He Cooked the Best Ribs Ever

Tom Wright, founded Tom's Place restaurant

[Published on February 28, 2006]

Tom Wright loved barbecue.

Born in Georgia, he dedicated his life to sharing this love of Southern-style ribs with the world, or at least Palm Beach County, through his legendary restaurant, Tom's Place.

But his dedication may have helped cut his life short, his family said. Hours spent over a poorly ventilated barbecue pit in the restaurant's early days gave Mr. Wright, who did not smoke cigarettes, emphysema, daughter Cassandra Wright said. He died Friday at Boca Raton Community Hospital of complications from that disease and overall failing health.

Still, nothing would have lured her father away from that pit, she said.

"He liked cooking," Cassandra Wright said. "He would go to work sick and you wouldn't know it. He was so stubborn. His goal was he'd get three cooks on the line, and he'd get on the line by himself and produce more than those three cooks would."

He would still be here, sick as he was, if his wife, Helen, hadn't died. It happened two years ago, while Mr. Wright was recovering from a stroke. They were married 47 years. Even while living in the Dunbar Village public-housing complex in West Palm Beach, Helen Wright was known for a keen fashion sense honed at her job dressing the rich at a Worth Avenue boutique.

She had been in poor health. The children couldn't tell their father until months later, when his recovery had progressed enough that he was able to understand.

"When he found out, he had a broken heart," Cassandra Wright said. "He gave up."

The restaurant, opened in Boca Raton in 1977, had closed shortly before Mr. Wright's stroke and his wife's death. Cassandra and her five brothers and sisters decided to reopen it in West Palm Beach last year. They wanted to carry on the dream that had given their family so much.

The restaurant business took the Wright family from the housing projects to a comfortable suburban home. For dinner, the family ate restaurant-quality prime rib and shrimp scampi. Mr. and Mrs. Wright gave each of their children a car for their 16th birthdays.

"It might have been a used car, but it was a car," Cassandra Wright said. "We were the fortunate kids on the block."

Mr. Wright loved cars almost as much as he loved cooking. When he wasn't manning the restaurant, his friends could find him out at Moroso Motorsports Park racing his Camaro. They called him "Quick Draw."

Mr. Wright was a pastor who considered the world his church. He cooked for the homeless, helped down-on-their-luck restaurant patrons with electric bills, and gave money to churches. The phone at the restaurant has been ringing off the hook as news of his death spread.

"He's a well-known man," Cassandra Wright said. "I'm so honored to have a parent like that."

In addition to his daughter Cassandra, Mr. Wright is survived by children, George, Kimberly, Kenny and Tom Wright, and Belinda Johnson.

Visitation will be 5 to 8 p.m. Friday at Royal Palm Funeral Home, 5601 Greenwood Ave., West Palm Beach. The funeral is scheduled for 10:30 a.m. Saturday at Redemptive Life Fellowship Church, 2101 N. Australian Ave., West Palm Beach.

The restaurant, 1225 Palm Beach Lakes Blvd., will close Saturday out of respect for its founder. Mr. Wright's family hasn't designated a charity; instead urging that mourners honor their father's memory by eating ribs.

"Keep the dream alive," Cassandra Wright said.

Copyright © 2005, The Palm Beach Post.

I WAS 19 AND WATCHED IN MY APT. IN GAINESVILLE, FL

Oct. 27, 1991: Kirrr-bee does it!

Kirby Puckett's home run in the 11th inning gave the Twins a 4-3 victory over Atlanta in Game 6, setting off a raucous 10-minute ovation that didn't quiet until a postgame interview was shown on the Metrodome scoreboard.

By Howard Sinker, Star Tribune

There will be one more baseball game in 1991. For that, you can thank Kirby Puckett. Was there ever any doubt?

Was there?

Can't hear you, Minnesota.

Not because you weren't loud. It's because our eardrums have been burned into toast.

For that, you can thank Kirby Puckett.

Puckett slammed a home run in the 11th inning Saturday night to give the Twins a 4-3 victory over Atlanta in Game 6, setting off a raucous 10-minute ovation that didn't quiet until a postgame interview was shown on the Metrodome scoreboard.

In front of 55,155 folks who paid to get in, including about 1,500 who were rooting for the visitors, the Twins made sure the 88th World Series would play through one more full weekend. For that, you can thank...

Oh, heck, never mind.

Today is it. Mad Jack Morris for the hometown nine, John Smoltz for the visitors. Biggest game of all.

Morris saw Puckett's ball sail beyond the wall in left and knew that his turn on center stage was next. Is he ready? "Words from the late, great Marvin Gaye come to mind," Morris said. " `Let's get it on.' "

During last night's game, the assembled were a bit less festive, a bit more focused on the game - at least until the very end. It was a bit less civil, a bit more warlike. They booed Kid Edina, catcher Greg Olson of the Braves, who'd been accorded a cheerful welcome at last weekend's games.

