Joe was an outstanding major league starting pitcher -- he would have been a star had he played for a team that scored runs -- and an even better person. Total gentleman.
He, Gary Peters, Little Looey Aparicio, and Ken Berry were my favorite mid to late 1960s Sox players. Other than attending Game 1 of the 2005 World Series, favorite ballpark moment was convincing my mother (I was 9 at the time) to let my season ticket holder neighbor take me to a game on September 10, 1967 (my mother's birthday) and being in the park when Joe no-hit the Tigers in the midst of the 1967 pennant race.
Favorite fan moment also involved Joe. Sometime around 2015, a business deal gave me the opportunity to sit in a small booth at Lou Malnati's on Wells for about 2-1/2 hours sharing pizza and beer with Joe and his 1972 Oakland A's World Champions teammate Mike Epstein. I tried to tone-down the "fanboy" stuff, but wasn't very successful. Joe put up with my questions about pitching craft (he was a righty, but stylistically he reminded me a lot of Tom Glavine in his approach to pitching -- everything had a purpose, everything moved, and, in the earlier part of his career threw harder than people realized) and my recollections about his no-hitter. It was sad but kind of joyful too to watch this soft-spoken older gentleman light up when I reminded him that he hadn't given up a hit, but he had a hit, he was also hit-by-a-pitch as a hitter and hit one Tiger too (the only other baserunner against him was E5 Ken Boyer). I mentioned sad because Joe was clearly in the early stages of dementia or Alzheimer's and just a few years later it was announced that he had Alzheimer's. But on that evening, effervescent New Yorker Mike Epstein took care of his teammate while Mike and I regaled him about his career accomplishments. It was my honor and privilege to buy the man a few beers and toast his no-hitter -- about 50 years later, but I reminded him I was only 9 at the time.
While his memory was starting to fade he remembered a lot about the game and his teammates. I asked him who the best player -- teammate or opponent -- he had ever been on the field with. Joe took about a tenth of a second and said that it wasn't even close. He said the single best player WAS a teammate, but he was being tricky because it wasn't a major league season teammate, rather it was a teammate early in his career when he was playing winter ball in Puerto Rico (great side story because many emerging major leaguers played winter league ball to earn extra cash and stay in shape). He said the guy he's talking about was the best he had ever seen in each and every category you could name -- best hitter, best power, best outfielder, best throwing arm, best and fastest baserunner, most competitive. Roberto Clemente. Joe said that playing with Roberto Clemente in his native Puerto Rico was like being on a team with Elvis. The ladies and men alike couldn't get enough of him. Clemente basked in all of the adoration. Within minutes of ending a game he was out of uni, showered, and dressed in ultra sharp and expensive clothes that would have been joked about if anyone else was dressed that way, but this was Clemente. Joe had a number of amusing "colorful" locker room discussions about Clemente, but this is neither the time nor place to talk about that. Joe said his interactions with the great Clemente were absolutely minimal after the winter ball experience -- mainly just in Florida spring training games -- because of course the A.L. and N.L. had no in-season interaction in those days, other than the World Series, and as a 1960s to early 1970s Sox player, it's not as if Joe was blessed to play in a World Series. That had to wait until 1972 with the A's. Joe added that the rare few times he saw Clemente after winter ball, Clemente always greeted him warmly and called him his nice "Texas friend."
It was truly sad to learn a few years ago that Joe was suffering from Alzheimer's. It didn't surprise me because the beginnings were clearly there when I met him, but still so sad. It's now sadder still to learn he's passed, but, as many of you either know or will come to know, for the good people of the world who you care about, there is a certain grace when suffering is no more.
RIP #20! Not a Hall of Famer, but like Paulie K., a definite inductee in the Hall of Very Good.