Time turned back as I stepped into the quiet kitchen of Joe Gordon, son of Hall of Fame ballplayer Joe "Flash" Gordon. Two convertible Corvettes (1957 and 1962) and a '60s Camaro crouched in the garage, in various stages of restoration. On the counter were long binders filled with yellowing newspaper clips.
There were two Louisville Slugger bats with his dad's name engraved; old-fashioned, two pancake-flat gloves with his father's signature. A black-and-white photo of the ballplayer on the set of "Pride of the Yankees," alongside actor Gary Cooper, lay nearby. Another picture featured him with several players, including Lou Gehrig.
Also on the table was a certificate of award, signed by Babe Ruth, and a baseball card of Gordon.
But the most pertinent item was a letter of congratulations on the induction of Gordon into the Baseball Hall of Fame, today in Coopers?town. Thirty-one years after his death, 59 years after his retirement, the "Forgotten Yankee" is being remembered.
I got an e-mail from Gordon's son last winter. He had seemed as modest as his father, whom he says scarcely spoke of his career. He wanted to know if the Deseret News would like to do a story. I waited until this week, thinking it would be better timed in July.
"You probably don't even remember him," the younger Gordon said, almost apologetically.
I was aware of him — he was a nine-time All-Star and one-time MVP, playing in New York and Cleveland — but I had never associated him with the greatest Yankees like Yogi Berra, Reggie Jackson, Mickey Mantle, Ruth and Gehrig. Not that he was unknown in his playing days. His image even appeared on Wheaties boxes. The press called him "Flash" after the comic book character Flash Gordon. He was voted MVP of the American League in 1942, despite Ted Williams having won the Triple Crown. He eventually became the all-time leading home run leader among American League second basemen.
Still, the stat that stands out is Gordon's phenomenal fielding percentage (.970).
Nothing got past Flash.
The younger Joe Gordon won't be at his father's induction ceremony today, due to health issues. He sent a lot of the mementos ahead to Cooperstown. Other items, like the uniforms originally stored in travel trunks, were thrown out after his father died. Young Joe, now in his 60s, thinks they would be worth tens of thousands today.
Flash Gordon played in a different, more casual era. His son recalls sitting in the dugout during games and shagging flies in warm-ups. When Gordon retired and became a manager in Kansas City, Detroit and Cleveland, young Joe was exposed to later generations of players, too. He stood near the batting cage as Mantle drove pitch after pitch over the fence.
"Boy, he was strong," recalled Gordon.
In Cleveland, he once overthrew Herb Score while they were playing catch and hit Yogi Berra in the back of the head. Berra did nothing about it. Today there might be a lawsuit.
Money didn't dominate the game back then. The elder Gordon signed for $1,500 and never earned more than $4,000. He owned a hardware store in Eugene, Ore., where he worked in the off-season. His endorsement deal with General Mills amounted to $500, though the company also chipped in a case of Wheaties each time he hit a home run.
"We got so much of it that we were feeding it to the dogs," said his son.
The only thing Flash got for being MVP of the 1941 World Series was a $150 Stetson hat.
As a grown-up, the younger Gordon worked for various sporting goods stores and moved his family to Utah from California in 1990, a few years after converting to the LDS faith. Now retired, he restores classic cars.
As the conversation waned, we walked into his backyard. I asked what his father would think about the steroid-tainted baseball records nowadays.
"I don't think you want to hear that," he said, then added, "In my humble opinion, if they're proven to have been on steroids, I don't think they ought to be in the Hall of Fame."
Behind us, the sun had climbed high in the morning sky. A great baseball day was under way.
I picked up a ball signed by his dad's teammates and thought about when the game was safe and comforting. We talked about how players in bygone eras had to contend with a dead ball and deep fences, and mused about where the records have gone.
I took one more look at the mementos and walked to my car.
For the first time in a long time, I found myself thinking about who was leading the A.L. East.
e-mail: rock@desnews.com