There was an air of urgency under Thunderdome. That the Twins had won six straight World Series games there without losing any, in 1987 and 1991, didn't count as much as the need for timely hitting, good pitching and solid defense.

Puckett: three hits, three runs batted in, two runs, one magnificent catch. He didn't take the mound, though. Or sell programs.

"This is the game I'll never forget," he said. "It's pretty awesome."

Down three games to two, straight shots of optimism had been replaced by a mix that included a healthy portion of hope.

The same potion was in vogue four years ago when the Twins brought St. Louis back to town with the Cardinals needing just one more victory.

Did they get it? You don't need to be reminded.

This was Game 6, the sequel, with Puckett in the role of Kent Hrbek, whose grand slam slammed St. Louis in 1987.

In Atlanta, fans responded to the tension of Game 3, the four-hour thriller, by sitting on the edge of their chairs in eerie near-silence for most of the final few innings - until their team finished off a 12-inning victory.

Here, the tension turned up the volume. During batting practice, early-arriving fans cheered when Hrbek and Mike Pagliarulo parked consecutive home runs. And they cheered when the duo, both left-handed batters, bounced hard grounders into foul territory in right field - where the Braves were loosening up.

No signs here like the one in Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium - "Hrbek is a jrk." Here, one read: "Hrbek is our hro."

"It's home," Hrbek said. "H-O-M-E."

At home, instead of Hrbek, the big boos were for Mark Lemke, the Atlanta second baseman whose hitting was a big reason for his team's midweek success.

The fans were putting their hopes on the right arm of Scott Erickson, a candidate for the least-respected 20-game winner in the history of baseball. They were willing to give Erickson the benefit of any doubts, though, as the second-year pitcher took the mound. He was manager Tom Kelly's guy; he was their guy.

As Erickson worked through the first, allowing a single and a walk, every strike drew a roar; the two-strike situations got those anticipatory standing ovations normally saved for the ninth inning. Third baseman Scott Leius gave reason to gasp when he fumbled speedy Lonnie Smith's grounder to open the game, and reason to scream when he got the ball to first just before Smith arrived.

The Twins were home, with Tone Loc and Technotronic pumping up the crowd instead of the way it was in Atlanta - with the ersatz Indian mantra that has maddened Minnesota in recent days.

The wild thing was, it seemed to work right away. The other second baseman, Chuck Knoblauch, lined a single to right and scored when Puckett followed with a triple.

Hey, something had to be different. Shane Mack got a hit, after going without in his first 15 times up in the Series. A piece of the bat sailed toward third base, the ball sailed into left field, the Twins led 2-0.

Atlanta's bats weren't quiet, but the Twins aided Erickson with sizzling defense, jumps and glovework that seemed to be lifted from highlight reels.

Air Leius leaped high to snare Brian Hunter's line drive to start the second. Air Puckett leaped against the glass in left-center to take away a double or triple from Ron Gant with a masterful catch in the third. A liner by David Justice went into Hrbek's glove to end the third instead of going to the right-field corner for a run-scoring double.

Erickson played that game of dodge (the bullet) ball until the fifth, when Terry Pendleton, the National League batting champion, knocked a homer to center that tied the score at 2.

Atlanta's choppers, most of whom were sitting in the upper deck above first base, did their best to draw attention to themselves. It was one of the few times when their carrying-on could be heard amidst the sea of white hankies.

If anyone had doubts about the intensity on the field - and foolish doubts they would have been - Gant must have erased them in the seventh. He celebrated the most modest of successes - barely beating a double-play relay at first - by raising his fist and pumping it wildly. He had everything but a hanky in upraised hand.

The rush was justified, though, because his speed allowed Lemke to score for a 3-3 tie. Had he been a bit slower, he would have been the third out and those extra innings probably wouldn't have been played.

The extra innings, though, allowed the Twins to come together, a hugging mob at home plate that lurched with joy in the direction of Atlanta's dugout.

Once more? For that, you can thank Kirby Puckett.

© 1991 Star Tribune.

Let' Hear from the Coach

Kelly's sorrow bound up with a profound gratitude

Patrick Reusse, Star Tribune

FORT MYERS, FLA. -- Tom Kelly was working with the Twins' Florida Instructional League team in the fall of 1982. Kirby Puckett had been a No. 1 draft choice -- in January, not June -- that year, and Kelly was told that he would be impressed.

"He was short and had that stocky build... didn't really look like a ballplayer," Kelly said. "That doesn't matter, as we know, but in the instructional league, you have 30 or more kids on the roster and you try to give everyone a chance.

