He was a perfectionist, like a great artist in any field. When he got to a new park, he inspected every inch of right field to see if the ground was hard or soft, how high the grass was. He was a fanatic about his waistline. Once he told me, "I have a 32-inch waist always; when I'm a bit more, I'm no good." In the off-season, I've seen him go to a field in Carolina with a sack full of beer bottle caps. He'd get some kids to throw him the tiny caps and he'd spend hours – hours! – batting. Then, for exercise, he'd bend down and pick them all up. He said that when he was done hitting those tiny caps, a real ball looked as big as a coconut!