“The Mick” died on Aug. 13, 1995.
I happened to be home sick that day, and remember the State-like funeral. Thousands of words have been written on how he came to realize the impact he had on America, how he felt he failed to live up to expectations — both his own and those of his legion of fans — and how he finally came to accept those failings, ask forgiveness, and finally be the example he was destined to be.
Dozens of books have been written about Mantle, most recently Fred Glueckstein’s Mickey Mantle Rookie in Pinstripes, and I won’t take up space here listing them. Several were published in the years surrounding his death, both as a tribute and as a reminder of what America was like in the 1950s, when boomers sought the comfort of innocence while the world was slowly beginning to change around us. It was time to grow up face face the issues of the Cold War, racism and segregation, and other issues we’d sooner ignore.
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