LARGO — The day lives on, some 30 years later.
Sitting at the dining room table, eyes closed for just a moment, it’s as if Calvin Van Auken can see his younger self again. The anticipation, excitement and, most assuredly, the details.
It’s spring training in 1994, and he’s been asked to work the plate as an umpire for a White Sox intrasquad game in Sarasota. More than 1,700 people and a dozen camera crews will show up for an otherwise meaningless affair held the morning before the regularly scheduled exhibition season begins.
Everybody, presumably, is there to see a 31-year-old rookie outfielder making his professional debut, albeit in the morning hours against his own teammates. The rookie hits a sharp line drive that is caught in leftfield in his first at-bat and then is rung up by Van Auken on a breaking ball in his second plate appearance.
And so began Michael Jordan’s doomed journey to become a big-league ballplayer.
For part-time umpire/business owner Van Auken, you cannot possibly put a price tag on a memory like this.
Or can you?
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He knew the moment was going to be huge, but Van Auken wasn’t planning on memorializing it in any way. He didn’t ask anyone to get a photo of him behind the plate, and he wasn’t on the lookout for any particular keepsake.
That is, until Jordan hit the line drive to left-center in his first at-bat and Warren Newsome made a diving catch. When the ball was thrown back to the mound, Van Auken had pitcher James Baldwin toss it to the catcher and then the umpire dropped it in an empty pouch on his hip.
The rest of the game was fairly routine, and when it was completed Van Auken was telling his fellow umpires about the souvenir he picked up. After a brief discussion, they called the White Sox executive offices and got permission to go in the clubhouse for a Jordan autograph.
The Basketball Hall of Famer was sitting on a training table when Van Auken — who had called Jordan out on strikes a short time earlier — approached while still wearing his inner chest protector.
“I asked if he would sign a ball, and he said, ‘Were you the home plate umpire?’” Van Auken recalled. “My shirt was off, but I had my plate gear on so it was obvious. I thought, ‘Oh …’ But he was very cordial. Very accommodating.”
Van Auken returned to his North Pinellas home, put the ball in a plastic holder and then stored it on a closet shelf. It’s been there for most of the past three decades, and Van Auken has rarely shared the story beyond family and a few friends.
He was busy running a company that manufactured retainers, while also umpiring college games, working for a spell as the head softball coach at Osceola High and raising three kids. Van Auken, whose younger brother, Lance, was a longtime executive with Little League Baseball, had other adventures along the way, including the first T-ball game on the South Lawn of the White House in 2001, where he got a baseball signed by President George W. Bush.
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Explore all your optionsNow 68, Van Auken splits his time between golf outings and part-time work as a real estate agent.
He’s also pondering what to do with the Jordan baseball.
On a whim, he looked up some memorabilia companies on the Internet and called earlier this month to see how much interest there might be in an auction.
“They all want it,” Van Auken said. “There’s a lot of signed stuff out there, but not all of them have a story behind it. They said that is what adds to the value.”
The consensus seemed to be that the ball would fetch a minimum of $15,000 but could go to $100,000 or more in the right circ*mstances.
“In the end, it’s only worth what someone is willing to pay,” Van Auken said. “They told me they can try to put a value on it, but they won’t actually know until it goes into an auction. But they agree it’s a special ball.”
Does that mean, after 30 years, Van Auken is ready to cash in on his keepsake? He’s still not sure. He seems reluctant to part with it but realizes a baseball cannot be evenly divided between three children, and so it will inevitably be sold after he passes.
The auction houses are eager for Van Auken to ship the ball to them so the signature and other details can be authenticated (fortunately for Van Auken, the 1994 Associated Press reports of the intrasquad game include his role as the home plate umpire), but the idea of shipping it off is already causing him pain.
Van Auken could always put a reserve price on it, and if bids do not reach that level he could shut down the auction.
But, even then, he’s not sure what number would entice him. To him, the ball is more memory than asset. Not exactly priceless, but more valuable to him than perhaps anyone else.
“It’s a quandary: Do I, or don’t I? I really don’t know,” Van Auken said. “I played golf with my oldest son this morning, and he said, ‘Dad, don’t sell it. Wait another 20 years.’
“I still haven’t decided.”
John Romano can be reached at jromano@tampabay.com. Follow @romano_tbtimes.
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