1 King to another: Aulton was my very own Sultan of Swat

Opinion by William Wilczewski

sports@nogalesinternational.com

Upon hearing the news, I rushed to my closet door … paused … … took a deep breath … … … and plunged inside.

I pulled out a magazine; your far-from-normal ragged old keepsake that I cherish with the very few other important things inside the depths of the shrine of memories that lie beneath some old clothes; things I will never part with—until, that is, destiny comes tapping on my door like it did for Aulton Ely Utsey II—a former colleague here at the Nogales International who passed away on Feb. 9, just two and a half weeks shy of his 70th birthday.

On the Editorial & Opinion page of Friday’s NI, “Goodbye to a good friend” was our newspaper’s eulogy to good ol’ Aulton, our former copy editor.

While pouring my heavy tears onto that magazine, this is my eulogy—because while Aulton and I were all business inside the office, when we went out for our daily smoke breaks, we dropped work at the doorstep and talked one of our favorite subjects.

Sports.

That’s what made me remember that tattered old journal—the one about The Babe; you know, Babe Herman Ruth.

Knowing I’m the consummate Yankees fan, this was Aulton’s gift to me one day when he knew his health was declining but when he was still far from his own personal curtain call.

The keepsake—a 20-cent, 52-page, 1948 Dell Publishing Co., Inc., diary of history—is about the life and times of The Babe. It is titled “Babe Ruth As I Knew Him—By Waite Hoyt,” a sportscaster and radio director in Cincinnati, who spent 15 years playing on the same diamond with the legend; just like I spent a few years working with another.

Obviously the periodical begins with Ruth’s time with my much-hated Boston Red Sox, where the Bambino began his career. It chronicles how The Babe moved to and took New York by storm and how “The Curse of Bambino” was born.

It goes on to explain his glory days and The House That Ruth Built and when The Yanks were champions of the world in 1927, and The Babe’s 60-homerun season.

Then comes the end of an era, when on Sept. 30, 1934, Ruth left the regular Yankee lineup. To quote: He was given a “scroll signed by thousands of friends who would never forget him. The first name was Franklin Roosevelt.”

It goes on to list Ruth’s lifetime records and how “in 22 years in the major leagues, the Big Bam amassed a total of 76 records, 62 of which still are unsurpassed” back then.

Finally, on June 13, 1948, “Babe Bows Out … and walked out to greet the cheering crowds. Once more it was Ruth’s day … No one at the stadium knew it was to be is last.”

None of us knew when Aulton’s last day would be, either, and I truly regret not trying to keep in touch with him more in the years and months leading to his final bow.

Toward the end, though, Aulton didn’t seem to want much company, so I’d like to think I stopped calling out of respect for his wishes—although I’m sure it was more social laziness on my part.

I remember the day he gave me this magazine, though, and it brings a pleasant smile to my face. We talked about it, I thanked him and life went on.

For us, that meant many talks of sports while we were doing the anti-sporting habit of inhaling tar and nicotine. We both knew all-too-well, though, that none of us will live forever, so we continued to puff away and chat about his Oklahoma Sooners or some other great tales of teams or athletes abroad—or like we used to say, “the sujets de jour,” or topics of the day.

Those moments, while lasting only the average length of time it takes to smoke a cigarette—which is seven minutes, by the way—seemed to last forever, with time burning up like our smoke into the seemingly endless sky above.

But duty called, so back into the office we would march. When there, I always had an appreciation for Aulton’s neat handwriting—not only so I could understand his copy editing marks, but also because my own handwriting looks like I’m blindfolded on a rollercoaster 99.9 percent of the time.

Let it be known, too, that Aulton was more than an accomplished copy editor. He was also an accomplished pool player—and cued it up with some of the best, as his old stories went. But these, I’m sure, were no fish-tales. Aulton was as good with a cue as John Daly is with a driver—and he and Daly both share something else, too: the appreciation for the best cheap food and a good stiff drink.

Friday’s “Goodbye to a good friend” eulogy explained Aulton’s love for Carl’s Jr. and Jack-in-the-Box, but I dare to say his biggest culinary treats of the day came from my wife Perla, who would routinely deliver us her world-famous breakfast burritos. To that, we recently recalled Aulton quipping like clockwork: “Look who’s there, Ski! A beautiful angel (as he lifted his arms towards his angel Perla and the blue sky above.)

“Now,” Perla says, “he’s up there, too; an angel himself!”

Having said that, the next time you tip a glass and make a toast, make one for our good ol’ Aulton.

I know I will.

After all, while The Babe was known to many as the Sultan of Swat or the King of Swing, for me, so was Aulton—who sadly but nobly requested no services, but only his ashes spread in the splendor of Santa Cruz County’s bounty.

When that time comes, may those ashes fly with a scroll signed by all of his friends here at the NI who will never forget him. The first name being William “Ski” Wilczewski.

Cheers, Buddy!

(P.S. – Sorry about any mistakes, Aulton. I wish you were still here to correct them.)