"We would play him one day, and he would do OK, and then we would play someone else the next day. He was quiet as could be. Never said boo for the first couple of weeks.

"There was this pitcher -- tall, a white kid -- and he was the player that a number of guys decided to pick on. It was getting worse each time, and then one day, Kirby jumped up and went over and got in the face of those guys and said: 'That's enough of this. I don't want to hear it again.'

"He was a little guy, but they knew they were going to have to fight him if they said anything. They all shut up.

"I saw that from across the clubhouse. It was something to make you take notice. I remember thinking, 'This kid might be different,' in a good way. And, as I recall, after that incident, he just took off, went from playing well to playing great."

Kelly said the instructional league was not the only time he saw a quiet Puckett. Kelly was the third base coach when Puck arrived in the big leagues on May 8, 1984.

"He didn't say much of anything," Kelly said. "He must have figured that rookies are supposed to be seen and not heard. It wasn't until the second year when his personality started to come out."

Kelly looked toward one of the Twins' minor league fields and said:

"How lucky was I as a manager? My best player was the first guy in the clubhouse every day in spring training. My best player was the first guy to go down to the field at the Dome and go to work, to get ready for a game.

"I would talk to other managers and they would say, 'This guy is a pain in my rear end' -- and, I mean, big guys on their teams.

"I'd hear that and ask my coaches, 'What are they talking about? I don't have those issues.' I guess, when your best player gets there early, puts in extra work and busts his tail to first on every groundball ... the other players are going to follow him."

This was noontime Tuesday. Kelly was sitting at a table in front of the minor league office at the Lee County Sports Complex. Over the previous 18 hours, he had done a dozen interviews on the death of Puckett, his Hall of Fame center fielder, and now he was asked to sit for another.

"Several [media] people have said to me, 'Did you ever talk to Kirby about his weight?' " Kelly said. "The more I hear that, the more [irritated] I get. I see a man once every six months, and we have a 5-minute conversation, and I'm going to talk to him about his weight? Puck wasn't stupid. He knew what he was dealing with.

"Years ago, we had a young man in the clubhouse named Bobby who was in trouble with his weight. Puck and Herbie [Kent Hrbek] and a few of us, we talked to him all the time, and I think that might have made it worse.

"Finally, Puck read about this program at the University of Minnesota to deal with a situation like that, and he did more than talk. He paid for Bobby to go through that program. Bobby tried. Didn't work."

Kelly paused, then said: "Puck knew. I don't know what he tried, if he tried, but he knew."

News of Puckett's stroke reached the Twins clubhouse before noon Sunday. Since then, nearly all talk in this baseball complex has centered on Kirby, including numerous conversations between Kelly and Rick Stelmaszek, entering his 26th season as Twins bullpen coach.

Kelly and Stelly. They were together in that instructional league 24 years ago, when Puckett told the bullies to knock it off, and nobody challenged him in return.

"I said to Stelly, 'If Puck doesn't come around, where are we?' " Kelly said. "Do we have the success we had right away without him? And without that success, do I manage for 15 years? Does Stelly coach for 30 years in the big leagues?

"Maybe we could've won without that .330, .340, and 25, 30 home runs every year, but I don't have a big enough ego to tell you I think we would have.

"Twins baseball was down for quite a while, for a decade or more, and Kirby Puckett was the main reason it came back.

"I said to Stelly, 'Do you think we would've had the lives we wound up having if Puck hadn't come along?' Without him, maybe we all get blown out after three years and wind up where? Working in a high school?

"I've had it pretty good since Kirby Puckett came along. I owe that man a lot of gratitude."

© 2006 Star Tribune.

Another Obit.

Kirby Puckett, 45, Hall of Fame Outfielder, Dies

By RICHARD GOLDSTEIN, The New York Times

Kirby Puckett, the Hall of Fame outfielder for the Minnesota Twins, acclaimed for his sunny personality and his passion for baseball, died yesterday at a hospital in Phoenix. He was 45.

The cause was complications from a stroke he had Sunday at his home in Scottsdale, Ariz., the Twins said. Puckett had neurosurgery at Scottsdale Osborne Hospital on Sunday, then was transferred to St. Joseph's Hospital and Medical Center in Phoenix, where he died. Mike Herman, a spokesman for the Twins, said medical records showed that Puckett was a year older than his listed age in record books.

At 5 feet 9 inches and around 220 pounds, Puckett hardly bore the frame of a major league star. But he became one of baseball's premier hitters and a superb center fielder, starring for the Twins from 1984 to 1995.

