Sunday, July 11, 1999

Casey takes the world by the hands

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All-star rooted in family, faith and friendliness

BY SCOTT MacGREGOR
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Sean Casey (Steven M. Herppich photo) | ZOOM |

        Sean Casey is always there with a hand, a big, muscular mitt, his handshake the strength of tightly-wound twine.

        Sometimes, a handshake is not enough, and he'll reach around and pat someone's shoulders, his thick arms as wide as the trunk of a Pennsylvania maple. Either way, Casey engulfs people with his kindness, friend or stranger, player or fan.

        This is the way Sean Casey greets people, the first time or the 50th time.

        It is always preceded by a smile, broad and beaming and still boyish, the one that could not possibly better reflect the wondrous state of his young life.

        As the budding star first baseman of the surging Cincinnati Reds, more people want to meet Casey than he ever imagined. In just his second season in the major leagues, the 25-year-old has grown into the National League's leading hitter, and will be introduced to the country Tuesday when he makes his first All-Star appearance.

Casey signs an autograph while walking in Hyde Park Square. (Steven M. Herppich photo) | ZOOM |

        He gregarious greetings are no public show; it's just the way Casey is, bursting forth from the respect, taught by his parents, for every person he meets. At the first pinnacle of what promises to be a stellar career, Casey is not greeting, he is meeting. He's getting to know the world as it gets to know him.

        “It's not just like, "Hey, how are you,'” said Mike Junko, an old buddy from grammar school. “He wants to know how your family is, what's going on. He has a way of putting people at ease. It's genuine. It's been going on since the fourth grade.”

        The night after the Reds' Independence Day loss to the Houston Astros, Casey is walking through a Covington trailer park, the neighborhood of a friend named Willie Stephenson.

INFOGRAPHIC

Follow Casey's career in a timeline • 1974-1997 • 1997-1999

        Casey and Stephenson, a 20-year-old house painter, struck up a friendship last year when Stephenson was working at Casey's Northern Kentucky apartment complex. On this night, they have eaten dinner with Reds pitcher Brett Tomko at the Montgomery Inn Boathouse and then returned to Stephenson's house on Patton Street. Casey, not surprisingly, attracts attention.

        People begin jumping from their trailers, eager to shake Casey's hand, congratulate him on the Reds' recent success and maybe get an autograph, or, if they are really lucky, a picture. Casey, his eyes lit up like a kid with the key to the toy chest, seems to enjoy it more than anyone.

        “All these important people want his time, and he still finds time for me and my community,” said Stephenson, who admits his friendship with the star a bit unusual. “It probably wasn't a big deal to him, but that made their weekend. Nobody ever thought they'd see Sean Casey in a trailer park.”

Superstar on the rise
        Casey's growing recognition is the product of a sweet swing that has rocketed him to the top of the National League's batting charts much of the season.

CASEY FILE

• Name: Sean Thomas Casey   • Age: 25   • Resides: Hyde Park   • Hometown: Upper St. Clair, Pa., suburb of Pittsburgh   • College: University of Richmond, Va., bachelor's degree in speech communication   • Married: Engaged to marry Mandi Kanka in November   • Favorite movie: “Can't Buy Me Love”   • Favorite TV show: Wrestling   • Favorite wrestler: Kevin Nash   • Favorite type of music: Anything, particularly country and alternative   • Favorite band: Dave Matthews Band   • Last book read: “Tuesdays with Morrie,” by Mitch Albom   • Baseball hero: Joe Girardi, New York Yankees catcher. “In eighth grade, I spent two weeks in Pittsfield, Mass., (with Girardi's minor-league team), and after that, I just really looked up to him.”   • Non-baseball hero: My dad, Jim Casey   • Pets: A cat named Louie, who died. “But I still consider him my pet.”   • Favorite Star Wars movie: “Return of the Jedi”   • Favorite subject in school: Lunch. Or maybe gym.   • Best advice anyone ever gave you: “Luck is preparation meeting opportunity,” by my Dad.

