In 1965, in Reed v. Van Hoven, a court determined (237 F.Supp. 48. W.D.Mich. 1965.) that it was permissible for students to pray over their lunch at school so long as no one knew they were praying - that is, they couldn't say words or move their lips, but they could pray only if no one knew about it!
I had a marvelous baseball career and after my baseball career, there is an abundance of opportunity out there.
Songs came first. I started out in 1965 trying to copy the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and the Stones, like most kids I knew. I'm still trying. Songs are hard to beat.
When McGwire started the home run mania, attendance came back. The owners understood that the sudden spike in homers wasn't accidental. All baseball knew it. But baseball is run on money, and home runs meant money. Baseball turned a blind eye.
My dad was a baseball coach, and then I switched to softball. Baseball was all I knew until I crossed over. It never seemed like a big deal.
I dropped out in '64. And I came back to Michigan, in '65. In 1965, when I came back I had never heard of Vietnam.
The highlight of my baseball career came in Philadelphia's Connie Mack Stadium when I saw a fan fall out of the upper deck. When he got up and walked away, the crowd booed.
One of my heroes growing up was Jackie Robinson. My mom, an ardent baseball fan from whom I got my love of the game, had an old baseball card of his from the 1950s and told us his amazing story of courage in integrating baseball.
Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.
The most validating thing was when my picture was on my first bubble gum card. That was in '68 for me. I was finally on the Topps card.
I never had an amateur career; I didn't go to college in America; when I came out on tour nobody knew who I was.
In baseball, you have to remain calm, cool, and collected. In football, you can let out a little anger sometimes. It was a fun game, and I liked it, but I knew in my heart I was going to play baseball.
I could describe my career in two words: who knew. I was on the path to becoming a professional baseball player, but I got injured in college. When I decided to move out to L.A. to try acting, nobody was betting on me, not even my family.
When I came into baseball, I had one goal for my career - the Hall of Fame.
I'd get kicked out of buildings all day long, people would rip up my business card in my face. It's a humbling business to be in. But I knew I could sell and I knew I wanted to sell something I had created. I cut the feet out of those pantyhose and I knew I was on to something. This was it.
People who rooted for me and were impactful in my career knew everything about me. They knew my goals, my likes, my dislikes, what I wanted out of my career.