He appeared in 10 consecutive All-Star Games, beginning with his third season in 1986. He led the Twins to World Series championships in 1987 and 1991, and he had a .318 career batting average with 2,304 hits and 207 home runs. He won the American League batting title in 1989 with a .339 average and batted over .300 in 8 of his 12 seasons. He led the American League or was tied for the most hits in a season four times, he was the runs-batted-in leader in 1994, and he won a Gold Glove award for his fielding six times.

For all those statistical achievements, Puckett was hailed as much for the sheer joy he communicated at a time when soaring salaries distanced many players from their fans.

"I played every game like it was my last," Puckett said when he was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2001, his first year of eligibility. "I think I'm one of the few guys who can say I left my blood, sweat and tears on the field."

Puckett was also known for his work in community projects. He played host to a billiards tournament benefiting pediatric heart research, worked with antidrug programs and bought tickets to Twins games for poor children.

He had a routinely outstanding season in 1995, batting .314. But on March 28, 1996, when he awakened at the Twins' spring camp in Fort Myers, Fla., a black dot appeared in the central part of his right retina and he could not see when looking straight ahead. He was found to have a central retina vein occlusion in that eye and glaucoma in both eyes.

He never played again, announcing his retirement the next July after the third in a series of operations on his right eye revealed irreversible retina damage.

On the night of Sept. 7, 1996, a sellout crowd of 51,011 — the largest at the Twins' stadium since their 1993 season opener — bade Puckett farewell before a game with the California Angels.

Puckett was named an executive vice president of the Twins soon after he retired. But he left that post in November 2002 after a stunning turn of fortune for a man considered one of the most popular sports figures in Minnesota history.

On Dec. 21, 2001, Puckett's wife, Tonya, filed a report with the police in Edina, Minn., saying that in a telephone conversation earlier that month, Puckett had threatened to kill her. She also recounted what she said was his history of domestic violence. Puckett denied being a threat and no criminal charges were filed, but soon afterward the couple announced plans to divorce.

In October 2002, Puckett was charged with false imprisonment, criminal sexual conduct and assault after a woman accused him of forcing her into a men's room at a restaurant in Eden Prairie, Minn., and groping her. He was found not guilty at a jury trial the next April, but he remained out of baseball.

Kirby Puckett was born in Chicago on March 14, 1960. He grew up in a housing project on the South Side, the youngest of nine children. His father was a postal worker and the family lived in a three-room apartment.

"I didn't get into trouble because I stayed away from those elements," he once told Ira Berkow of The New York Times. "I had my sights set on playing ball. If you ever wanted to find Kirby Puckett, you knew where to go — around the corner, where I'd be there with my ball and bat and hitting and throwing against a wall."

Puckett was drafted by the Twins in 1982 after playing for Bradley University and Triton College in Illinois. He helped take the Twins to the 1987 World Series championship, a seven-game victory over the St. Louis Cardinals. He was named the most valuable player in the 1991 American League Championship Series against Toronto , then hit an 11th-inning home run in Game 6 of the World Series against the Braves, keeping the Twins alive. They went on to beat Atlanta for the championship.

Puckett is survived by a son, Kirby Jr., and a daughter, Catherine.

"In many ways, he's the signature element of our franchise," the Twins' president, Dave St. Peter, told The Star Tribune of Minneapolis after Puckett had the stroke.

St. Peter recalled "that infectious smile and the way he played the game."

"I tell people that the way I define Kirby Puckett's popularity is by the thousands and thousands of dogs and cats named after him throughout the Upper Midwest," he said. "Kirby and I always laughed about that."

Copyright 2006 The New York Times Company

Just Can't Say Good Bye

Hall of Famer Kirby Puckett dies after massive stroke

By Hal Bodley, USA TODAY

Kirby Puckett, once described as everything that is good about baseball, died Monday a day after suffering a massive stroke at his Scottsdale, Ariz., home.

Arguably the most popular sports figure in Minnesota history, the affable Puckett succumbed at the St. Joseph's Hospital and Medical Center where he was moved Sunday night after undergoing extensive surgery to stop bleeding and remove pressure from his brain at Scottsdale health care Osborn.

Puckett was given last rites and died in the afternoon, hospital spokeswoman Kimberly Lodge told the Associated Press.

Puckett, who would have turned 46 next Tuesday, propelled the Twins to World Series titles in 1987 and 1991 before his career was cut short by glaucoma in 1996.

Puckett, a player with a perpetual smile, ended his 12-year career with a .318 batting average, six Gold Gloves for his play in center field, a batting title in 1989 (.339) and 10 trips to the All-Star Game. He was inducted into baseball's Hall of Fame in 2001, his first year of eligibility.

Commissioner Bud Selig, who called Puckett "a Hall of Famer in every sense of the term," added in a statement: "Kirby was taken from us much too soon — and too quickly."