        The baseball buzz about Casey is nothing new. At each of his four minor-league stops in the Cleveland Indians' farm system, Casey hit well above .300, the benchmark for a good hitter — .329, .331, .361 and .386 — and earned a reputation as one of the top prospects in the minor leagues.

        But Cleveland was well-stocked with first basemen and needed a good major league pitcher, so the day before the 1998 season began, the Indians shipped Casey to the Reds for pitcher Dave Burba in a trade that gave then-struggling Cincinnati a potential star around which to rebuild.

        In selling the trade and an unknown Casey to Cincinnati fans, Reds General Manager Jim Bowden compared the then-unproven 23-year-old to such quality major leaguers as Atlanta's Chipper Jones, Houston's Jeff Bagwell and future Hall of Famer Tony Gwynn of San Diego. Many thought the comparisons to be over the top at the time, but already Casey has proven the hyperbole was warranted. With 17 home runs and a .376 average entering this weekend, Casey is having a better season than any but All-Star Bagwell.

        It hasn't been an easy ride to the top. Just three days after he arrived in Cincinnati last season, Casey was accidentally beaned in the eye by a thrown ball in batting practice and missed a month. Though he would eventually return to the big leagues for good in June and hit .300 after the All-Star break, the layoff sapped his strength, and he hit just seven home runs. Critics seized on his seeming lack of power, and some wondered how good he could be without a home run swing.

(Saed Hindash photo) | ZOOM |

        But Casey, as he has been doing since major colleges passed on him as a high schooler, proved his doubters wrong. Not only has his batting average hovered above the .360 mark virtually the entire season, he has developed impressive power and quieted all critics by blossoming into one of baseball's most dangerous hitters.

        Now, it seems, the only question is how far up he can go. Even veteran major leaguers are awed at Casey's potential. Earlier this season, Chicago Cubs first baseman Mark Grace, a perennial .300 hitter, told Casey, “Hey kid, it's not supposed to be that easy.”

        “During the course of a year, you sometimes see guys give away at-bats or take bad swings,” Reds catcher Eddie Taubensee said. “With Casey, if he goes 4-for-4 but gets out his next at bat, he's not happy. He wants to go 5-for-5. I think that's what makes him such a great hitter.”

The Golden Rule
        Baseball is just a part of the story with Casey, and to him, a very small part. Along with his statistics, what most people notice is his personality, the affable, friendly, wide-eyed kid who is enjoying the heck out of his success.

Casey and fiancee Mandi Kanka (Craig Ruttle photo) | ZOOM |

        He doesn't think of being an athlete and other people being his fans. He just thinks he is Sean, a regular guy with a punishing bat.

        By living by one simple rule — the Golden One, taught to him by his father, that states “Treat your neighbor as you would treat yourself,” — Casey has made friends everywhere he goes.

        Though he has gained an almost too-good-to-be-true reputation, he is not perfect, as would seem from many of the stories told about him, nor is he as naive as some reports have made him out to be.

        But he embraces the role-model persona, and is aware that many eyes are on his every move. A few months ago, he was trashed on a local radio talk show because he didn't stop to sign autographs after a game.

        What the caller, who also fabricated a story about Casey swearing at some kids, failed to explain was that Casey couldn't sign — and told the crowd so — because he was late getting to the airport to pick up his fiancee, Mandi Kanka.

        The whole incident hurt Casey deeply. Every night, he signs, seemingly endlessly. He goes out of his way to be good to the kids and the autograph hounds who claw at the chain-link fence that cages the player' parking lot, and then one night, one guy just completely gets the wrong idea and tries to ruin all the good he's done.

        “It makes him happy to make other people happy,” said Kanka, who met Casey through mutual friend Junko when Casey was playing Double-A ball in Akron in 1997. “That's what he loves to do.”

        “Life is people,” Casey said matter of factly. “We're all made in God's image, we're all offered the wonderful thing of life. I think life is the way you treat others. In this world, with everybody looking out for themselves, it's good for people to step back and see what they can do to help others.”

        “If you have a problem with Case,” Taubensee said, “the problem's probably with you.”

