Some memories wind up being weirdly incomplete

Every once in a while, something wonderful happens and we don't even know it.

In the spring of 1984, when I was working at the Anderson Independent-Mail in Anderson, S.C., I was covering minor league baseball. The local team was a farm club of the Atlanta Braves, and they had a double-header scheduled with a team I can no longer remember.

It wasn't the games I remember about this particular day, though. I was only peripherally covering the games that day. An executive from the front office in Atlanta -- the minor-league coordinator -- was spending the day in Anderson top check out some of the players.

It was a really nice spring day, so rather than sitting in the press box, we sat in lawn chairs out on the deck and essentially just talked for four hours or so.

The funny part of it is, I spent four hours alone with him, and I cannot remember one bit of the conversation I had with Hank Aaron.

I didn't ask him about his playing career. He wasn't there to talk about himself, so I'm sure most of our talk was about the Braves and their prospects. I had only been a sportswriter for four years or so, and I was still somewhat in awe of the really famous people I met.

It's funny. I have a display case with a dozen autographed baseballs, some from very famous players, but none from people I interviewed. Between my days in St. Louis, Colorado, Reno and Los Angeles, I met at least six or eight players I'd have loved to have autographs from.

I interviewed Jim Palmer and Catfish Hunter in St. Louis, Harmon Killebrew and Boog Powell in Denver, Vida Blue in Reno and Don Drysdale at Dodger Stadium. I also met several baseball-related movie stars at Dodger Stadium, Robert Wuhl from "Bull Durham" and David Lander from "A League of Their Own."

But Hammering Hank would be at the top of any list.

I just wish I could remember what we talked about.