, I have copied and pasted it below so that interested folks won't be prevented from reading it by a paywall. What I find especially surprising in this piece is Howard's very favorable stats comparison to Bryce Harper, both of whom played 7 seasons in Washington. ENJOY!

Frank Howard: A giant baseball star when the game was larger than life

One summer night in the 1960s, our family went to RFK Stadium to see Frank Howard. I could say we went to see the lousy Washington Senators. But who would believe me?

You went to see Howard, who died Monday at 87, as he tried to become the first man to land — a ball — on the moon. You knew that “Hondo,” a gigantic humble fellow who tried to please everyone, would slip a disk to oblige.

So when Howard came to bat in the first inning, a half-in-the-bag fan near us in the grandstand bellowed, sarcastically, over and over, “Hondo, my hero, if you hit a home run, I will eat this newspaper.” And he waved his sports page.

Howard, at 6-foot-7 and 270 pounds, ran ponderously, fielded precariously and, to compensate, hustled to admirable but embarrassing excess. He also struck out often by the standards of the time, though today he would be downright abstemious.

Each time Howard batted, he struck out — to the delight of the middle-aged, potbellied troll who, in a “crowd” of perhaps a few thousand, attracted an amused audience.

Finally, however, justice prevailed. Howard connected, the ball got very small very fast, and every head in our section turned toward Mr. Hondo My Hero.

With as much dignity as his Falstaffian state allowed, he rose, tore the paper into long thin vertical strips and, decorously, chewed and swallowed them. Until then, I had never known that it took longer to eat a column by Shirley Povich than to read it.

For the next several years, as Howard’s home run totals went from a humble 21 and 18 in 1965 and 1966 to 36 and finally to two home run titles in three years — when he smashed 44, 48 and 44 — it became a Boswell family ritual when he homered to say, “Hondo, my hero!” That was in honor of, who knows, Howard’s heroics, the beery fan who kept his word or that whole night of laughter.

In recent times, Washington has had teams that finished first in the National League East four times, won more games than anybody else in baseball and, another year, won the World Series.

Then, we had Frank Howard.

Lest he be damned with even a hint of faint praise, let me underline that Hondo, in his Washington days, became a mighty man. He and Bryce Harper both played seven full seasons in D.C. Howard hit 237 homers; Harper hit 184.

Howard had 670 RBI, Harper 521. Both hit .279. Howard slugged .513, Harper .512. Wins above replacement, per Baseball-Reference, in Washington: Harper 27.8, Howard 26.5.

Harper was wonderful here. Howard, in his way, was fully comparable. My gift, as a bar bet and as a tip of the hat to Howard’s relentless, unselfish, rhino-on-fire hustle, is that he also had more triples as a National than Harper (20 to 18).

For many years after Hondo retired in 1973, the easiest interview in baseball may have been, “Tell me a Frank Howard story.” Tommy John gave up his legendary upper-deck white-seat home run to center field at RFK Stadium, one of the longer homers ever. “It was a line drive. I almost jumped for it,” John told me. Then he laughed. No one could react that quickly. But John did turn around in time “to see it rising.” By the time he got back to the dugout, he looked like a ghost. “If it had hit me, it would have killed me.”

For years, as Hall of Famers came to RFK for the Cracker Jack Old Timers Classic, or MLB teams played exhibitions, or finally when the Nationals played there, I was often asked by players during batting practice, when the white seat came up, “Where was home plate back then?” I would say, “Right where it is now.” Some said, “That’s not possible.” Others just thought it.

When Howard retired and I was a young reporter, I was sent to Spokane, Wash., in 1976 to write about his first season as a Class AAA manager, a stint that preceded more than 20 years as an MLB coach. He was in demand because he showed every player that the game was an honor to play and a feast to be enjoyed.

“Boys, in this game you never play as long as you want to or as well as you want to. And sooner than any of you thinks, your day will come to get that pink slip that says ‘released,’ ” Howard told his players one day. “When they pull those shades, they pull them for a lifetime. When it’s over, no one can bring it back for you. It’s a short road we run in this business. So run hard.”

To make his point, Howard would sometimes sneak up behind a player and whisper, “Released.” His players began pulling the joke on each other.

“He’s got us running getting dressed,” third baseman Tom Bianco said. “We lead the league in hustle, rules and meetings. We’re up to two meetings a day. We even had a meeting after a rainout to go over the rain.”

“We call him the 300-pound greenie,” said another player, Steve Bowling. “His energy is infinite.”

Howard’s blend of old-school hard guy and heart-of-gold good guy — both true — was always his killer combo.

“He’ll yell: ‘Stop the bus! Got to get some beer for my boys. They’re playing some hard baseball,’ ” Bianco said.

“He’ll buy a case for everybody on the bus, then say, ‘We got any Coke drinkers?’ And he’ll buy each of them a six-pack of Coke,” Bowling said.

After games, Howard liked to say, “How can you wheel that lumber tomorrow if you don’t pound that Budweiser tonight?” Granted, that’s not a sentiment that has aged well. But he would say it while lighting his cigar with three matches.

