Why Billy Bean will always be a hero to this lifelong gay baseball fan

Billy Bean, who came out as gay after finishing his baseball career in the late 1990s and then became an executive for Major League Baseball, died yesterday after battling acute myeloid leukemia for the last year. He was 60.

While he played in the majors from 1987-1995, I had never heard of him. Then in 1999, when he came out, he stayed on my radar for the rest of his life.

By 1999, I wasn’t the obsessive baseball fan that had been through the early stages of my life. There was a time, in grade school, when I would take a piece of chalk, and write down the starting line-ups of all 24 teams in the Major League Baseball on chalkboards in my grade school classes in the 1970s.

I was 35 in 1999, and a hard-working professional. Life’s increased demands supplanted my encyclopedia mind of all things baseball. I remained a Pittsburgh Pirates fan — always have been, always will be — and had cursory knowledge of the best players in the game, but that was the extent of it.

Then in that year, Billy Bean, who had retired from major league baseball in 1995 after a lackluster career, came out as gay. I was stunned. Not because I knew Bean and never suspected that he was gay, but because, well, there were no gay baseball players. In fact, in my mind, gay was the antithesis of a Major League Baseball player.

So before I go on, it’s important to note that Bean was not Brad Pitt’s character, Billy Beane, in the hit film Moneyball, which depicted the true story of a successful baseball operative and executive. My Billy Bean was so much more important.

Billy Bean was never a star; in fact, his career statistics, spread over six years with four different teams, were what one player would record in just half a season - if he’d last that long. Bean’s career batting average was a paltry .219, so theoretically, anyone hitting .219 for half a season would most likely be benched.

What Bean did off the field was enormously consequential. At the time, he was only the second player to come out as gay, and since then, only one more has come out, former pitcher T.J. House. That is it, and that is very sad.

So was the story of Glenn Burke. I wrote about Burke, who I was familiar with while he played in the 1970s, because he was a would-be star with the Los Angeles Dodgers, alongside my favorite player at the time (not anymore), Dodgers first baseman Steve Garvey, he who is the Republican Senate candidate in California up against Congressman Adam Schiff.

Burke was destined for stardom, but he was also severely conflicted about his sexuality, and I firmly believe the fact that Burke, not being able to be his authentic self, prevented him from becoming the superstar he was destined to be. Burke tragically died of AIDS in 1995.

Ironically, in that same year, Bean lost his first partner, Sam, to HIV-related heart failure. Unlike Burke, Bean was frozen in the closet, terrified of being outed. After returning one evening from playing a game with the San Diego Padres, he found Sam lying on the floor of their home. He immediately put him in their car and began driving to a local hospital.

On the way, Bean suddenly realized he had recently been at that hospital to visit sick children representing the Padres. He knew that his secret would be out if he took Sam there, so they ended up driving to another hospital 30 minutes away. Sam died, and Bean, who couldn’t even attend his funeral out of fear of being exposed. Bean had to mourn in piercing solitude. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for him.

It wasn’t until four years later that Bean was able to share his pain, and then he explained further in his 2003 memoir, Going the Other Way: Lessons from a Life in and out of Major League Baseball— a must-read for any gay baseball fan.

His decision to publicly come out was a courageous step, not only for him, but it shed light on the challenges faced by LGBTQ+ athletes who lived in the closet and had to endure so much pain. It helped to break down barriers in the sports community, but not baseball.

Bean's legacy extends beyond his personal story. He dedicated himself to advocacy and education, working tirelessly to foster an inclusive environment within MLB and beyond. As a baseball fan, I always appreciated the fact that the league gave Bean a role and a voice. His last position was a Senior Vice President for Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DEI). Bean developed and implemented initiatives aimed at promoting DEI within the sport.

I saw first-hand the results of Bean’s work. Last summer, I spent an afternoon with the New York Mets “Ya Gotta Have Pride” Employee Resource Group (ERG), which is dedicated to fostering a culture of LGBTQ+ inclusion. That day the Mets honored 97-year-old lesbian and League of Their Own inspiration, Maybelle Blair. As a baseball fan, being on the field with Blair, and about a dozen members of the ERG made my heart sing. I never dreamed of standing on a Major League field as an openly gay man. I remember thinking of Bean that day.

Further, I’ve talked to two, queer minor league baseball players, Kieran Lovegrove, and Solomon Bates. And as a gay baseball fan and journalist, I’m holding out hope for the day I get to meet with a gay Major Leaguer.

Bean felt the same way. And if anyone Major Leaguers are reading this, and thinking about coming out, do him the honor of doing so. Since he’s no longer with us, take that courageous step, and in the process give us a new hero for this generation.

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