As a first-year hitting coach for the Hillsboro Hops, Mark Grace rarely has an idle moment in the hours before a game.

There is batting practice to throw, infield drills to monitor and one-on-one conversations to have with the short-season Single-A ballplayers he is still getting to know.

But when the three-time Major League Baseball All-Star heard the words "Tony Gwynn," he halted his pregame routine and opened a memory of heartfelt stories.

"He's one of my idols," Grace said of his close friend. "Tony's one of the nicest human beings you'll ever meet."

Tony Gwynn, a Hall of Fame player with the San Diego Padres and the head baseball coach at San Diego State, died June 16 at the age of 54 after a lengthy battle with cancer.

The loss of Gwynn reverberated through the nation and produced several awe-inspiring tributes. By all accounts, Gwynn, who began his professional career in 1981 in the Northwest League in Walla Walla, Wash., made a profound impact on each person he came across in his too-short life.

Several of those people were in Hillsboro this past week for the short-season Hops' first homestand that concluded Wednesday at Ron Tonkin Field.

There was Grace, who played for the same college baseball program as Gwynn (San Diego State University) and competed against his Padres from 1988-2000 with the Chicago Cubs and in 2001 with the Arizona Diamondbacks.

There was Doug Drabek, the Hops' pitching coach and 1990 Cy Young award winner with the Pittsburgh Pirates, who let out a hearty Gwynn-like chuckle when told that he got the left-handed hitting machine out more often than not (Gwynn blistered Drabek for a career .469 average, hitting 23 of 49).

There were two pitchers, Ryan Doran of Hillsboro and Ethan Miller of Salem-Keizer, who had the pleasure of playing key roles on Coach Gwynn's 2013 Mountain West Conference Tournament championship team at San Diego State.

There was Hillsboro manager J.R. House and Hops video coordinator Jamie Quinn, who both enjoyed one memorable week with a visiting Tony Gwynn in Long Island, N.Y., where they were a part of the same independent baseball team as Gwynn's son-in-law.

And there was Hops consultant Ben Petrick, the hometown hero from Hillsboro's Glencoe High School who was the catcher for the Colorado Rockies in 2001 when Tony Gwynn took the final swing of his illustrious 20-year career.

Oh, and there was also a 33-year-old sportswriter who adorned a pin of Tony to his press pass, using that access to pick the brains of those who knew Gwynn in order to help process the crushing reality that his childhood hero was gone.

'So sorry about Gwynn'

"Ah man. So sorry about Gwynn." Jun 16, 2014, 8:17 a.m.

The first of 19 texts in a one-hour span came from my friend Adam in Seattle, where I was headed that day to watch my beloved San Diego Padres play the Seattle Mariners in Safeco Field. I was hurriedly doing work in a Portland-area Starbucks when I glanced at my phone.

No. No, no, no, no, no. No, please, no.

Quickly logged onto Twitter and there it was, the tweet that broke the news – and countless hearts – at 8:09 a.m.:

"Tony Gwynn has died..." was all I read.

Within moments, an older lady tapped me on the shoulder, asking if I was OK and if there was anything she could do. Apparently, I let out an audible gasp and she noticed my tears before I did.

My phone buzzed with more messages as news spread. I felt the need to tweet something in this social media era, but it nowhere near captured what was going through my mind at that moment:

It had been six minutes since learning that the man who was displayed on a wall in each of my childhood bedrooms – and who's been featured above the crib in my son's room since he was born 17 months ago – was deceased.

'His own personal Cooperstown'

Each year of Coach Gwynn's tenure, the members of the San Diego State baseball team were invited to a BBQ at the Gwynn house in Poway, a suburb north of San Diego.

Ryan Doran, in his second season with the Hillsboro Hops after playing for the Aztecs in 2012 and 2013, said the highlight of the outing was the 20 minutes spent in an area of the home filled with Gwynn's memorabilia.

"It was his own personal Cooperstown, right in his hallway," Doran said. "He had so much stuff that half of it wasn't even hung up on his walls. We walk in there and it's just a shrine to him that made us all go, 'Wow.'

"But he was so uncomfortable with us being in that room. He didn't like it, but his wife (high school sweetheart Alicia) was showing us everything. She was the host."

Doran said Gwynn always did his best to turn the attention away from him and shine the light on his SDSU players. That was especially the case when Gwynn's battle with mouth cancer received national attention and a paralyzed portion of his face altered his physical appearance.

