Sometime in the early 1970s, when I was about six years old, my father took my brother and me to the old Pittsburgh Airport to pick up visiting relatives. As we walked through the airport, the Pittsburgh Pirates were getting off an airplane.

My father suddenly stopped. He had spotted Roberto Clemente.

This wasn’t the first time he eyed someone famous. The previous year, on a summer vacation to Niagara Falls, Liberace walked through our hotel lobby. My dad grabbed a pencil and paper and led me over to get an autograph.

So, when he saw Clemente, he took us right over, and Clemente, larger than life, rubbed my brother and me on our heads with his iconic hand. It was, and always will be, a monumental moment in my life. I can still feel his touch. I am sorry to have missed the Clemente weeke

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