        If nothing else, Casey is sensitive, perhaps overly so. The Indians identified that as his major weakness in their psychological scouting report during his minor league days. Last season, he was irritated by a reporter's persistent questioning about the lack of power he was displaying, and though he politely answered his questions, the negative aspect of the inquiry bothered him.

        “One thing he's going to have to do is develop a thick skin,” said his mom, Joan Casey. “And he is.”

Life's lessons
        Jim Casey's hard-knocks school of life opened for business when young Sean was 13.

        Sean had always been a good kid, always smiling, out of trouble, always active, never able to sit still, perhaps the reason he still contorts about like a beheaded chicken in any and all places. One day, Sean and a buddy went down to the local grocery store to buy baseball cards. When they got there, they decided to open all the packs and pick out the good cards.

        Sean saw no problem with this. The store owner did, and nabbed them.

        “It was like the worst operation ever,” Sean said, chuckling. “As soon as we walked out of the place, we were busted. They were watching us for about two hours.”

        Jim Casey was summoned to pick his son up.

        “I remember him telling the guy, "It's a disgrace to our family name,'” Sean said. “That crushed me.”

        When they got home, Jim took a walk to cool off. Later, he sat down in front of a petrified Sean and gave him a dictionary.

        “Open to the word "greed,' and read me the definition,” Jim commanded.

        Sean did. “Wanting more than you need,” it said. Jim made him read it five times. Sean was beginning to get the picture.

        “Open to the word "selfish,'” Jim said. Next, theft.

        “It was one of the best things that ever happened to me. It had a huge impact on me,” Sean said. “That stamped the mark right on my head that that wasn't the way to go about life. I never, ever thought about taking something again, ever.”

        Jim has been teaching the lessons all of Sean's life. When Sean was 10, Jim noticed that none of Sean's friends ever said hi when they came over to the Casey's split-level, white brick, middle-class home in the lush rolling hills of Upper St. Clair. So Jim told Sean that when he saw his friends' parents, he should say hello.

        “He learned parents are people, too,” Jim said. “He learned that everybody's a person and should be respected. That's why he treats everybody the same now, the players, the grounds crew, the writers.”

        Out of that advice grew the reason Casey has been dubbed “The Mayor” in nearly every town he has played, because he knows so many people.

        “I learned young that I shouldn't be afraid to approach people or talk to people,” Sean said. “There's nothing like being recognized. Maybe that's why I talk to so many people.”

        Ask Sean why he is who he is, and the first thing that springs to his mind, almost quicker than it can get out, is his parents. They are fun-loving people, warm and kind and open and inviting, and, in Jim's case, even more talkative than his son. Sean learned by watching the way they reacted to people, and absorbed and reflected the lessons.

        They also infused in Sean a strong Christian faith, the basis for his belief that all people are worthy of his time. He believes, above all, that he honors God by caring for others.

        “My Dad's a man that's really strong with God,” Sean said. “Growing up, I always saw my Dad praying. He's always been the nicest guy I've ever met, and I always wondered why he was the way he was. Learning what made him tick was a big deal.”

        That led Sean to a deeper desire to grow spiritually, and after his sophomore year in college, while playing in the Cape Cod summer league, he befriended a young priest from Boston named Father Paul O'Brien, who will marry Sean and Mandi in November.

        O'Brien re-introduced Casey to the power of prayer and the wisdom of scripture, and suddenly the foundation Jim and Joan had built found a new spirit. Sean still tries to read the Bible every day, usually taking it into the clubhouse bathroom at the stadium to find some peace and tranquility before a game, often starting with Proverbs. Some other players, meanwhile, are busy flipping through the pages of the porn magazines that are a dime-a-dozen in baseball locker rooms.

        Casey's favorite passage is Matthew 6:25-34. “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? ... But seek first His kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

        “It's such a big part of my life now,” Casey said. “As I get a chance to pray more and understand more about what life's all about, I know it's not about baseball.”