"I was there during the heat of his treatment, but he never showed any weakness towards us," said Doran, who shared the podium with Gwynn after a tough loss in the 2013 NCAA Regionals to UCLA, the eventual national champions. "He would be there coaching when doctors told him not to be. He just loved it so much and he cared about us so much. He didn't want it to be public, because he wanted the attention to be on the way his team played."

Doran, who has a 2.00 earned-run average in 18 innings pitched for Hillsboro this season, said he never got over the awe-factor of playing for a Hall of Famer.

"I still get chills," he said.

After playing two seasons at a junior college, Doran vividly recalls Gwynn's stern team meeting before the 2012 season and how badly his competitive mentor wanted to take the Aztecs to the College World Series.

But Doran also quickly discovered that the best part about being a player for Tony Gwynn was listening to Tony Gwynn stories.

"He's got a personality like no other," Doran said. "He's got a very distinct voice, a very distinct laugh and he'd sit there and just tell you stories all day. The stories were endless. He'd talk about hitting (.415 lifetime) off Greg Maddux and of all the ballparks he's played in.

"And then he'd walk to the end of the dugout and jokingly complain about how there was no Gatorade and give the trainers a hard time. He always had fun."

Doran's personal favorite story involved a frustrated Coach Gwynn during a 2013 batting practice. The Aztecs hitters were having a tough day and Doran, in the outfield shagging balls, could tell that Gwynn was fed up.

"All of a sudden, Tony got up, walked into the dugout, grabbed a helmet and a bat and told everyone to get out of the way," Doran said. "Everybody stopped."

Gwynn, whose cancer battle had added more pounds to his already overweight 5-foot-11 frame, proceeded to take 10 swings in the batting cage that appeared to take 10 years off his age.

The first swing fouled the ball off. The next nine swings were classic Gwynn.

"He just starts peppering the gaps," Doran said. "It was one of the most unbelievable things I've ever seen. It was like riding a bike for him, hitting the ball through his 5.5 hole (between third base and shortstop) and crushing line drives up the middle. You could tell he was having a blast when he started making fun of our guys.

"He'd go, 'I've been sitting down for how long and I can still do it.' Someone answered, 'Well, Coach, you're a Hall of Famer.' After that, he started laughing and laughing and it calmed him down and calmed our hitters down and we all started hitting well after that.

"I told myself at that time, 'We just saw something that we might never see again.'"

'Over the rainbow without pain'

It didn't take long to realize how meaningful it was to wear Gwynn's No. 19 jersey in public on the day he passed.

At a rest stop north of Kelso, Wash., a stranger shook my hand and said, "What a great, great ballplayer he was." At a McDonald's near Seattle, the employee taking my order said, "You heard the news right? So, so sad."

On my walk to Safeco Field for that evening's Padres-Mariners game, the honks began. Somewhat used to being heckled in Seattle when attending Chargers or Padres road games, I ignored the first couple before it hit me. These honks from cars were coming in my direction out of respect for Tony Gwynn and they were accompanied with shouts of, "I loved Tony!" and "So sorry for your loss!" and "Gwynn was the man!"

Once inside Safeco Field, the emotions reached a crescendo. Every few steps, classy Mariners fans acknowledged me with an RIP condolence or an offer of a free beverage. One Seattle resident said he hadn't been to a Mariners game in four years but felt compelled to attend the Monday night game when he learned about Gwynn. Fellow Padres fans – most San Diego transplants like myself – treated each other like a family member at a celebration of life. Padres outfielder Cameron Maybin nodded to me from the field when he saw my jersey and touched his heart twice with his fist.

In The 'Pen, an open-air bar behind the outfield fence, I was warmly greeted by the Pierson family from Seattle. Timothy Pierson, a die-hard Mariners fan who lived the first nine years of his life in San Diego, wore a No. 19 Padres jersey at the game and wears No. 19 in his adult baseball league because of Gwynn. (A ROOT Sports cameraman captured us chatting in Gwynn jerseys and that footage was shown throughout that night's broadcast.)

Tania Pierson, a Hillsboro native and 2002 Century High School graduate, joined her husband and mother-in-law, Nancy, in wearing No. 19 stickers on their caps. Nancy Pierson spoke fondly of being an employee in the birthing center of the San Diego hospital when Gwynn's two children, Tony Gwynn Jr. and Anisha Nicole Gwynn, were born in 1982 and 1985. "He was a sweet, kind, generous and humble man," Nancy Pierson said.

