Thurman Munson is one of the first players I remember because of how he died. I was a kid in 1979 when the news broke, and it forced me to face something I wasn’t ready for. All living things die. Even baseball players who seem larger than life. Even the captain of the Yankees.
I have his 1978 Topps card, number 60. That set is the only complete collection I own, and Munson’s card stands out every time I look at it. He looks tough, like a man who had carried his team through battles. I didn’t know much about leadership back then, but I could tell he was different.
When I heard Munson died in a plane crash, I couldn’t make sense of it. He was 32 years old. He had bought a Cessna Citation jet so he could fly himself home to his family in Ohio between games, trying to be both a captain and a present father. On August 2, 1979, while practicing landings at Akron-Canton Airport, he clipped a tree and the jet went down short of the runway. His two passengers survived. He didn’t.
The Yankees held a memorial the next day. Bobby Murcer gave the eulogy in the morning, then drove in the winning runs that night against the Orioles. Even Reggie Jackson, who clashed with Munson constantly, broke down in tears. The team left Munson’s locker untouched for years, a shrine to the captain they lost.
What makes it even heavier is that the year before, in 1978, Lyman Bostock was murdered in Gary, Indiana at only 27. Two players gone in back-to-back years. I have both of their cards in that ’78 Topps set. I remember staring at them, side by side, trying to process how men who looked so alive on cardboard could already be gone in real life. That was when I started to understand mortality. Baseball wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a reminder of how fragile life is.
Munson’s number 15 is retired. His statue is in Monument Park. Fans still chant his name. But for me, he will always be tied to that 1978 Topps set, the only collection I have. The cards taught me about the game. Munson’s and Bostock’s cards taught me about loss.
Another beautifully written piece, John. Remember Lyman Bostock like it was yesterday - can still feel the shock from reading about his death in the newspaper. Had just watched him play at Metropolitan Stadium weeks before his death. :(