60 years later, Brooks Robinson recalls flight to Boston where he met his wife

Nobody calls Brooks Robinson to ask him about that time Ted Williams stepped into Rip Sewell’s celebrated eephus pitch and walloped it for a home run in the 1946 All-Star Game.

Nobody calls Brooks Robinson to solicit his thoughts on Williams collecting six hits in eight at-bats in a doubleheader against the Philadelphia Athletics at Shibe Park on the last day of the 1941 season, lifting Teddy Ballgame’s batting average to .406.

And when Williams gently put aside his beloved casting rod to come out of retirement and manage the woebegone Washington Senators? Nobody bothers to quiz Brooks Robinson about that, either.

But for many years now, decades actually, and right around late summer, like clock work, Brooks Robinson fields Ted Williams-related telephone calls as deftly as he fielded all those grounders to third base during his Hall of Fame career with the Baltimore Orioles. Of course: Robinson was manning his position on that gray, chilly afternoon on Sept. 28, 1960, when Williams stepped up to the plate in the bottom of the eighth inning at Fenway Park and socked a home run in his final big-league at-bat.

It remains an epic moment not just for its place in baseball history but as a symbol: Whether it’s sports or politics or selling linoleum for a living, don’t we all dream of hitting a home run in our last at-bat? And since Brooks Robinson was the only other Hall of Famer on the field that day, he’s the guy you call. And he’s always gracious, reaching back for his very best aw-shucks Little Rock twang as he tells you what you want to know.

This year marks the 60th anniversary of Ted Williams’ celebrated home run.

This time, however, the telephone call to Brooks Robinson took an unexpected turn. For it was at some point during our conversation that he used the occasion to point out that Boston has special meaning for him, and not just because, as he put it, “I loved the ballpark. If I had my druthers I’d rather have hit in Boston or Detroit than any of the other ballparks.” (He had a .281 career batting average at Fenway Park and hit more home runs there — 23 — than at any other road venue.)

But for Robinson, it’s more than baseball.

“It was in Boston that I had my first date with my wife,” he told me. And then, almost matter-of-factly, he added, “So this is the 60th anniversary of Ted Williams hitting that home run. And then a few weeks after that you have my 60th wedding anniversary.”

This adds a new dimension to Robinson playing third base in Williams’ final game, considering that it was just 10 days later — on Saturday, Oct. 8, 1960 — that he and a young lady named Constance Butcher were married in Windsor, Ont.

But the story of how Brook Robinson met, fell in love with and then married Connie Butcher begins a little over a year earlier, on Aug. 27, 1959. The Orioles had played the Kansas City Athletics the night before at old Municipal Stadium, with Robinson hitting a two-run homer off lefty Bud Daley in Baltimore’s 6-3 victory. The 27th was a Thursday, an off-day, and the Orioles lined up a charter flight with United Airlines to transport the team from Kansas City to Boston. The players would thus have a free night in the Hub before beginning a three-game weekend series against the Red Sox at Fenway Park.

Connie Butcher, who was born in Detroit but raised across the river in Windsor, Ont., was what they used to call a “stewardess,” or flight attendant, and she was assigned to work the charter that would carry the Orioles from Kansas City to Boston.

“She was serving iced tea, and I liked ice tea anyway, and when she came to my aisle I said, ‘I’ll have iced tea, please,’” said Robinson, 83, his voice a little raspy but still strong.

And, now, animated.

“So I went back and I asked her for another glass of iced tea,” Robinson said. “And then I went back again.”

Robinson’s next move was to display some of that stellar defense that earned him 16 Gold Gloves during his playing career.

“I went back there and I said, ‘Look, I don’t care what they tell you, I’m the only single guy on this team,’” Robinson said to Connie.

Pause.

“Which was a lie,” he told me over the phone. “But it worked pretty well.”

It worked pretty well because Brooks Robinson asked Connie Butcher out on a date, and Connie said yes. These two crazy kids — they were both 23 — fell in love and were married in 1960.