Carl Pohlad, owner of the Twins for whom Puckett played his entire career, said "this is a sad day for the Minnesota Twins, Major League Baseball and baseball fans everywhere."

Players union chief Don Fehr said "Kirby played the game with such passion and enthusiasm that he was beloved by players and fans throughout all of baseball. An icon in Minnesota, Kirby's contributions to the game and all who love it will stand as a lasting tribute to his life."

Puckett, affectionately called "Puck," by friends and teammates, came out of the tough Chicago ghetto, but always said: "No matter what you achieve, you need to know where you've been."

Puckett's signature performance came in Game 6 of the 1991 World Series against Atlanta. After telling anyone who would listen before the game that he would lead the Twins to victory that night at the Metrodome, he made a leaping catch against the fence and then hit a game-ending homer in the 11th inning to force a seventh game.

The next night, Minnesota's Jack Morris went all 10 innings to outlast John Smoltz and pitch the Twins to a 1-0 win for their second championship in five years.

"If we had to lose and if one person basically was the reason — you never want to lose — but you didn't mind it being Kirby Puckett. When he made the catch and when he hit the home run you could tell the whole thing had turned," Smoltz told the AP Monday night.

"His name just seemed to be synonymous with being a superstar," the Braves' pitcher said. "It's not supposed to happen like this."

Hall of Fame catcher Carlton Fisk echoed Smoltz's sentiment.

"There was no player I enjoyed playing against more than Kirby. He brought such joy to the game. He elevated the play of everyone around him," Fisk said in a statement to the Hall.

Puckett was drafted by the Twins in 1982 and became their regular center fielder two years later. At 5-foot-8, he weighed about 210 pounds when he played, but in recent years his weight ballooned to an excess of 300 pounds.

"The last few times I saw him, he kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger," said former Twins All-Star Tony Oliva, a mentor to Puckett. "We were worried about him."

"It's a tough thing to see a guy go through something like that and come to this extent," former teammate Kent Hrbek told the AP Monday night.

"That's what really hurt him bad, when he was forced out of the game," he said. "I don't know if he ever recovered from it."

Asked what he would remember the most from their playing days, Hrbek quickly answered, "Just his smile, his laughter and his love for the game."

Puckett's birthdate was frequently listed as March 14, 1961, but recent research by the Hall of Fame indicated he was born a year earlier.

Puckett was a guest coach at Twins spring training camp in 1996, but hadn't worked for the team since 2002. He kept a low profile since being cleared of assault charges in 2003, when he was accused of groping a woman at a suburban Twin Cities restaurant.

Puckett, who was engaged to Jodi Olson and planned a June 24 wedding, had two children with his ex-wife Tonya.

Funeral services are incomplete.

Contributing: The Associated Press

Copyright © 2006 USA TODAY, a division of Gannett Co. Inc.

And Still Mourning

Hall of Famer Puckett was game to play ball

By Ian O'Connor, USA TODAY

He played every game as if an ice cream sundae were the reward for hustling and having fun. Kirby Puckett was a Little Leaguer all grown up, chasing after fly balls as if he could almost taste that cherry on top.

Between the lines, Puckett was the Tom Hanks character in Big.

He was not defined by his bat, his glove or the two World Series championships delivered to the Minnesota Twins. Puckett was best captured by the unmitigated joy he showed in playing a boy's game like few men ever could.

They should show footage of Puckett to every minor league kid in a spring training camp. Show him crashing into the Metrodome wall, running his roly-poly self around the bases and flashing that infectious smile that became the can-do face of happy hinterland ball.

The minor leaguers run into daily examples of why professional baseball is a cold and nasty business. A few clips of Puckett will remind them why they used to tie up new grade-school mitts - balls planted firmly in pockets - and slide them under their mattresses in the hope of breaking them in.

The films don't lie - this was a ballplayer who only needed a uniform, a few bucks in his wallet and a full tank of gas in his truck.

This truth has been scarred beyond recognition in the 10 years since glaucoma shut him down without warning, just stole his career as suddenly as Puckett would steal a home run ball from the other side of the fence.

He woke up one day to discover that he was done, his right eye flickering out like a candle in the dark of night. Puckett would've made Lou Gehrig proud. He talked about how lucky he was, how nobody should feel sorry for someone once told he was too short to play in the bigs. Puckett was the 5-8 son of the Chicago projects who grew into an all-America giant.

"I wanted to play baseball ever since I was 5 years old," he said in his Hall of Fame induction speech. "And I want you to remember the guiding principles of my life: You can be what you want to be. If you believe in yourself ... anything, and I'm telling you anything, is possible."