The game, which Seattle won 5-1, was a blur. But I'll never forget the moving video tribute the Mariners showed before the game, the large "19" that was painted in Gwynn's 5.5 hole in the infield and watching the final innings with an inspiring family from Poulsbo, Wash.

Kay Satele and her daughter, Laura, 5, both wore Padres jerseys and cheered all night for Tony. Kay's husband, Glenn, grew up in San Diego and idolized Gwynn. With Glenn stationed in Japan as a U.S. Navy Chief, Kay and Laura knew they had to be at the game to honor their own hero's hero.

Kay Satele and daughter, Laura, 5, honored Tony Gwynn at a San Diego Padres game in Seattle on the day that Gwynn died.

Laura, who attended her first baseball game on June 25, 2009 when the Padres played the Mariners, obviously didn't know a lot about Tony Gwynn. But she understood he was an important man to her parents and triumphantly held the sign, "R.I.P. Mr. Padre. You will always be remembered!! Tony Gwynn #19"

Laura, who posed for a photo with the Tony Gwynn statue at Petco Park in 2012, asked where Tony was now and what he was doing. Her mother softly replied, "He is over the rainbow without pain and playing baseball with all others who live there."

'Treated everybody the same'

Mark Grace was a college ballplayer at San Diego State in the fall of 1984 when he met Tony Gwynn, who won the first of his eight National League batting titles that year and helped lead the Padres to the first of two World Series appearances in his career.

Grace, who is revered by Chicago Cubs fans after compiling the most hits in the 1990s of any player in baseball, attended San Diego's 1984 NLCS victories over the Cubs at then-Jack Murphy Stadium.

"We were all there rooting for the Padres," Grace said, smiling.

Grace played with Chris Gwynn, Tony's brother, on San Diego State's 1985 team and said Tony quickly blended in with the college players despite his big-league status. It wasn't uncommon for the Padres star to take batting practice with the Aztecs.

"He was never like, 'You are to be in awe of me,'" Grace said. "He wasn't like that. Tony just made you feel very comfortable around him. I tried to pattern a lot of myself after him. I'm never going to compare myself to him – he got 700 hits more than I did – but we were very similar. We could get the ball from line-to-line, we didn't hit many home runs, we didn't strike out very much and every day, whether it was a left-hander or right-hander on the mound, we're playing."

Grace now patterns himself after Coach Gwynn through his hitting coach position with the Hillsboro Hops. After serving four months in an outdoor jail in Arizona for a pair of drunk driving arrests, Grace said he has paid his debt to society and is embracing the opportunity to mentor young ballplayers and be called "Coach."

Over the past 12 years, Grace marveled at Gwynn's passion for being a college coach and could tell how much he enjoyed teaching the game. More than anything, though, Grace said the biggest lesson he learned from his frequent dinner companion came from simply watching Gwynn interact with the public.

"He was a Hall of Famer that didn't carry himself like one," said Grace, who turns 50 on Saturday. "I've gotten to know a lot of Hall of Famers and not all of them are the most personable people. There's a lot of aloofness. Greatness comes with a price for some of those guys when it comes to their personality.

"But Tony treated everybody the same. At All-Star games, he was always friendly to my mother and father and my family. If I judge people, I judge them on how they treat me, treat my family and treat my friends. Tony was easy to judge because he was such a good-hearted guy. There didn't seem to be a vindictive bone in his body.

"He loved to play baseball, he loved to coach baseball and he loved to be around the game. I start to run out of superlatives when I talk about Gwynny."

The unwritten story

As a Eugene-based sports reporter for The Oregonian from 2007-2010, I kept a story-idea list that included one feature that was never written:

"Jim Dietz, college coach of Tony Gwynn at SDSU, still coaching high school baseball on the Oregon Coast in Florence"

The story of Dietz, 75, is still one worth telling: Born and raised in Eugene, Dietz had a standout college playing career at Southern Oregon and began his baseball coaching career at the small Oregon high schools of Lowell and Pleasant Hill. Dietz, who also coached the University of Oregon JV baseball team, went on to record a career record of 1,231-750-18 in 31 seasons at San Diego State before turning the program over to Gwynn in 2003.

Upon hearing that Dietz was now coaching the Three Rivers Sandblasters American Legion team in Florence, my first thought was as a reporter: Wow, that'd be a great story to write. Seconds later, my mind shifted to fan-mode: Oh my, this is it, I have an excuse to call Tony Gwynn for a chat.

But for some reason, I never got around to it and by 2010 my duties had shifted and the story remained unwritten.

