Howard got him to laugh by referring to curveballs, sliders and change-ups as "UFOs." Williams got Big Frank thinking about taking that first pitch, going deeper into the count to get a better pitch to swat. Howard gave it a try and went from 48 walks to 132 that season. He hit 48 home runs and drove in 126.
Howard played seven seasons in Washington until owner Bob Short moved the Senators to Texas, renaming the team the Texas Rangers. Ninety-five games into the '72 season, the Rangers sold him to Detroit, where he played until retiring after the '73 season. He played in Japan in '74 before tearing up his knee and beginning his coaching career.
At 68, former Senators slugger Frank Howard still looks like he could power one into the upper deck at RFK Stadium, where he plans to attend the Nationals' opening day.
(Tracy A. Woodward -- The Washington Post)
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The Heavy Hitter
Stories about Hondo's playing days abound. "Everybody's got a fun story on Frank. He was just one of those kind of guys," says former Senators first baseman Mike Epstein. "Rarely in the game of baseball do you come across somebody who is so truly likable because there is so much competition, but he was almost devoid of a personal ego."
Epstein remembers the time Senators manager Gil Hodges decided the team was out of shape and scheduled a mandatory weigh-in. Hondo stepped on the scale at 300 pounds, he says, and Hodges told him to lose 30 pounds by the next week.
"Nobody sees Frank all week. He shows up for the games and was striking out or hitting weak grounders," recalls Epstein, who now runs his own hitting instruction business in Denver. Next weigh-in, Howard is excited when the scale stops at 270. But Hodges pulls a surprise weigh-in the day after and Hondo is at 300 again. "He hadn't eaten and hardly drank anything for a week, lost 30 pounds, then put 30 pounds back on in one night," Epstein says.
Former Senators shortstop Eddie Brinkman, Howard's best friend and roommate on road trips, recalls the 15 feet of bald space where Howard paced in left field. "We had a lot of pop-ups between us," says Brinkman, recalling the time he ran back tracking a shallow fly, expecting Howard to call him off. He kept going and still heard nothing. Finally he caught the ball five feet in front of Howard's bare spot.
"I said, 'Hondo, Jesus, mix in an "I got it" once in a while,' " Brinkman says, laughing. "He said, 'You little [expletive]. I get paid to hit it, you're paid to catch it.' "
Check the list of Hall of Famers and you won't find Frank Howard between Rogers Hornsby and Waite Hoyt. Howard says he once watched Hall of Famer and career home run champ Hank Aaron hit batting practice. He looked over Aaron's bat. All the ball marks were a dime apart. His own bat was marked from the handle to the fat end. "So I said, 'Hammer, just out of curiosity, how many bats would you break in a year?' " Howard says. "He looked at me right in the eyes and said, 'Big Frank, I don't break bats, I wear 'em out.'
"Those guys are in the Hall of Fame for one reason and one reason only -- they excel at a level beyond us mere mortals."
Author John Holway once rated baseball's greatest home run hitters by calculating what their career totals would have been with as many at-bats as Aaron had (12,364) in hitting his record 755 homers. Howard's projected total: 728.
Hanging It Up
Howard has almost nothing from his playing days around the house: no photos on the walls, no baseballs, no bats. He shrugs, saying he gave most of it to charity. His wife, Donna, goes into the basement and finds a few photos and baseball cards.
But the full-size, gold-plated crown inlaid with large gemstones, that's in his den. It's inscribed "Babe Ruth Crown," one of baseball's most prestigious honors in his day. This award for home run champ went to Howard twice -- in '68 and in '70.
That makes it all the harder to imagine that he doesn't have any of his old bats. Not one. "You know, I really don't miss that," he says.
When it's over, it's over, he says, recalling when he knew his playing days were done. "Last series in '73, a cold, rainy, sleety night in Detroit, about 5,000 people in the ballpark, and [Orioles pitcher] Jimmy Palmer's got us shut out 7-0 on two hits going into the eighth.
