Page 176 - 1975 BoSox

BUDDY HUNTER DESCRIBED himself as an S.O.B.— a South Omaha Boy. Harold James Hunter was born
in Omaha on August 9, 1947, and went to South High in the Nebraska city. As of 2014 he still lived about 20 miles south of downtown Omaha.
Hunter’s parents were both involved with cattle. His father, Harold Jr., was a cattle salesman in the stock- yards, and his mother, Blanche (Zlata) Hunter, was a cattle-hide saleswoman. ere was a little bit of base- ball ancestry. Buddy’s uncle Don Hunter played for nine years in the Dodgers, Orioles, and Milwaukee Braves systems, making it as far as Triple-A, playing for the Sacramento Solons in the late ’50s. is was before expansion; there were 16 major-league clubs instead of 30. Don might well have made the majors in today’s baseball. And Buddy’s father played ball, too. He signed a contract with the Pittsburgh Pirates and was assigned to their farm team in Sheboygan, Wisconsin. e Sheboygan Pirates were like a low Class A team. It was a career that washed out pretty early, though. When he arrived in Sheboygan, it rained for 10 days and he never played a game. Frustrated, he said, “If it rains tomorrow, I’m going home.” It rained the next day, so he hopped a freight train and got back to Omaha three days before a letter he’d mailed to his wife arrived home.
Buddy even had a brother, Je , who was signed by the Red Sox. Je , 11 years younger than Buddy, found himself assigned to the Winston-Salem
Red Sox. And found that his brother,
Buddy, was the manager of the team. “He played three years and that was it,” said Buddy. “He was a home-run hitter that struck out a lot. He didn’t put the bat on the ball enough. He’d seen the handwrit- ing on the wall and left. He had a job in the o season and they said if you go o
to play, don’t come back here anymore.” He stuck with the job.
It was Buddy’s father who got him started, taking him out into the yard when he was about 4. “He used to hit me groundballs, hit me y balls. Hit, hit, hit, hit. at’s why I was a pretty good in elder and not a very good hitter; we practiced on me catching the ball all the time.” Evidently dad liked to hit too much himself and didn’t let Buddy get in enough cuts at the plate. Buddy played Little League, but credited the time he spent playing pickup games with friends on city parks and sandlots as more important to his own develop- ment. “If there wasn’t nine players on each team and there was nobody in right eld, you hit to right eld, you’re out.And then you had to go get the ball. at’s where I really learned how to play the game. You don’t see sandlot baseball anymore. It’s all organized. We patrolled ourselves. We didn’t have any parents around.”
Buddy played ball for South High in Omaha and made all-conference and all-state. He won himself a full-ride scholarship to the University of Nebraska. “I did well in sports, not too well in academics.” at was an understatement when it came to university. He lasted only one year. Hunter transferred to Pershing College, a small college in Beatrice, Nebraska. Pershing had an excellent baseball program, and Hunter recalled that in one three-year stretch six Pershing players were drafted into Organized Baseball. “ ere were more scouts in the stands than there were fans! If you had
24 major-league teams, there were 24 scouts there.”
Hunter was signed by Red Sox scout Danny Doyle, but it was a visit by farm director Neil Mahoney that probably sealed the deal. Mahoney, Hunter re- called, asked a lot of questions about family. He apparently liked what he learned; Hunter was drafted by the Red
Buddy Hunter
by Bill Nowlin
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