I met my first famous person when I was 8 years old.
My father, Don, was a police officer in Libertyville and he worked with a village employee named Betty Butler, the mother of former MLB outfielder Brett Butler.
While Brett was in Chicago with the Cleveland Indians playing the White Sox, my dad arranged for me to go to the Butler’s house to meet him.
I had all the items I wanted to get autographed with me and all the things I wanted to ask planned in my head. None of those questions were asked, however. I was too nervous.
On the way home, I kept talking about all of the things that I wanted to ask him. My dad said, “He’s just a human being like you and I.”
I took that advice with me the rest of my life, and it has served me well in my 23 years as a journalist.
After a recent move, I decided to reorganize my collection of autographed baseballs. When I found the ball from that day, the first thing that came to mind was that memory from 39 years ago.
As I set out to organize my collection in a manner that made sense for display, I thought how things as monetary value and level of fame would be the way to go.
Hank Aaron, Mickey Mantle, Nolan Ryan and the rest of the Hall of Fame players would go on the top row. Legends from my favorite team, the Cubs, would go on the next row, led by my favorite player, Andre Dawson.
Baseballs from the 2016 World Series were next, with MVP Ben Zobrist in the middle of the row.
There are baseballs autographed by players I covered in high school like Kaneland graduate Casey Crosby. There are baseballs autographed by former Kane County Cougars players I got to know in Andrew Bailey, Willson Contreras and Dontrelle Willis.
The deeper I got into the collection of over 70 baseballs, the more I realized what the real value of the exercise was.
It was about memories. The collection provided a thread through my life.
My grandfather, Charlie Brown — yes, that’s his real name — owned a newspaper agency in Libertyville. One of his paperboys in the early 1970s was Brett Butler.
When Butler was called up by the Atlanta Braves, grandpa had cable installed so he could watch the games on TBS.
That’s how my love of the sport started. Watching Braves games with grandpa and turning on Cubs games after school led me to start collecting baseball cards, and the light was ignited.
I knew I wanted to be around sports in some capacity for the rest of my life. My baseball collection reminds me of that dream.
My dad took me to baseball card shows, which is where many of the autographs, including Mantle, came from. Dad died last January, so looking at those mementos meant a lot to me.
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Relationships I’ve been fortunate to build through the years are also a key thread.
Cubs Conventions attended with my girlfriend, Kaye, and experiences at my friend Stewart McVicar’s Cubs fan cave, Club 400, provided the opportunity to meet dozens of players throughout the years.
Each baseball I pick up recalls a memory. When I posted a picture of the collection last week on social media, it received a tremendous response.
It caught me off guard until I realized what resonated with people wasn’t money or fame. It was memories. People posted their own memories in the comments.
What started as something to knock off the checklist after a move turned out to be a therapeutic process.
It left me wondering what memories will be made as I add to the collection in the future.
Paul Johnson is a freelance reporter for The Beacon-News.