Anything was possible except the unraveling of Puckett's charmed Upper Midwest world. The stories and allegations would merge into a depressing portrait of an alleged fraud, and soon the only thing larger than life about Puckett was his ever-growing waistline.

His wife would claim Puckett pressed a cocked gun against her skull as she held their infant daughter, and that Puckett tried to strangle her with an electrical cord, and that he once locked her in the basement and plowed through a door with a power saw. A longtime mistress would come forward with allegations of threats and abuse.

Another woman would accuse Puckett of dragging her into the men's room of a restaurant and fondling her breasts, and the mug shot taken by the Hennepin County sheriff's office would reveal a bloated mess of an icon, his right eye shut, his smile wiped clean from his face.

Puckett would be cleared of all charges, but his reputation ended up in a million little pieces. He retreated from the public stage, from the charities he founded and the community relationships he built.

If the superstar athlete betrayed the adoring masses, he wouldn't be the first or last. The media is always too quick to canonize a ballplayer for being available at his locker, for returning a phone call, for extending the simple courtesy of recalling a chronicler's first name.

Truth is, we don't know the people we cover. We only know what they allow us to know, at least until a police report or deposition opens a window they can't keep locked.

Puckett turned out to be a far more complicated figure than the teddy bear he encouraged us to embrace. And Monday night, after the Twins asked fans everywhere to keep him in their thoughts and prayers, Puckett was pronounced dead at 45. He lost the fight for his life after suffering a stroke in his Arizona home.

He doesn't have to fight for his baseball legacy, no matter what personal demons got the best of him in retirement. Puckett appeared in 10 All-Star Games, won six Gold Gloves and hit .318 for his career, the highest batting average for a right-handed hitter since Joe DiMaggio.

But beyond the numbers and his Game 6 heroics in the '91 World Series, Puckett will be remembered for the sunlight he brought to a domed park. In an age when sourpuss multimillionaires act put upon in pursuit of a foul ball, Puckett merrily raced for his ice cream sundae, always giving Twins fans their cherry on top.

_____

Ian O'Connor also writes for The (Westchester, N.Y.) Journal News

Copyright © 2006 USA TODAY, a division of Gannett Co. Inc.

More Mourning

Minnesota, Baseball Mourning for Puckett

By DAVE CAMPBELL, AP Sports Writer

In the middle of a steadily growing memorial to Kirby Puckett, outside the Metrodome and right alongside a street named for the beloved Hall of Famer, one cardboard sign stood out.

"There IS crying in baseball," the message was written, in red ink, bannered over a couple of old Puckett baseball cards taped to the corners.

All around the game, people who were close to the roly-poly outfielder who led the Minnesota Twins to two World Series titles — and even those who only watched him on TV — were saddened Tuesday by Puckett's death.

"This morning, when I got up and took a shower and watched the news, tears started coming out," said Chicago White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen, one of many contemporaries who spoke memorably about the man whose energy, enthusiasm and exceptional skills captivated baseball fans — both diehard and casual — throughout a 12-year career that was cut short by glaucoma in 1996.

Puckett died at 45 in a Phoenix hospital Monday afternoon, a day after having a stroke in his home.

"This is a great loss for baseball," said former Baltimore Orioles great Cal Ripken, who with Puckett was one of the few stars of their generation who never switched teams.

"Puck was one of my favorite people to compete against on the field and to be around off the field. I will always remember how Kirby played the game with joy and how he brought a smile to your face just by saying hello," Ripken said.

A public memorial service is planned for 7 p.m. Sunday at the Metrodome, the Twins announced. The gates will open at 6 p.m., and there will be no charge with seating by general admission.

A private visitation and memorial service is slated for Sunday afternoon in the Twin Cities. The Twins were planning to attend Puckett's funeral.

"We'll take our time and go there, pay our respects, and then come on back down to spring training," general manager Terry Ryan said, before Minnesota played the New York Yankees in Tampa, Fla.

The Twin Cities' other pro teams also took time to honor Puckett on Tuesday night. The NBA's Timberwolves and NHL's Wild had moments of silence before their games. Timberwolves star Kevin Garnett had K.P. 34 (Puckett's jersey number) written on his shoes.

March is for games that don't matter, mere tuneups for the regular season, but Puckett's teammates and opponents always remarked on how he never loafed — even in meaningless exhibitions.

"He was a tremendous ambassador for the team. I think Dave Winfield said the right thing: He was the only player in the history of baseball everybody loved," said Guillen, who used to kiddingly call his son, Oney, "Little Puck" because he was a bit chubby.

Perhaps the most poignant marker of Puckett's impact on people was outside the Metrodome, thousands of miles from those sunny spring training sites, where dozens of fans shuffled around during the noon hour on a dreary, chilly day.