Writer John Updike, who watched Williams’ last at-bat and then authored the iconic essay, “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu,” never got around to writing about Brooks Robinson’s last year of bachelorhood. But Robinson did cover the topic in his own autobiography, titled “Putting it All Together,” which was rushed out after the Orioles beat the Cincinnati Reds in the 1970 World Series.

Though the book’s selling point is Robinson’s World Series performance against the Reds — he hit .426 with two home runs and six RBI, along with making some of the best plays ever by a third baseman in the Fall Classic — he couldn’t resist writing about that 1959 charter flight to Boston.

“There was this attractive blond stewardess on board who made my eyeballs register tilt,” wrote Robinson.

Robinson describes Connie as responding, “Well, I’m certainly grateful for that piece of information, Mr. . . . Mr. . . .”

“Brooks Robinson,” he replied. “What’s your name?”

“Constance Butcher.”

Robinson especially enjoys talking about how he froze out any would-be suitors with that whopper about being the only unmarried guy on the team. But here’s the part Robinson doesn’t seem to have talked about before: His date with Connie almost never happened.

“I asked her out, but she didn’t know if she was going to take a flight right back to Chicago, where she was stationed,” he said. “I got the name of the hotel where she was staying in Boston, and I said, ‘Well, I’ll call you.’ I was stupid to not get her home number in Chicago.”

Had Connie Butcher connected with a flight to Chicago she might not have connected later that night with Brooks Robinson.

She missed the flight to Chicago.

“I called her and I said let’s have dinner and we went to have dinner,” he said.

“We went to a restaurant real close to the hotel,” he said. “I can’t think of the name of it.”

He asked Connie about the name of the restaurant. She doesn’t remember, either.

What a shame. There should be a plaque at that restaurant, or in the space where it once stood, to commemorate the occasion. On this spot Hall of Fame third baseman Brooks Robinson made his greatest play.

“But I do remember I had a ham steak,” he said. “And then I walked her back to her hotel. I called her the next day, it was near the end of the season, and I said I was going to be coming to Chicago for a few days before going home to Little Rock.

“I went to Chicago and spent three or four days there. I stayed at a hotel and visited her. She had two wonderful roommates. And then she came to Little Rock for New Year’s Eve.”

And then 1960 arrived. It was a big year for Robinson, who played in his first All-Star Game, won his first Gold Glove and finished third in MVP balloting behind Yankees stars Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle.

It was also the first time that people beyond Baltimore took the Orioles seriously. They were mostly an American League doormat during their years as the St. Louis Browns, and things didn’t change much when they moved to Baltimore in 1954 and were rebranded as the Orioles. They didn’t play above .500 in their first six years in Baltimore. But then came 1960, and the O’s posted an 89-65 record and were in first place in the American League as late as Sept. 14. Alas, they traveled to the Bronx for a four-game series against the Yankees and were swept right out of the pennant race, turning the last few weeks of the season into an exercise in maintaining their dignity.

And they did, winning six of their last nine games and finishing in second place, eight games behind a Yankee powerhouse that went 22-7 in September/October.

The Orioles ended their impressive season with a 2-1 victory over the Senators at Griffith Stadium.

It was the last game the original Washington Senators would play before heading out to Minnesota to become the Twins.

It was also the last game Brooks Robinson would play as a bachelor before heading out to Ontario to become Constance Butcher’s husband.

“I don’t know if I ever proposed to her or gave her a ring or anything like that,” Robinson said. “We just started talking about getting married. That was just before spring training in 1960.”

Plans for a 60th anniversary celebration?

“I don’t know,” he said. “With the situation we’re in with the pandemic, we’re probably going to stay around here. One of my granddaughters just tested positive (for COVID-19) — she’s out of school, works in New York. And I have a granddaughter in Washington. We’ll all get together at some point, but it’ll be low-key.”

Thankfully, he wasn’t low-key on that flight from Kansas City to Boston.

Today, then, hoist an iced tea and wish a happy 60th wedding anniversary to Brooks and Connie Robinson.

(Photo: Focus on Sport via Getty Images)