Baseball had no better ambassador.
As sad as I am to hear of his passing, I will share my Ernie stories with a smile on my face (but with a heavy heart)
Ernie story #1. Circa 1972.
I grew up 2 hours from Chicago. My Great Aunt Lydia would take us - my siblings and first cousins - to Cubs games, four at a time. Leave early, arrive at 8:30 for a 1:15 game. Wait in line for general admission seats - her and the girls in the grandstand, boys in the bleachers.
After one game, we were waiting for the players to come out to their parking lot, in hopes of getting autographs. After 10 or 15 minutes, Aunt Lydia told us we needed to go. We hadn't seen Ernie yet, or Santo or Williams. We were upset she was taking us to the car.
We walked south toward the front gate, but instead of heading west to the car, she turned east, down the right field line. Then south for two blocks. We had no idea where she was headed.
We came to a little gas station/auto repair, whatever. There sat a red Cadillac. She told us to have a seat.
Five or ten minutes later, here comes Ernie!! My aunt knew where he parked his car, and it wasn't in the players' lot.
I got his autograph on a ball I still have today. I have never been much of an autograph or memorabilia hound, but that ball - which later saw Santo, Kessinger, jenkins, Reuschel all added - has moved with me for decades.
Two days ago, I picked up a souvenir bat off my son's bedroom floor. It was the one I bought four decades ago with Ernie Banks' signature on it. I smiled to think I have had it all these years, and my son actually messes with it too. Those two items are the only memorabilia I have ever kept.
Sleep well, Ernie. You are one of a kind. The happiest and friendliest athlete I can ever remember.
RIP, Mr. Cub.