There were bouquets. There were orange Wheaties boxes, commemorating the Twins' championships. There were bobblehead dolls. There were caps. And plenty of personalized messages.

"I've been watching Kirby since I was young," said 25-year-old Tim Jarvis, who brought a flower pot to set on the sidewalk. "He's the kind of guy when your dad says, 'You want to learn how to hit a baseball, that's the guy to watch.'"

An Ohio native who came to St. Paul to attend school, Jarvis recalled Puckett as one of the reasons why he was excited to move. Even though his playing days were long gone.

"That's awesome. I get to go watch baseball in the house that Kirby played in," Jarvis said.

When famous people die, it seems everyone has a story to tell of a personal encounter. With Puckett, it seems everyone is actually telling the truth.

The Yankees' Randy Johnson recalled how Puckett helped his mother put her luggage in the overhead compartment once on a plane. Don Mattingly pointed out that Puckett was the one who gave him his nickname, "Donnie Baseball." Former Twin and current Red Sox player David Ortiz wrote "Puckett 34 R.I.P" on his cap for the Dominican Republic's game against Venezuela in the World Baseball Classic.

Steve Finley, now with the San Francisco Giants, remembered when Puckett told Ripken hello while the Orioles stretched before a 1989 game at the Dome — and then started chatting with Finley, a rookie he had never before met.

"He had a way of making everyone feel important," Finley said.

___

AP Baseball Writer Ronald Blum from Tampa, Fla., AP Sports Writer Howard Ulman from Fort Myers, Fla., AP Sports Writer Andrew Seligman from Tucson, Ariz., and AP Sports Writer David Ginsburg from Fort Lauderdale, Fla., contributed to this report.

Copyright © 2006 The Associated Press.

Good Bye, Sweet Kirby...

Death reveals true birth date of Hall of Famer Puckett

By Adam Tanner

SAN FRANCISCO (Reuters) - The death of Hall of Famer Kirby Puckett has brought to light his true age, which even the Minnesota Twins listed incorrectly his entire career.

When the 10-times All-Star outfielder died on Monday in Arizona after a stroke, many fans learned for the first time that Puckett was born in 1960, making him a year older than that given by his team and elsewhere throughout his career.

"We had it listed as 1961," said Molly Gallatin, who coordinates publications for the Twins, including the annual media guide with detailed information on players.

"We probably put it down the first year and never looked at it again. I don't know why it happened; it fooled me."

Puckett played his entire 12-year career with the Twins, who apparently learned of his correct age after the outfielder's retirement in 1996 and reported it in announcing his death.

The long-running error means baseball cards throughout Puckett's career contained the wrong information.

Officials at the Hall of Fame say they learned the true birth date of the star, who helped the Twins to two World Series in 1987 and 1991, about three years ago.

REPORTED WRONG

"When he was elected (in 2001) it was believed that he was born in 1961," said Jeff Idelson, vice president of the National Baseball Hall of Fame. "When I asked him about it he told me it had simply been reported wrong,"

"There was no ulterior motive."

Even the Hall of Fame had the age wrong on his website at the time of his death, although Idelson said their annual yearbook had recently shown the correct age.

Baseball historians say players have fudged their age throughout the sport's history.

Some foreign-born players have changed their age, baseball officials say. For example, Dominican Republic-born Alfonso Soriano was two years older than earlier reported.

New York Met Julio Franco, another Dominican who is the oldest active baseball player at the age of 47, has said that early in his career he altered his age to help improve his chances of landing a Major League job.

Even kids or their coaches have lied about their ages so they could qualify to play Little League baseball.

© Reuters 2006.

Good Bye to the Best Sushi in ATL

Raw emotions over Soto

Renowned sushi chef closes 'world class' eatery

By JOHN KESSLER, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Scores of messages awaited the waiter who opened Soto Japanese Restaurant on Monday afternoon and pushed the button on the answering machine.

"I am so sorry to hear you were closing, and I was just wondering..."

"Hi, Soto, we'll take anything you have, any time you can fit us in..."

"I just can't believe it. If there's any way..."

The waiter would spend all afternoon in the tiny back office calling these regulars back to say Soto Japanese Restaurant, unfortunately for them, was fully committed for its last two dinners before closing for good.

Who got in? Former Atlantan Jared Hertz, who scored a primo spot at the sushi bar after driving down from Long Island, N.Y., for one last meal. And Carlo Musso of Jonesboro, who had already dined at Soto every night for more than a week, ever since he heard of its closing.

"Me and dozens of other Sotoholics are going to be in withdrawal for quite a while," Musso mused. "We don't have a lot of things in Atlanta that are world class. Soto was one."