The Casey touch
        During the fall of his senior year at the University of Richmond, Casey, feeling a bit restless, decided to volunteer his time at a cerebral palsy center in Richmond on the urging of his older sister, Beth Gold. Of the eight children in the teenage group, Casey was drawn to one in particular, a blind kid who didn't speak and hardly reacted to his surroundings.

        After talking to the kid softly for months, then playing with him, Casey got him to start making sounds. Amazed workers at the center had been trying to get him to talk for years, but it was Casey's love that drew him out.

        “Sean just had a special way with all of our children,” said Margaret Godsey, volunteer coordinator of the center. “It takes a special person to work with these kids. He always had a big smile on his face. He's such a giving person.”

        He still gives. In March, when Casey couldn't attend a big party for the group because of spring training, he sent autographed Reds hats in his stead.

        Casey didn't just make friends with the kids. Continuing to volunteer at the center in the offseasons after he became a professional ballplayer, Casey grew close to an older volunteer named Bob Hughes. When Casey's parents told him last month that Hughes was dying of cancer, he picked up the phone almost immediately and gave Hughes a call.

        A long conversation about life and love followed, and Casey, eyes and heart heavy, came out of his bedroom crying a bit when it was done. He went 1-for-4 at the plate that day, and afterward told his father, “I don't have problems. Bob Hughes has problems.”

        Hughes died two weeks ago. A hand-scribbled letter he wrote to Casey's parents arrived at their Upper St. Clair, Penn., home just a few days later. Jim Casey cried when he read it.

        “He filled my heart with joy,” Hughes wrote, “and it's something that will always be remembered in this family. Somehow as parents, you gave him insight into the joy of living — giving.” Hughes said Casey's phone call was one of the highlights of his life, and that it brightened his last days.

        Casey has another phone pal — a kid named Anthony Molina, a baseball player at the University of Evansville who was viciously hit in the eye with a ball by Wichita State pitcher Ben Christensen in April. Feeling an immediate kinship — Casey's baseball career was in doubt last season after he was hit in the eye — Casey, without prompting from anyone, called Molina to offer encouragement, and has stayed in touch.

        “He touches people,” Jim Casey said. “That's what he does.”

Not likely to change
        Fame, which can drain even the most well-intentioned person of his values, is beginning to tug at Casey, and is sure to envelop him as he asserts himself among baseball's best. So far, he has stayed the same, with that big-hearted attitude intact.

        Will he stay that way over time? No one, his friends say, can predict the future. But no one believes he'll change.

        “If that's the way you're raised, you won't change. This isn't something new,” Kanka said. “Basically, what you're saying if you change is that you're letting other people change you and money change you. The things that are important are family and God, and he's strong in both.”

        “He's been through a lot in these last two years,” Junko said, referring to the eye injury, the yo-yo between Triple-A and the majors and his success this season. “He's been knocked in the head, and now he's on top of the National League, and he's stayed the same throughout. You would have expected him to be more discouraged when he got hit, but he was always positive. There's not a whole lot that's going to rattle his cage.”

        Bob Hughes, the friend who died of cancer, was eloquent in his final letter. “It's in his soul, and I know he will never change,” he wrote. “I've never met a young man with more to him.”

        Casey is not unflappable, but on a muggy June day, walking around Hyde Park Square, people stop him for autographs, and he obliges with that smile, enjoying it rather than dreading it. He is patient and kind. He asks how they're doing. He understands their fascination.

        And yet a funny touch of realism enters the scene when Casey tries to park his car in a bank parking lot. A security guard storms out and wags his finger, telling him he can't park there.

        Flustered, Casey doesn't say, “Do you know who I am?” Instead, he hops back in the car, pulls out, and nearly bumps into an oncoming car as he backs away, frenzied, not wanting to make his lunch companions wait across the street.

        “For a profession to change you, you're going down the wrong way,” Casey said. “I'm not just a baseball player. I've always just been Sean Casey, son of Jim and Joan. You are who are you.”

        It was his birthday, and he had to get to the ballpark. But when two kids in a van stopped to ask for his autograph, Casey went over and said hello. Baseball could wait.

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