In Search of Baseball Hall of Famer Richie Ashburn

I never met Richie, never cheered for Richie, and he wasn't my childhood idol. Until recently, I didn't follow Richie's career.

But because of a brief fling as a baseball card collector a few years back, I discovered Richie and I had something in common--we were both born in Tilden, Nebraska, a small town of about 1,500 about 30 miles west of Norfolk.

Further, my mom, Eva Belle, and many of her sisters, knew Richie. Richie was from the Tilden High Class of '44, my mom from the class of '45.

So, I have become a fan of Richie's after his death in 1997.

It is funny how you take someone into your life that you never knew. I guess we all want some sort of "brush with greatness." Richie, also known as Putt-Putt and Whitey, was a .308 lifetime hitter, a five time all-star, and played in one of baseball's golden eras. Plus, he knew my mom.

I asked my mom what memories she had of Don Richard Ashburn (his full name). I expected her to regale me with stories of him taking her to the prom, or scoring the winning basket against hated rival Neligh, or that he was a gentleman and a scholar.

Her answer: "He used to climb up the tree in our yard and tried to catch a look at me and my sisters in our bedrooms."

Not quite the answer I was looking for, but hey, he was just a kid like everybody else. I guess he was a red-blooded Nebraska small town guy, despite his athletic prowess.

Last week, while on a trip to Columbus, NE via Tilden and a stop to place flowers on my grand parent's Micah and Sarah James' grave for Memorial Day, I thought I'd try and pursue my fellow Tildenite. I had read that the local drug store had a "shrine" to the great outfielder and I'd pay my respects and take some pictures.

Like when I asked my mom about Richie, I was disappointed.

The druggist/owner politely told me, "Oh, we took that down a couple years ago. It's going to be a room in the new toy museum that's going in at the end of the block."

Damn.

My ten year old Matt and I strolled down the sidewalk past the shoe store and the variety store to the shop on the corner. All we could see through the darkened windows were boxes of old toy trucks--apparently exhibits for the new museum--and lots of junk. However, a visit to the new Tilden Community Library was more instructive.

The sixty-something librian with a slight German accent happily showed us all the books in the Richie Asbhurn Collection as well as other historical Tilden books. I learned that Richie--then just Rich--wrote for the Tilden High newspaper as a sports writer. In a preview story about the Tigers' basketball team, he mentioned himself, as well as everyone else on the team, that they all had the potential to do well that season. Obviously a team player, or at least someone who didn't want to be sitting by himself on the bus trips to Meadow Grove and Newman Grove. I also saw his autographed photo.

Most importantly, the local ball park is named after him--Richie Ashburn Field. It is not much of a football or baseball field. You drive in from Main Street and drive out past the grain elevators. It would be a stretch to call it a "field of dreams," even by a misty-eyed former Tildenite like me.

But Richie Ashburn's story is in many ways the story of America. Small town kid works hard, has talent, gets a break, makes the best of that break, plays in the Bigs, lands in the Hall of Fame, and has a nice life.

And his hometown hasn't forgotten. We should all be so lucky--and so blessed.