When informed that his college coach was spending his retirement as a high school summer baseball coach in a small Oregon coastal town, Grace broke out a wide grin and said, "That's not surprising. That's what he does."

Grace will be a great quote in a Jim Dietz profile someday. But the biggest regret in my career will always be missing out on the chance to interview Tony Gwynn.

'Same infectious laugh and didn't complain'

At Salem-Keizer home games, Volcanoes pitcher Ethan Miller doesn't take for granted the children seeking his autograph and makes sure to sign as many as he can.

Miller's appreciation for the simple act of placing ink on a baseball came from watching Coach Gwynn graciously sign for fans throughout Miller's four years at San Diego State from 2010-2013.

"Oh man, he got so many autograph requests every road game and he took the time to sign every single one, every single time," Miller said. "But he had one rule: he wouldn't sign for you if you didn't say please. That was his one stickler, he would always require them to say 'Please' and 'Thank you.'"

Miller raves about Gwynn's values and how great of a father he was to his children. But Gwynn had a vice in his well-documented addiction to chewing tobacco, which Gwynn believes caused his cancer. Miller said Gwynn didn't shy away from speaking to his Aztecs players about the dangers of tobacco.

"It was shocking to see him get emotional talking to us about it, with the right side of his face paralyzed and frozen," said Miller, who doesn't chew. "He banned us from having it anywhere at the college and he made sure we knew it wasn't worth it.

"He wasn't the same because of it but he still had that same infectious laugh and didn't complain about it to us. He did as much as he could physically handle because being at the ballpark was his pride and joy."

Since Gwynn's death, former SDSU stars Stephen Strasburg (Washington Nationals) and Addison Reed (Arizona Diamondbacks) have publicly declared that they were quitting smokeless tobacco in honor of their coach.

Miller said it's one final lesson in the teaching career of Gwynn, who Miller often saw providing hitting tutorials to visiting Major Leaguers on SDSU's campus.

"Tony would always take the time for anybody who asked," Miller said.

The 6-foot-5, 220-pound Miller doesn't consider himself an emotional guy, but he speaks reverentially about two moments. The first was the scene in the postgame locker room after the Aztecs won the 2013 MWC Tournament title in Fresno, Calif.

"He said he was really, really proud of all of us, extremely proud," Miller said, glancing up at the blue sky from the visiting dugout in Hillsboro. "He said it was one of the happiest moments of his coaching and playing career."

The second moment occurred in June 2013, after Miller was drafted by the San Francisco Giants in the 22nd round of the MLB Draft.

"Tony gave me a big hug and said, 'Thanks for everything. It's been a fun four years and I'm always here if you need me,'" Miller said. "That was literally the last time I saw him. That's even more special now looking back on it.

"Every player was special to Tony."

'The same vicinity as my idol'

Our first wedding anniversary in July 2007 was spent at Tony Gwynn's Hall of Fame induction in Cooperstown, N.Y. My wife, Laura, and I were among the record crowd of 75,000 packed into the charming upstate town with a population of 1,833.

I wished to somehow have a moment with Gwynn over the weekend, but that proved to be impossible in the sea of adoring supporters (Baltimore's Cal Ripken Jr. was also inducted that weekend and nearby Orioles fans came in droves). Even with seats in the far back for the ceremony and without ever getting close to Gwynn, I will forever be grateful to witness No. 19's enshrinement in a hallowed place.

A year later, I was dispatched to San Diego to cover the University of Oregon football team in the 2008 Holiday Bowl. The Ducks' official practice site was at San Diego State, which meant I would be spending five consecutive days in the same vicinity as my idol.

I confirmed that Gwynn was on campus and probably holed up in his cramped office, which was located underneath the grandstands of the ballpark named Tony Gwynn Stadium. I could have found an excuse to request an interview, but didn't want to force it. After hearing many stories about chance encounters – my friend Brian ran into an affable Gwynn in a Target and a gas station on the same night – I figured if it was meant to be it would happen.

It never did. The closest I came was writing an online postcard about eating lunch near the 10-foot statue of "Mr. Padre" at Petco Park.

'Run, run, run!'

Seated in the Hillsboro Hops' dugout along the first-base line, Doug Drabek looked out on the empty field at Ron Tonkin Field and visualized a sprinting Tony Gwynn.

Twenty years ago, Gwynn scored from first base on a double by Moises Alou in the bottom of the 10th inning to give the National League an 8-7 win over the American League in the All-Star Game.