Chef Sotohiro Kosugi would not give The Atlanta Journal-Constitution a reason for shuttering his award-winning restaurant after service Tuesday night. But he has privately told colleagues and customers that softening business and the high cost of fish - only the best, hand-selected for him at Tokyo's Tsukiji market - were taking their toll.

On slow nights, Kosugi was known to toss out $45-a-pound bluefin tuna because he would serve only the freshest.

It was like theater

Kosugi's intense perfectionism won him adoring food groupies, but it also might have scuttled his small business and contributed to the notorious mood swings and explosive outbursts that, in recent years, were as much a part of the dining experience at his restaurant as the celebrated food.

Kosugi - a third-generation sushi chef from the coastal Japanese city of Toyama - opened Soto in Buckhead's Piedmont-Peachtree Crossing next to the "disco Kroger" in 1995. On the surface it seemed another dumpy strip-mall Japanese joint. The AJC's dining critic at the time, Elliott Mackle, wrote a first impression based mostly on tempura and dumplings, and declared the restaurant "slightly loopy but trying hard."

But word of this sushi master, with his stunningly fresh fish and wild nightly specials, spread through Atlanta's dining community. The city's top chefs headed to Soto's bar late after work to eat tuna tartare with pine nuts, mango scallops in an orange cup and garlic-pepper tuna belly.

Anne Quatrano and Clifford Harrison, the chef-owners of Bacchanalia, and Guenter Seeger the chef-owner of Seeger's, brought Kosugi to the attention of editors at Food & Wine magazine. In 1997, the magazine named Kosugi one of America's best new chefs and invited him to the Aspen Food & Wine Classic in Colorado to accept the award and show off his craft. Kosugi was so concerned the rice would cook improperly at Aspen's 7,980-foot altitude that he prepared sushi with fingers of mashed potato.

Soto soon earned a rare cult status in Atlanta. Spots at the sushi bar - a theater proscenium arching into the center of the dining room - filled quickly with fanatical regulars.

How fanatical?

Well, John and Valerie Willett of Atlanta, always at bar seats No. 4 and No. 5, named their cat Shima Aji Carpaccio after Soto's dish of slivered yellowjack in truffle vinaigrette.

"It was my favorite dish," Valerie said. "I did tell Soto-san that I am going to hold him to his promise of serving me shima aji on my death bed."

Atlanta's culinarians are no less effusive in their praise.

"He's one of the greatest Japanese chefs I know," said Seeger. "He's so dedicated to his work and his art."

"When you're in the restaurant you get that sense that there's a master at work," added Richard Blais of One Midtown Kitchen. "You know you're in someone's workshop. And as good as the food is, just watching the service, watching his moods change, watching his interaction with the staff... It was like theater."

The temperamental chef

But for some in recent years, Kosugi's changing moods steered this theater a little too close in mood to "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" When Kosugi was under pressure, the tension rose in his voice and in the room - and then boiled over. He yelled at his staff, which was often - and famously - scattered and inefficient. He also slammed plates and, on occasion, closed the restaurant and cast out his guests.

"We've seen him freak out many times," said Mara Davis, the Dave FM deejay, who was a regular customer with her husband. "One time, this old man at the sushi bar asked Soto for a Diet Coke, and he just went running back into the kitchen, and then all you could hear was 'RA, RA, RA, RA!!'

"We always were so delicate and careful around him because we loved him so much," Davis added. "We didn't want him to pull a 'soup Nazi' on us."

In 2003, Soto closed the restaurant for remodeling, and told the AJC that the stress had gotten to him.

He was embarrassed by the "temperamental chef" reputation he had acquired, but also despairing of the fluctuations in his business.

He threw out goldeneye snapper from Tokyo he couldn't sell, but then would be jammed with customers who had read about a great Japanese restaurant and only wanted California rolls. Guests complained about long waits for food, which only added to the stress.

After a 10-month break, he reopened. Fans returned, but then so did the long waits for food and flares of temper. Kosugi made the radical decision to serve only a multicourse omakase menu to a limited number of guests each evening. These meals often lasted five hours or longer.

"It was one of the most fantastic gustatory experiences you could ever have," recalls John Willett. "But it was too much."

Kosugi returned to his regular menu, California rolls and all, before deciding to close.

"I think he gave everything he had," Seeger said. "He didn't hold anything back. He's a sensitive person, and he takes his job so seriously."

According to Seeger and others, Kosugi plans to relocate to New York with hopes of eventually opening a 20-seat sushi bar.

Kosugi himself was reluctant to speak with a reporter on his penultimate day as Atlanta's genius sushi chef.

"I have customers to cook for," Kosugi demurred. "I have to concentrate on them because I don't want to be mad chef any more."

© 2006 The Atlanta Journal-Constitution