OAKLAND — Rickey Henderson sometimes slipped into third-person when discussing himself. He’d lift a base plate triumphantly into the air like it was a trophy he’d stolen, which he did more times than anyone else ever.
Oakland residents attest to having seen him everywhere — at Safeway, in restaurants, exiting a racquetball court.
“There was no separation,” said Oakland A’s superfan Dave Peters, who recently ran into Henderson at wine bar Vino Volo in the city’s airport. “He’d just talk to you.”
Henderson wasn’t just one of the greatest to play baseball — as he once acknowledged about himself. He was certifiably cool, radiating with the swagger Oaklanders see in themselves and their town. He had grown up playing at Bushrod Park and did not just play for the city’s MLB team, he became its most treasured member and its greatest player.
The braggadocio, the charisma and the grit underneath it all is what the city remembered of Henderson, who died at 65, days shy of his birthday on Christmas.
Henderson’s death snuck up on those who remember the Man of Steal as fit, healthy and an easy conversation in his final years.
“Any time we had little kids there for some kind of youth event, Rickey was around to play with them and talk to them,” former A’s owner Lew Wolff recalled Saturday.
“He always talked about being proud to be a member of the Athletics,” Wolf added. “You don’t find that too much, especially with all the players moving around these days.”
Henderson remained an A’s employee in his final days. There was the natural leadership quality to Henderson that made him invaluable to younger generations, those who knew him said.
“Every team he was with, he ended up being like the coach,” recalled Dennis Gilbert, the sports agent who represented Henderson for years.
But there was also the everyday quality to Henderson that reminded Oakland fans of the “pause your day and hold a conversation with a passerby” spirit of the city that its residents still see in it, despite recent struggles.
At a team event last fall, superfan Jorge Leon watched Henderson and fellow baseball legend Jose Canseco laugh it up, cracking jokes like young men in a dugout.
He showed up to spring training, just to hang out and explain the art of stealing bases. He threw the first pitch at the A’s final game in Oakland. For a while, he was a local landlord.
One of his tenants, Thomas Hall, recalled how “Rickey” would wake him up.
“He would be mowing my yard randomly at 6 a.m. by himself,” Hall recalled. “The whole thing was a theater of the absurd.”
“If we ever do build a stadium in Oakland, whether it’s at the Coliseum or somewhere else, there should be a statue of him,” Leon said.
Longtime Oakland A’s executive Andy Dolich was staring at a baseball signed by Rickey Henderson and Lou Brock as he recalled in an interview the day Henderson broke Brock’s stolen base record on May 1, 1991.
“Who represented the city, its spirit, its incredible level of success any better than Rickey?” Dolich said. “We remember the smile, the first step to second base.”
On Saturday afternoon, a single bouquet of flowers and an old Oakland A’s hat adorned the fence of Rickey Henderson Field off 45th Avenue in North Oakland, the home diamond for Henderson’s alma mater, Oakland Tech High School.
Stopping by to pay his respects, Tom Murphy, 54, expressed shock at Henderson’s passing. He recalled watching Henderson play throughout much of his youth while working concessions from 1983 to 1995 at the Coliseum and at Candlestick Park in San Francisco.
“He’s the greatest of all time,” Murphy said. “He’s a GOAT for what he did. And it was always fun to watch him, because whenever he’s at first base, you’re like, ‘Is he going to steal second?’”
“He was just a magical player,” Murphy added. “And he was a great ambassador for Oakland.”
Across the street from the field, a man in an all green A’s cap sat in his car and ate his lunch as he listened to highlights of the Man of Steal on his iPhone.
“I’ve been in Oakland for 25 years. I grew up in New York in the 1980s,” Marc Acheson, of Rockridge said. “I appreciated him as a Yankee and know what he meant to everyone here. I’m here because I was thinking of him and what he meant and it’s my tribute to him.”
Peters, who heard of Henderson’s death Friday from close associates, was among the first to share the news on social media. Neither the team nor the family had issued an official statement by Saturday afternoon.
Oakland City Hall offered no official comment, though Councilmember Rebecca Kaplan called the A’s icon a “true Oakland legend.”
“Rickey brought warmth and inspiration to so many people,” she said in a text message, “and (he) shared his pride in Oakland.”