John Updike, one of the great writers of the 20th century, passed away yesterday at the age of 76.
Although he was known primarily for his novels, particularly his series of “Rabbit” books, Updike found the time to write one of the most famous (baseball) essays of all time. “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu,” about Ted Williams’ final game, has long been a staple in sportswriting anthologies and includes a paragraph stands out and is often excerpted as an example of premium writing:
Like a feather caught in a vortex, Williams ran around the square of bases at the center of our beseeching screaming. He ran as he always ran out home runs—hurriedly, unsmiling, head down, as if our praise were a storm of rain to get out of. He didn’t tip his cap. Though we thumped, wept, and chanted “We want Ted” for minutes after he hid in the dugout, he did not come back. Our noise for some seconds passed beyond excitement into a kind of immense open anguish, a wailing, a cry to be saved. But immortality is nontransferable. The papers said that the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now. Gods do not answer letters.
The story originally appeared in the Oct. 22, 1960 issue of The New Yorker, and can be read here.
One of the great headlines marking the author’s passing comes from the Quincy (MA) Patriot Ledger: “Readers bid Updike adieu.” King Kaufman, who handles sports for Salon.com, wrote this tribute, “John Updike, baseball writer.”
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