Sports journalism tends to desensitize any awe or nervousness when talking to or being around noteworthy people. It’s literally the job, if done well, to convince those the readers and listeners find interesting to say thoughtful things and give up information not previously in the public domain.
With that in mind, an odd feeling hit me in the Memphis airport in March 2017. I was headed to Houston for Ole Miss baseball’s weekend in the Minute Maid Classic, and as I piddled on my computer waiting on time to board, I saw Don Kessinger out of the corner of my eye.
Don and his wife, Carolyn, sat 15 feet away, waiting on the same plane to watch their grandson, Grae, who was a freshman at the time. I’d met Don before in passing, but he didn’t seem to remember, and he was someone impossible to forget. I was working on a preview, so when I picked up a media guide to check some stat, Don caught it and gestured to Carolyn, relaying that I must be headed to the same place.
It was the ticket to the conversation that started a friendship I cherish to this day.
Carolyn sat next to me on the plane, and we got to know one other on the quick, nonstop flight, as I took in her infectious and caring personality that also features a knack for telling their lifetime of stories with a certain zeal to keep anyone engaged. She’s beaten me at pickleball and given me patience and time for multiple articles over the last few years.
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Don’s personality is measured and gracious while also armed with quick wit and a gift for remembering and relaying the many moments that have dotted a remarkable life. The accumulation of his accomplishments make it more than deserved and long overdue that Ole Miss is retiring his No. 11 jersey on April 22, the Thursday of the LSU series.
Kessinger will join Jake Gibbs as the only retired numbers with Rebel baseball, and while choosing between their two careers is like picking the preferred James Beard Award restaurant, Kessinger’s inclusion is the epitome of what should be intended with that honor.
A two-sport All-America in baseball and basketball, Kessinger was a .400 career hitter at Ole Miss and his .436 batting average in 1963 also still stands as a school record. During a 16-year MLB career, he was named to six All-Star Games and won two Gold Gloves. His 54 consecutive games without an error at shortstop was a then-record in 1969.
Kessinger is remembered as a Chicago Cub, but he also played for the St. Louis Cardinals and Chicago White Sox. He was the last American League player-manager, occupying those roles for the White Sox in 1979.
As a six-year head coach at Ole Miss, Kessinger led Ole Miss’ first-ever 40-win season in 1995, finishing second in the Tallahassee Regional, the program’s first NCAA berth since 1977.
His sons, Keith and Kevin, also played for Ole Miss baseball, and Grae was an All-America and Brooks Wallace award winner in 2019 — given annually to the nation’s top shortstop.
The athletic achievements are plentiful, but Ole Miss is honoring a man even better than the athlete. Modest and eager to pass credit to others, Don deserves this moment to put a cap on his career that kept time in his family for decades. He’s been an ambassador and an example for Ole Miss baseball in so may roles — player, coach, parent, grandparent and supporter. He's the example what a school should want from one of its most famous sons.
He effortlessly recalls anecdotes about any topic you can ask, from Bill Veeck and Disco Demolition Night to the many characters he played with and coached.
Don relays his experiences with the refreshing demeanor of being the only one in the room who doesn’t understand what the fuss is about. Carolyn can be known to playfully prod him along to the climax or the punch line.
Sometimes, in college athletics, we honor people who aren't deserving beyond the stats. It's the opposite here. The athlete, even a two-sport All-America, doesn't match the person.
He’ll pass the credit this time, as well, to the people around him who he says made it possible, but Ole Miss got this one right. It’s time, really past time, to place Kessinger on the wall and remove the number from circulation. There’s only one Don Kessinger — the man and the player.
