One morning when I was 10 or 11, I realized Yogi was sitting at the table adjacent to ours in a St. Louis restaurant. I was already a huge baseball fan, so I was thrilled. I whispered to my parents that he was there and my mother whispered back that I needed to wait until after he was done eating to say something to him. He ended up pulling his chair up to our table and talking to my family for a few minutes. He went above and beyond to be nice to a young baseball fan. I remember my mother thanking him for being “so sweet” to me.
R.I.P. Yogi! Thank you!
Same sentiments. Yogi was a rock.
Every story I hear about Yogi, the man, was similar. He was just a great, great guy.
Great story, thanks for sharing.