Among the heroes at the Metrodome ~ June 25, 1987

David Heiller

Two years ago I went to the Metrodome to do an interview with Kent Hrbek. His parents are from Willow River, and his grandmother, Evelyn Kiminski, still lives west of Rutledge. The local angle looked good for a write-up in the American.

But Kent had other things on his mind as he sat in the dugout before that 1985 game. He grunted at me, in Clan of the Cave Bear dialogue. I didn’t understand it, but wrote it up anyway.

So I tried again last Sunday, with the help of a press pass from the Twins. My brother, Glenn, came along to take pictures. We arrived about an hour before game time, so we would have plenty of time for an interview and pictures. First we went into the press box, where I said hello to Charlie Crepeau, an old Twins fan from Finlayson who I interviewed last year.

“Hello Charlie, remember me, I’m David Heiller, Askov American.”

“Who?” He looked at me blankly.

“David Heiller, Askov American. I did a story on you last year.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, remember, I sent you a copy.”

Charlie’s eyes finally lit up, and he reached to shake my hand. “Oh, yeah, thank you, very nice, very nice.”

We stood in the press box, looking over the long tables of newspaper writers. A man from Chicago was typing on a portable computer. Other men from papers like the St. Paul Pioneer Press and Minneapolis Star sat in front of their nameplates, talking.

“Where’s the spot for the Askov American?” my brother asked. Luckily no one heard him.

Delicious smells filled the press box too, from a rotisserie that held a couple dozen hot dogs and bratwursts. We filled a couple glasses with pop, grabbed some hotdogs, then headed down to the field.

Our hero, Kent Hrbek, stood at the side of the artificial turf, casting a fishing plug as part of a Berkely fishing promotion. He and Tim Laudner and Ron Schara from the Minneapolis paper were having a contest to see who could cast their plug into an oil pan 50 feet away the most times.

Above us, leaning over the railing, stood about a dozen kids, holding balls and gloves. “Kent, how about an autograph.” “Kent, sign my glove.” “Hey Kent, hit one out today.” The kids chattered non-stop. Tony Oliva sat in a chair off to one side and looked a little disappointed. When I was those kids’ age, we asked for Tony’s autograph, or Harmon Killebrew’s. Now, Kent is the hero.

Kent glanced at me, then suddenly broke away from his group and walked ward me. I froze.

“Can I borrow your pen?” he asked.

“Sure, no problem, I answered with relief. I thought maybe he remembered the last column I wrote about him.

He signed a baseball and tossed it up to a kid. He handled back the pen. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I answered.

That was the end of the interview, I thought. What the heck, he spoke to me this time. Last time all I got was spit on my shoe.

Still we stood around; while Kent, Tim, and Ron tossed their plugs. Laudner lost out first, then Ron beat our hero two throws to one in the oil pan. I was glad to see Schara win, because I figured Kent could beat him in a home run contest.

After they shook hands and the crowd cheered, Kent pulled up a chair by the dugout. He sat out of sight of the crowd of kids, whose voices seemed to follow him everywhere. “Hey Kent, sign my glove.” “Kent, Kent, look up so I can take your picture.”

I walked up to Kent and introduced myself, showing him my business card. I didn’t think the Askov American would be weekly reading for him.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen your paper,” he said. I held my breath. He didn’t mention that last column.

“Do you get up to Willow River much to fish?” I asked.

“No,” he answered. “Hunting, if I do anything. Cut wood.”

“Did you fish there as a kid?” I asked.

“My summers, I spent a lot of summers up there, helping Grandpa with hay and stuff,” he answered.

Mike Smithson turned his tall frame around in his chair ahead of us and looked at Kent with a smile that said, “Exciting interview, huh?” Gary Gaetti walked out of the clubhouse. “How’d you do in the fishing thing?” he asked.

“Schara beat me two to one,” Kent answered.

“Two to one?” Gaetti asked in mock disbelief.

I stood there, a mere mortal among giants and heroes. I tried to think of another dumb question that had something to do with Willow River and fishing. My mind drew a blank.

“Well, thanks a lot, Kent,” I said.

“Sure,” he answered.

My brother and I walked back upstairs, through the press box to our seats. “I saw you talking with Hrbek,” he said. “Did you have a good interview?”

“Yeah, real good,” I said, and smiled. Then we settled into our seats and watched the Twins win another one.