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It could be an act, and from afar, that's exactly what it resembles: A $25 excuse not to sign autographs.When it comes to Gary Carter, it seems to be the same story. Love. And hate. Just like the tattoos on the hands of the psychotic preacher played by Robert Mitchum in the black-and-white flick "The Night of the Hunter."
The Hall of Fame catcher always had that big toothy smile, and what admirers would call a boyish enthusiasm. An overflowing love of the game. A reason to love No. 8.
To teammates it became one more reason to hate his guts. He always managed to not only make it into the photograph but steal the scene. When the Mets stormed back to win Game 6 of the 1986 World Series -- complete with a gaffe by Bill Buckner -- Ray Knight came trotting home. And guess who waited: Carter, mouth agape, grinning like a proud papa waiting at home. When the Mets win the World Series, there he was again. Carter -- huge smile -- jumped into the arms of pitcher Jesse Orosco, not the other way around.
The choirboy, rah-rah image might impress in some circles, but not in the hard-living circles of pro baseball.
It grated on his teammates. Some felt it came off as fake. Did he have to talk to the press? All the time? He seemed, to some, as a shameless self-promoter.
He has been called, in author Jeff Pearlman's book
By ordinary standards, Carter should be known as a good guy. On the cocaine-snorting, beer-swilling, greenie-gulping, nose-busting Mets of the 1980s, he didn't partake in the raucous nightlife. His wife led Bible studies.
He credits his faith with preserving his marriage of 34 years. In an interview earlier this month, he admitted to being a "hotel-to-ballpark" type of guy during his career. He didn't sleep around on his wife. He didn't fight teammates during the team photo shoot. He didn't do drugs. So why all the weird looks and questions about his current autograph policy.
It should be viewed as something positive, but on the surface it appears ... unusual. The only Hall of Fame player to manage in the league, Carter will sign any item from the Atlantic League. Ducks hats, Ducks jerseys, Revolution programs -- no problem. In a recent visit to Sovereign Bank Stadium, he stood near the visiting team's dugout signing -- before the game and after a loss. But unlike every other manager in the league, he won't sign anything associated with Major League Baseball. How do you explain that to an 8-year-old who hopes Carter will sign his baseball, only to find out it's a Major League Baseball, stamped with Bud Selig's name?
Carter has directed autograph seekers of MLB memorabilia to make a minimum payment of $25 to The Gary Carter Foundation. His Web site contains several choices of memorabilia from balls to bats to authentic jerseys. All proceeds from autographs benefit charity.
From afar ... it sounds like it could be a genuine willingness to raise money for charity. From afar ... it sounds like it could also be a millionaire preserving his ability to earn money at future card and memorabilia shows.
His autograph policy could be another reason to hate or love.
Shouldn't signing his old playing cards for children come with the territory of managing in the Atlantic League? Tommy John signs autographs. Tim Raines signs autographs. Sparky Lyle may grumble, but signs autographs. Carter has been compensated -- although not as well as baseball's current players -- for a Hall of Fame playing career. He made more money than some of the men who don't gripe about signing.
But Carter has always been different.
"It's not difficult at all," Carter said.
Many MLB-badged items are sold for profit. And while Carter might deny an autograph at the ballpark -- if an item contains an MLB-image -- but he provides autograph seekers with what they want. He will sign any item mailed to his foundation for a $25 fee -- and a return envelope with the correct postage. In turn, those funds will be directed to one of the charities he supports.
One scene before a recent game in York included Carter signing an Atlantic League baseball for one young boy, and sending another youngster back up the stands with a Major League Baseball unsigned. The boy returned only after purchasing an Atlantic League ball from a souvenir stand.
So from afar it may seem odd, perhaps even a reason to look at all that good-natured work as a façade, another reason to doubt that boyish smile as nothing more than window-dressing or perhaps self-promotion.
But the part many fans may not realize is the reason for Carter's drive for charitable work.
Carter's mother, Inge Charlotte Carter, died from leukemia when he was a child. At the height of his career, he volunteered to be a spokesperson for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. The society estimates he's raised more than $7 million. He's donated another sum -- more than $600,000 -- to elementary schools near his home in Florida. He has raised another $200,000 for diabetes.
On his desk Carter had tossed a hard plastic case containing a card with his image in a Ducks cap. He has signed his autograph across the center of each card. And what might be missed in his exchange with the young boys looking for autographs was Carter slipping each boy one of the cards.
And suddenly the two-fisted argument -- love and hate -- fades. The "fake" tag that dogged him for a portion of his career falls apart. He is in the league for the same reason many of these players flock to the league. He wants to be a major league manager one day.
"I did the broadcasting thing, but ultimately I felt my heart was to be in uniform working with these kids to give them their dream," Carter said. "I was blessed I had the career I did. And I always wanted to give back."
It might be different, but his autograph policy is just another way to give back.
Jim Seip covers the York Revolution and Atlantic League baseball for the York Daily Record/Sunday News.