"Run, run, run!" Drabek, 51, screamed to nobody, mimicking how he reacted in the dugout of Pittsburgh's Three Rivers Stadium as Gwynn rounded the bases. "Go! Go! Go! ...

"Slide!"

Earlier that night in Pittsburgh, Drabek gave up three runs – one earned – to even the score at 4-4 in the sixth inning. So the then-Houston Astros star was especially pulling for Gwynn to beat the throw in a close play at home to help the NL end a six-game All-Star losing skid.

"I thought they were going to call him out, I really did," said Drabek, who played for Pittsburgh from 1987-1992. "Everybody went crazy. We acted like we just clinched a berth to the playoffs. It made you act like a kid again."

Gwynn, who played all 10 innings that night and celebrated as wildly as he ever did in his career, was making the 10th of his 15 All-Star appearances. For Drabek, that July 12, 1994 midsummer classic would be the only All-Star Game of his 13-year career – and only time he could say he was a teammate of Tony Gwynn.

"He was a pleasure to be around," Drabek said. "Baseball was pretty much his life, but he played with a respect for baseball that it didn't owe him anything."

As for Gwynn's .469 career average off him, Drabek knows he wasn't alone and offered a scouting report similar to other pitchers from that era who struggled against the hitter with a .338 career batting average.

"Don't try to get him out. Let him get himself out, if that's possible," Drabek said. "If you start trying to nit-pick him, then that's when you fall right into his plan. He was just so good at fouling stuff off and being patient.

"You couldn't fool him."

A therapeutic walk around the ballpark

The Hillsboro Hops home opener took place at the same time as the Padres' first home game since Tony Gwynn's death two days earlier.

While my Twitter feed was filled with poignant images from San Diego, it was therapeutic to wander around a typical minor league ballgame 1,000 miles away and find so many connections to Gwynn.

Hops manager J.R. House said he has two autographed baseballs and an autographed bat that Gwynn signed in 2011 when he visited the Long Island Ducks, an independent baseball team that House played on with Gwynn's son-in-law, Kennard Jones. Along with the mementos, Gwynn left House with hitting advice during a memorable dugout conversation that House now shares with the Hops.

"He said, 'No matter what as a hitter – who's on the mound, whether it's raining, where you're at in terms of the big leagues, the minor leagues or high school, whether your girlfriend broke up with you, whatever – when you step into that box, you do what you do. You own it. It's up to you. You versus the pitcher, nothing else matters,'" House said. "I thought that was pretty neat. He was very giving with his time."

Also there for Gwynn's East Coast visit was Hops video coordinator Jamie Quinn, who was Long Island's bullpen catcher that season. Quinn, who doubles as an assistant coach for the United States Merchant Marine Academy college baseball team, took the opportunity to talk coaching with Gwynn.

"Being a college coach is a never-ending job, it's all day long," Quinn said. "It speaks volumes to his character that he wanted to give back to the game and go do that grind right after being a Hall of Fame player. You don't see that a lot."

Jason Boire of Beaverton wears a Tony Gwynn No. 19 jersey at a Hillsboro Hops game, two days after Gwynn's death.

In the berm in left field at the Hops game, Jason Boire of Beaverton was enjoying the night with his wife, Caitlin, and daughter, Penny, 2. Though he grew up in New England and is a Boston Red Sox fan, the 34-year-old Boire wore a "hideously retro" brown Tony Gwynn T-shirt to the Hops game.

"I always liked Tony," Boire said.

In the right-field area, Hops fan Eric Bailey, 33, also had an interesting Gwynn story. The Beaverton resident said his first Major League Baseball game was a Padres-Dodgers game at Dodger Stadium in which Gwynn was ejected. Bailey then went to his phone and confirmed his memory: he was 8 and sitting in the upper deck on the third-base line on Aug. 5, 1989 when Gwynn was tossed for the second and final time of his career.

"Tony Gwynn, of all people, was ejected in the first inning..." Bailey said, reading out loud the words from an LA Times archive story. "How cool is that for a first game?"

Up in the Hops' radio booth, announcer Rich Burk of Hillsboro gleefully shared his Tony Gwynn story. In 2005, Burk was in Albuquerque, N.M., to broadcast a Triple-A Portland Beavers ballgame when he realized Gwynn's Aztecs were also in town.

Despite a tough loss for San Diego State, Gwynn agreed to speak on-air with Burk the next day.