Hondo played when the salaries were still low but the sense of mythmaking was still Ruthian. When he came through the minors in the late 1950s, he played in Spokane — and hit a line drive off the left field wall that bounced back to the shortstop. That will inform an identity.

For $72,500 per year, his average salary as a Senator, nobody was going to tell Howard that his bat might be too heavy, his swing too big and his strategy — “Flat-out whale it like a crazy man” — might not be optimal. He was huge, fit, coordinated and a former Ohio State basketball star. The result: an Aaron Judge who swung as hard as he could, not as hard as you should. Those aren’t allowed any more.

Perhaps old-timer Rocky Bridges gave Howard the perfect nickname: Big Bird. He’s huge but “Sesame Street” on the inside. When Howard finally got to manage the Padres, the general manager who fired him said, “Frank’s just too nice.”

Howard was a better leader as a teammate than as a boss. “I remember some darn foul ball landing in the upper deck, and there’s Frank Howard running into the left field railing chasing after it. Some people laughed at that kind of hustle,” said Senators pitcher Dick Bosman, who won an ERA title. “Put him on my team every day. Give me the guy that dies with every defeat. When you looked at Hondo, you said to yourself, ‘Take a lesson.’ ”

Though he is known, and always thought of himself, primarily as a Senator, Howard was a star with the Los Angeles Dodgers. He was the National League rookie of the year in 1960, he was the Dodgers’ team leader with 31 homers on a 102-win team in 1962, and he got a ring and hit a home run in the 1963 World Series for L.A.

Then he indirectly helped win two more Dodgers pennants in 1965 and ’66 by being the main piece in a trade for Senators ace left-hander Claude Osteen, who completed a dominant trio with Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale.

Many players, coming from the glamour of Los Angeles with the cachet of being “a winner,” would have hated the cheapskate hopeless Senators owned by flimflamming Bob Short. Howard, never bitter, adapted and, in time, took the team in his arms and epitomized it.

“We always had a few guys on those Washington teams that weren’t playing with a full deck,” he once told me. “And, brother, I was one of ’em.”

Those Nats were often bad, except for an 86-76 year under Ted Williams in 1969, but they played hard, like Howard. And they were close. Once, when four Nats roomed together to save money, Hondo assigned Bosman to cook.

“Bozzie, why don’t you throw on about 18 eggs and six or eight steaks? … Now you guys take all you want. … Hey, take some more now. … Okay, everybody got enough?”

Then Howard would eat the rest out of the big serving bowls. “Anybody doesn’t want one of them steaks, you just flop that thing over here on my plate,” he would say. “The big boy might have to crank out another [homer] tonight.”

When Howard was eligible for the Hall of Fame, he got only 1.4 percent of the writers’ vote in 1979. With his galumphing rampages around the bases and outfield and his Tilt-a-Whirl strikeouts, he didn’t look like Cooperstown to them.

Howard is no Hall of Famer. But modern analytics embrace him. He played in an era of pitching dominance. In 1968, the Year of the Pitcher — after which MLB lowered the mound to even the fight — Howard hit 44 homers.

Maybe the best stat for comparing offensive performance between eras is adjusted OPS+. By that measure, Howard is tied for 69th in history at 142 — 42 percent better than the league average hitter. At 143, we find Paul Goldschmidt, Harper, Harmon Killebrew and Eddie Mathews. At 142, Freddie Freeman, and at 141, Ronald Acuña Jr., Chipper Jones and David Ortiz.

If Howard had run into Williams 10 years earlier, who knows what might have been? Ted taught him the value of knowing the strike zone and drawing walks if he didn’t get a whale-able pitch.

“Us dumb hitters,” said Howard, who had more walks than strikeouts in 1969 and ’70 and an OPS close to 1.000 both years. “Too soon old. Too late smart.”

Perhaps Howard never quite understood the impact he had on young Washington fans. If you were between age 7 and 21 when the Nats absconded for Texas, then you were still no older than 54 when the Expos moved to Washington. Those fans, and their children and grandchildren, became part of the next fan base that saw true superstars and a parade.

During the 33 years when D.C. did not have a franchise, the Hondo fans and those white seats were a core piece of what kept Washington fighting to get another team. That Frank chose to live here, as part of the community, added to the sense that baseball was gone but not forgotten.

Frank Howard never thought of himself as a symbol. But for many, he was. Just two weeks ago, at a surprise birthday party for a friend, a man was introduced to me this way: “He saw the white-seat homer to center field in person. I bet you two have things to talk about.”

And we sure did.

This has me in tears.

[ValKehl]

Originally Posted by icollectDCsports

This has me in tears.

Me too, both times I read this piece.

[Hankphenom]

Big Frank was a nice man, completely down to earth and totally comfortable in his voluminous skin. His ultra-rare biography is subtitled "The Gentle Giant," and that fits perfectly. The expansion Senators were mostly pathetic, while our real team was being the AL's team of the 1960s in Minnesota. But we did have Frank Howard, and there's a reason he has a statue at Nats Park along with Walter Johnson and Josh Gibson, two of the greatest ever to play the game. He may not have been a HOFer, but nobody ever hit a ball like Frank did, not even Babe Ruth.