This column originally ran in The Standard-Times on Jan. 3, 2016.

By Nick Tavares
Pʀᴇsᴇɴᴛ Tᴇɴsᴇ

Think of the signature Dave Henderson moment. For argument’s sake, let’s call up his home run against the California Angels in Game 5 of the 1986 ALCS.

With the Red Sox staring down elimination in Anaheim, Henderson took a pitch over the wall left-center, jumped up, twirled and started clapping and running the bases, grinning ear-to-ear as he touched each one. He was then mobbed by teammates at the plate, high-fiving everyone and everything in sight.

Two weeks later, he added a few backwards steps to first base after the jump and the twirl after hitting what was almost a World Series-winning homer in Shea Stadium a couple of weeks later. Again, it was smiles all around, this huge personality from the center fielder acquired earlier that summer.

But I didn’t know that Dave Henderson. I was a little too young to ever see him play center field for the Red Sox, and just as I was getting into the game, he had been traded and eventually found his place in Oakland.

The Henderson I knew came via baseball cards, and that smile was just as prominent no matter the year or company of the card. He nearly always had the biggest grin in the game painted across his face. In the version of Dave Henderson that existed in packs of cards, he gave off the vibe of a guy who loved the game and didn’t let the seriousness of the situation overwhelm that joy of playing.

Check out his 1993 Topps card, and he’s adjusting his cap at batting practice and smiling. On his 1992 Fleer card, he’s grinning while he’s running out of the box. Flip through, and in nearly every photo of him affixed to those cardboard documents, whether he’s mid-swing, taking a lead off the base or sitting in the dugout, he’s smiling.

So between that and Henderson’s appearances whenever the A’s were on national TV, I was a fan. Digging into the history later on and discovering how close he came to pushing the Red Sox across the finish line was a little stunning to a young fan, but it seemed to be in keeping with his gregarious nature.

But even without a World Series win in Boston, his legacy on the field is certainly safe. He was an All-Star who was a key part of some great teams, first hitting .400 in that ’86 World Series and later as the center fielder for the Bash Brothers A’s of the late 1980s and early ’90s. There were more than 200 home runs (including playoffs) and plenty of moments where he was playfully mugged by teammates on the bench.

And off the field, he seemed to be the same guy. John McGrath of the Tacoma News Tribune wrote last week about how Hendu cared for his son Chase, taking him to Mariners games and making sure he had everything he needed. And at Safeco Field, whether he was calling a game for the Mariners’ radio team or sitting up in the stands, he was at home.

He died last week of a heart attack in Seattle, back in the city where his major league career began. At the relatively young age of 57, it was a sharp, singular loss of one of baseball’s great personalities.

Baseball lost a great ambassador, and those close to him lost someone who seemed just as special as that smile plastered across so many highlights and so many baseball cards through the years.

Nick Tavares' column appears Sundays in The Standard-Times and at SouthCoastToday.com. He can be reached at nick@nicktavares.com