Imrem: Minnie much more than Mr. White Sox
This is a terrible phase to have to go through: Historian of Death for my personal Boys of Summer.
No, make that my personal Boys of Spring.
All you 10-year-olds out there today will know what I'm talking about when the Chris Sales, Matt Fortes, Anthony Rizzos, Patrick Kanes, Jose Abreus and Derrick Roses begin passing away.
When I was a kid growing up in the 1950s, they were one-namers like Ernie and Nellie and Bobby and Billy …
And, of course, Minnie.
When news arrived Sunday morning that Saturnino Orestes Arrieta Armas Minoso died, it had to hit longtime Chicago baseball fans as hard as Ernie Banks' death did.
Banks was "Mr. Cub." Now, as the first sentence of the news release put it, "Mr. White Sox has died."
Minnie Minoso was that and more since coming to Chicago in 1951 as a player and remaining for more than six decades as the Sox' greatest ambassador.
What a terrific hitter, left fielder, baserunner, entertainer and role model Minoso was.
The Sox say Minoso died at 90 years of age. The Baseball Encyclopedia lists his birth date as Nov. 29, 1922, making him 92.
Either way, Minoso spent time in the Negro League before finally getting to the big leagues in his late 20s.
Still, whatever Minoso's birth certificate says, his baseball career says he was a man for the ages with the verve of a teenager for the game.
Minoso was Chicago's first black major leaguer, preceding Banks by two years, and a pioneer for Latin players.
Odds are that players like Minoso endured considerable abuse back then just for being from places like Havana and San Juan instead of Dallas and Denver.
But they took it - just as Jackie Robinson took it for not being white - and they carried baseball to loftier levels of excellence and excitement.
That first wave of players of color revolutionized the game.
Before then the greats like Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams and Stan Musial were sort of like classical cellists.
Players like Minoso, Robinson and Willie Mays were more like rock and roll guitarists.
Minoso ran the bases with calculated abandon, played the outfield with chaotic efficiency and overall flashed flamboyant flair.
One favorite memory of Minoso is that he regularly was among the leaders in being hit by pitches.
It wasn't only that Minoso was plunked hard and often. It was that he never rubbed the offended area but instead just shook off the pain and headed to first base.
One of baseball's great mysteries is why Minnie Minoso's career hasn't been deemed worthy of the Hall of Fame.
If the performance angle didn't earn him a spot in Cooperstown - and it should have - the role of agent for change should have.
Minoso spent his post-baseball life as a hero throughout Latin America for breaking down barriers. Hall of Famers like Roberto Clemente of Puerto Rico, and Tony Perez of Cuba made sure to acknowledge that Minoso paved the way for them.
To this day, Cubans come to the big leagues with stories that their fathers, grandfathers and uncles told them about The Great Minoso.
Who can even start to calculate what Minoso and Banks did for me? Like, how could I grow up disliking people of color after enjoying Mr. White Sox and Mr. Cub so much?
Every time one of these all-timers dies he takes a little of my childhood with him.
Left behind, though, are some all-time great memories.
mimrem@dailyherald.com