As I watched the news reporting Henry Aaron’s passing, I got a little misty-eyed. My deep emotional attachment was in that moment revealed. Why these feelings for Henry Aaron?
In 2009 I met Henry during a testimonial interview for a bank client. The country was going through “The Great Recession,” and the bank needed to boost customer confidence. Henry Aaron was a customer who agreed to help the bank.
Henry’s attorney wanted our agency to write a script for approval—which we did. I was honored to manage the interview in the press briefing room at Turner Field.
My first impression of Henry reassured me that he was a great choice. Not because he was one of baseball’s all-time greatest players, but because he was so approachable, friendly and engaging. We quickly got past the introduction formalities and sat down to audiotape the interview script.
The script did not work. These were our words, not his. And despite all of his efforts to deliver it, he and I both knew this was not going to work. I am not sure who was more nervous, me or him. No, it was me. There sat client bank executives watching this interview fall far short of expectations.
My suggestion was for Henry to just tell his story about the bank—and then the magic began. You could not have written a better testimonial. It was rooted in honest truth and delivered in such a humble tone and manner. Before the interview, I had been a great fan of Henry Aaron. Now, Henry Aaron was my hero.
As we headed out to the bleachers to take photos for our campaign, our casual conversation made it very clear how important it was to him that the interview went well and that we were happy.
As I reflect on that day, it is only fitting that Henry Aaron did not deliver the script we had written. He had not lived his life by a script. He had far surpassed any script or expectations that might have been written for a poor, black boy growing up in Mobile, Alabama.
He was a one-of-a-kind brand. Authentic, reliable, consistent day-in and day-out; there when you needed him most; strong enough to overcome great challenges; and most of all, likeable. No, lovable. Thank you, Henry Aaron, for who you were and what you stood for far beyond a baseball field.