Note: This was published on Saturday, May 14. Killebrew died in Scottsdale on Tuesday, May 17.

Over the years, Major League Baseball would never confirm the silhouette's identity. But Harmon Killebrew always knew the truth.

The logo is him.

"You know, I was in the commissioner's office when the mock-up for that logo was being done," Killebrew once told me. "But for some reason, they won't admit it's me. It's an interesting thing, and I don't know why."

The image is important now, especially after the former Twins star said goodbye to us all in a painful, graceful statement. He was never the type to go kicking and screaming, not even when succumbing to esophageal cancer and entering hospice care in the Valley. And he was never one to flaunt his mammoth accomplishments.

Yet as long as baseball's official logo doesn't change, Killebrew will be immortalized in the sport, just as he should be.

"He was just a fierce competitor and a perfect gentleman at the same time," said George Brett, former Royals star. "You don't see that a lot. Sometimes you get fierce competitors who are bad people. You see guys that are not fierce competitors but nice guys. You don't see the two of them together very much."

Over the course of history, some legends are too easily forgotten. The greatness of Stan Musial has been somewhat buried by the sands of time, and many standouts from the Golden Era of baseball have been lost in the shuffle. That would be a shame if it happened to Killebrew, a man whose nickname (Killer) belied his humble nature.

During his prime, Killebrew was a slugger of mythical status. In American League cities, fathers would take their sons to the ballpark and point to places Killebrew reached with his prodigious power.

He once hit a ball over the left-field roof at Tiger Stadium. When he returned to the hotel, he had messages from six different people who claimed to have the souvenir.

They didn't know the head groundskeeper had walked out behind the stadium, found the ball resting near a drain pipe, and gave it to Killebrew as a keepsake.

He crushed a home run at the old Metropolitan Stadium that carried 520 feet, and the landing place remains a Minnesota attraction. The seat struck by the ball is currently affixed to a wall inside the Mall of America, which was built on the grounds of the former stadium.

"First time I walked into the old Met, they had this seat painted way out in left field," said Joe Garagiola Sr., former player and broadcaster. "They told me that's where Killebrew hit one. I said, 'You've got to be kidding me. What movie did they show on that flight?' "

Killebrew rarely was cheated at the plate. Yet after hitting No. 499, he went into a tailspin, as many players do approaching a huge milestone. He went 16 days without a home run, and during that drought, the Twins gave away commemorative cups celebrating an achievement that hadn't happened.

"They picked a date they thought would work, but when that day arrived, I hadn't done it yet," Killebrew said. "They gave away the cups anyway. When it finally happened, my manager, Bill Rigney, said he hoped it wouldn't be as long between 500 and 501 as it was between 499 and 500."

Killebrew responded to the manager's ribbing by hitting No. 501 in his next at-bat.

Those who met Killebrew were astounded by his size - he stood only 5 feet 11. Everyone just assumed he was a giant, like Paul Bunyan.

It was proof that the legend exceeded the man, and yet the man exceeded all expectations. People were universally stunned by his modesty, his good nature, and how little he indulged his fame.

When he finished his career with 573 home runs, he ranked fifth on the all-time list. When he was pushed out of the top 10, passed by numerous players stained by the Steroid Era, colleagues and friends were outraged. Yet Killebrew wouldn't say a bad word about those who cheated, defacing the record book in the process.

That just wasn't his style.

"He knows deep down that what he did was real, and what other guys accomplished is not real," Brett said.

Just like he knew that logo was made in his image, no matter what anyone says. Hopefully, that's forever.

Reach Bickley at dan.bickley@arizonarepublic.com or 602-444-8253. Follow him at twitter.com/danbickley. Listen to "Bickley and MJ" 2-6 p.m. weekdays on KGME-AM (910).