The Night I Let Hank Aaron Down
A True Ball of Confusion
This is a tale from my days as an actor.. It’s a not-so-funny comedy of errors that I am reminded of every April 8th as we celebrate Hank's remarkable moment in the sun.
This past week, Major League Baseball and the city of Atlanta commemorated the 50th anniversary of Hank Aaron’s 715th home run. As we mark the anniversary of Aaron surpassing Babe Ruth's home run record, I think back not to where I was on that day in 1974. I have only a vague recollection of Aaron's milestone, having been a mere six years of age at the time. Instead, my mind goes to April of 1999, the 25th anniversary of Aaron's milestone, and one of the worst days of my acting career.
I know every actor has a story about forgetting lines onstage, a botched audition for the film that would've surely been their big break, or the gig in which they found themselves dressed in some humiliating costume, shilling - perhaps selling out - for a product they’d never dream of purchasing.
I've been there, dressed as a human recycling bin for a certain prominent cola company, stuck to a fifteen-foot wall in a velcro suit as part of a corporate comedy sketch gone wrong, and verbally abused by truly cruel country club members during improv shows. I could - all actors could - write a book.
But this event was the worst. The worst because it should've been the best gig of my professional stint as an actor and one of the best nights of Hank Aaron’s life as well. It was a dual celebration: the quarter-century mark of his 715th home run and his 65th birthday, which had occurred that previous winter.
I was hired to be the Voice of God announcer. That's the guy in the room you hear but don’t see, who introduces presenters and speakers to the stage. Not actually a deity, mind you. Especially this night.
It was an easy enough job. Introduce a few second-tier dignitaries, a chaplain who was to lead an invocation, and a local politician or two. The big names were being reserved for emcee Bob Costas to introduce. And what a roster of names they had - there were more legendary baseball players than you could shake a Louisville slugger at, from Reggie Jackson to Lou Brock, Dusty Baker to Ozzie Smith. Many of the Braves’ biggest stars were on hand as well. Spike Lee was in the house. Jesse Jackson, too. And the big surprise guest, then-President Bill Clinton. Musical guests? Hank's favorites: The Temptations.
All I had to do was take my cues and say my lines. But nothing was going to go right this evening. That was clear from the get-go.
The opening video played without sound. So upon realizing this, the video operator stopped it, reset it, and tried again. This time, there was audio but no video. Bob Costas' microphone was not cooperating. A birthday cake was prepared for Hank, with four baseball All-Stars prepared to take it to the stage on a very large, decorated rolling cart. The trick was, there was no ramp to the stage, and the cart was too heavy to lift...so a thirty-second rendition of “Happy Birthday” became a five-minute vamp as these poor ballplayers went around the ballroom and out the back ballroom door to get the cake to its mark. The Temptations' entire stage set was accidentally revealed in the middle of someone's speech. It was as if all the bad mojo from every horrid corporate event converged and besieged this one special night.
Then there was my goof. My singular, innocent, federally indictable goof.
Our stage manager assured me I was only introducing the lower-tier speakers, but all of a sudden, there was this buzz going on during the show about the "VIP" being early. The show stopped rather abruptly, right before the invocation. In walked President Clinton and his Secret Service entourage. Everyone stood up.
"Go!" yelled the stage manager. "What?" I looked at her, with nary a line for me to deliver in the script about this moment. "GO!" she screamed, “Introduce him!” Poor lady, she'd already had at least a dozen things go significantly wrong before she had to deal with my stupor.
So, I did what seemed natural. I did what I assumed was being asked of me. I introduced the President of the United States. On the plus side, I did it properly, calling him "The Honorable William Jefferson Clinton" rather than saying, "Please welcome Bill Clinton, y'all." What I assumed I was doing was announcing his arrival since he showed up early. However, the announcement of the President's name apparently meant he was being cued to take the stage to speak, something that wasn't supposed to happen for another hour or so.
The Secret Service, thrown by this, began to escort the President to the stage. The next thing I saw was the stage manager's clipboard - and I swear this is the holy truth - coming toward my face. She slammed me in the nose. Hard. "I meant for you to announce the minister, idiot!" she said. By the time I had my senses about me, word had been passed to the Secret Service that the introduction was a mistake, and President Clinton could enjoy his dinner and await a proper welcome to the stage from Bob Costas. Costas would later remark that he hoped the Temptations would open their show with "Ball of Confusion" in honor of this evening's mishaps. Biggest laugh of the night. Bastard.
I can't tell you to this day who the production company was running the event. I can't tell you the name of the stage manager who almost broke my nose. All I can tell you is that the producer, a very exasperated fellow from New York, was in my face before the numbness of the clipboard's sting subsided. "Were you feeling lonely that you were the only one here who hadn't f****ed up yet?" he asked me. I apologized. He could see tears in my eyes. Little did he know it was from the misdemeanor battery I'd just endured and not my own heartfelt contrition. "It's alright," he said. "You just confused the President, that's all."
"Hmm..." I thought. "Finally, my dad can be proud of something I've done as an actor."
Once the Temptations took the stage and began their set, people got up to dance and get closer to the action, so I took my leave of this nightmarish gig. I was done and certainly wasn't going to stick around to ask if they had a check for me.
The walk to my car was lonely and glacial. That is, until I rounded a corner and witnessed Reverend Jesse Jackson stopping traffic on foot as the President's motorcade pulled out and drove away. I've never forgotten that. Here's a guy who probably received more death threats than the President himself, and he's in the middle of downtown Atlanta, unguarded, helping steer traffic. I didn't feel so lousy after I saw that.
On a night when I'd confused the leader of the free world, walked out on a free Temptations concert, and was too embarrassed to say 'hello' to a host of baseball heroes, why wouldn't Jesse Jackson be directing cars on Peachtree Street? Sure, why the hell not?
Humiliation is relative. No one in that room had a clue who I was, nor have they thought about me since. The anonymity of being a no-name actor did have its benefits. So, I licked my wounds, still got paid, and chalked it up as one hell of a thespian war story for any given night at Manuel’s Tavern.
Still, I get a twinge of guilt when I think about the quiet, humble man who was being honored that night. He deserved a much more befitting tribute, some as seamless and perfect as his swing.
I know I was only a bit player in this epic tragedy, but I’ll always regret the night I let Hank Aaron down.