"It was one of those interviews where it was just rolling and I figured, 'I'm going to blow out the rest of the pregame show and we're just going to carry this interview.' I mean, it's Tony Gwynn!" Burk said. "Matter of fact, at the end I said, 'Everywhere you go, you're the one that everybody wants to talk to and yet, when I asked you to do the interview with me, you acted like I was the first person that ever wanted to interview you.'

"He probably would have said yes for anybody."

There were others in the ballpark with their own special tales about Tony Gwynn. But the coolest bridge to Gwynn's past in Hillsboro this past week was the former Colorado Rockies catcher who is in the photo of Gwynn's final swing, on Page C3 of my treasured copy of the San Diego Union-Tribune commemorative special section, from a special night in 2001.

Sharing the stage with an icon

Six years after graduating from Glencoe High School in Hillsboro, Ben Petrick found himself inches from greatness.

As a rising star catcher for the Colorado Rockies, Petrick was honored to earn the start for Tony Gwynn's final game on Oct. 7, 2001.

"I remember it vividly," Petrick said. "There was so many people at Qualcomm (Stadium). I'm a huge baseball fan and I definitely knew what was going on that day and what it meant. I felt so proud to be on the field and be in the moment and share the stage with Tony Gwynn."

Petrick's major league career came to an abrupt end in 2003 because of Parkinson's, a debilitating nerve disorder that affects the way Petrick is able to walk and speak. But as he thinks back to that 2001 day in San Diego, Petrick's eyes grow big and his speech is noticeably clearer.

In that same game, Petrick was the catcher when another future Hall of Famer, Rickey Henderson, recorded his 3,000th hit. Petrick also went 2 for 5 that day with two runs scored in the Rockies' 14-5 win.

But Petrick's favorite memory occurred at the end of the game, after Gwynn grounded out to shortstop in the ninth inning in his final at-bat.

"Everyone on both teams gave him a hug, there was a huge line of people, and I was the last person to give him a hug on the field and that's what I'll always remember," Petrick said. "The fact that Tony Gwynn was retiring was sad, but for him to have that kind of send-off was great for baseball.

"And to be a small part of it was really cool."

Since retiring as a player, Petrick spent several seasons as an assistant baseball coach at Glencoe and is now reveling in his role as a special assistant and consultant for the Hillsboro Hops. Petrick, now 37 and expecting his third daughter in August, said being the opposing catcher during Gwynn at-bats was like being in the front row of the greatest teaching lesson.

"I always envied how calm he was at the plate," Petrick said. "A guy could throw 98 miles an hour at him and he would just send it right through the 5.5 hole. Whether you were a player or a kid watching the game, you always learned something from watching Tony Gwynn. He wasn't a flashy guy. He wasn't trying to draw attention to himself.

"He just played the game the right way and was a quality influence on society."

'Thank you'

Tony Gwynn's final game drew a sold-out crowd of 60,103, which included an aspiring college sportswriter who was transitioning into adulthood.

For the first 20 years of my life, I was blessed to watch No. 19 play his entire career for the Padres and flew down from Oregon to express my gratitude.

On Gwynn's second-to-last game a day earlier, we all went crazy when Gwynn's 3,141st – and final – hit of his career went for a pinch-hit double. But on his last game, after his final at-bat, the crowd's emotional cheers were mixed with tears.

Knowing now that I'll never have the opportunity to officially meet Gwynn as a fan or interview him as a reporter, the postgame scene from 2001 grows more profound.

Turns out, I already had my Tony Gwynn moment and it occurred as we were both letting go – him of his playing career, me of my childhood.

An image of Tony Gwynn thanking his fans from the special section of the San Diego Union-Tribune in October 2001.

Following a stirring on-field ceremony, Gwynn began individually greeting fans in the crowd. I instinctively made my way toward a railing along the right-field line, with my left eye and ear captured in a photo above Gwynn in the next morning's newspaper special section.

It wasn't a rushed or chaotic scene. Typical of Tony Gwynn and laid-back San Diego, nobody was in a hurry to say goodbye. I remember looking around and noticing that few fans had left when it suddenly happened.

Tony Gwynn stood in front of me, hand extended. I offered mine and began speaking to my idol.

"Thank you, Tony," I said, not realizing the stadium's big screen displayed our two faces. "Thank you so much. For everything."

He responded with a simple phrase that he offered to thousands of others that night, but it felt as genuine as the man.

"No, no, no, thank you," Gwynn said, looking directly at me with watery eyes that matched mine, a precious moment that will live on through stories told to my son someday. "Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"Thank you."

The pleasure was everyone's, Tony.

Jeff Smith | @JeffSmithSD