By IAN O'CONNOR
The (Westchester, N.Y.) Journal News

Joan Hodges holds fast to her rite of passage into the night, starting with rosaries and ending with a whispered act of contrition. She begs forgiveness from a husband who died 30 years back, a coal miner's son from the heartland who would have never allowed his bride to hold a big-city vigil over some self-important cause.

"Please forgive me," Joan asks of Gil. "I just have to do this."

She's 76 years old, and she just has to be there when they put her man into the Hall of Fame.

"It's the last thing in the world he'd want me doing," Joan said Monday from the same Brooklyn home she shared with the Dodger great. "But I feel a real injustice has been done."

Let America rage on about the Cooperstown cause of a slug named Pete Rose, the Big Red (Slot) Machine. Joan Hodges doesn't have the time or energy for sinners when she's so busy defending her saint, the first baseman who stands as the most worthy candidate locked outside the Hall of Fame gates.

By all accounts, Gil Hodges was about the most decent man ever to draw a big-league check. He embraced Jackie Robinson from the start. He never used profanity. He never put on his uniform without saying the Lord's Prayer. He never shouted at an umpire who'd just called him out on strikes, even when his manager, Charley Dressen, offered him fifty bucks to quit being so understanding and kind.

Hodges surrendered two seasons to be a World War II Marine on Okinawa, and Joan was married to him three years before he mentioned the medal he'd won for bravery. While Gil recovered from his first heart attack in 1968, a Jewish-American soldier stationed in Vietnam sent his Chai, his symbol of life, to his Catholic hero. Hodges sent it back to the killing fields, telling the soldier he was more worthy of wearing it.

"Gil had enormous respect for religion, family and country," his wife said. "He was a very humble man from Indiana who became absolutely adored in New York; even Giants fans couldn't boo him.

"A priest who'd never met him told his parishioners to pray for Gil to get out of his slump. He got ovations while going 0-for-21 in the ('52) World Series. I still get so many Christmas cards from people who say Gil will never be dead in their eyes. They say they're hoping and praying for him to get in the Hall. Cooperstown isn't big enough to hold everyone who'd go to his induction."

Brooklyn was barely big enough to hold Gil's goodbye. The second heart attack took him two days before his 48th birthday and two and a half years after he managed the Miracle Mets to the title, leaving 36,000 mourners to pass through the funeral home and church.

"Tom Seaver came to my home with a bag full of Gil's things," Joan said, "and he just wept and wept and wept. Buddy Harrelson fell down, put his head on my lap and said, 'Why? Why? Why?' They loved him like a father. Gil told me, 'When they put on that uniform, they are my children because they represent me."'

Children? Pee Wee Reese would tell you that if you ever had a son, "it would be a great thing to have him grow up to be just like Gil Hodges." He meant as an athlete, too.

Hodges played in seven World Series. He drove in two runs to beat the Yankees in that forever Game 7 in '55. He was an eight-time All-Star. He was a great fielder. He hit four home runs off four different pitchers in one game. He hit 30 or more homers six times. He hit 370 career homers, nine fewer than Tony Perez in 2,748 fewer at-bats.

Hodges delivered seven straight 100-RBI seasons, and Willie Mays and Mel Ott are the only National League Hall of Famers to have managed that. Duke Snider managed four straight, Willie McCovey three straight, Rogers Hornsby two straight, and Mickey Mantle one straight.

No, Hodges wasn't any one-hit wonder like Bill Mazeroski. He's accumulated more Hall of Fame votes than any unenshrined star, and nobody can explain why he hasn't joined Robinson, Reese, Snider and Roy Campanella in his rightful place.

So when the revamped Veterans Committee receives its ballots next month, Joan will grab her rosary beads inside her home on Gil Hodges Way, right near Gil Hodges School. "It's nice to be liked," the first baseman once said. "But I sure hope I can prove (Leo) Durocher wrong. I never did believe that nice guys finish last."

Gil Hodges should finish ahead of Pete Rose, anyway. Bring this lost Boy of Summer home, then let his loyal Girl of Winter tell him she's sorry for all the fuss.