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He couldn't have been more wrong. It took a lot of pain and misery for Hearn to realize that his baseball journey, while enriched by a one-year stint with one of the game's most famous ball clubs, could never compare with the satisfaction that comes from uplifting people without a bat in his hand. "Teaching and encouraging people today is bigger than anything I achieved in baseball," Hearn said. "It's more important to me as a person. Not only from the perspective of making a difference in other people's lives, but mainly, it gives purpose to all of the stuff that happened in my life." "I absolutely don't know if I could have handled all I went through without it. I'm often considered a lifeline in my speaking, but it's also been a lifeline for me. I've done public speaking at times when I've felt like the world had caved in on me. One of the strengths of my talks is I don't sugarcoat it. If I'm hurting that day, I often let my audience know it." Hearn understands the risks. He knows he's being paid to motivate the crowds that come to hear his speeches. But the Florida native, who now makes his home in Shawnee, Kansas with his wife Tricia and 12-year-old son, Cody, is convinced that people relate to his message because everyone faces personal struggles they may not readily share with friends or co-workers. After all his talks, Hearn tries to stay around and converse with his audience. The feedback he has received during the years has given him greater satisfaction than anything he ever did on a ball field. He has received numerous letters from people telling him, in so many words, that his talk either saved their lives or turned them around. Hearn still gets chills talking about the Fortune 500 CEO who took him out of public sight after a speech and bawled on his shoulder because "he saw the light" about rearranging his priorities. The essence of Hearn's message is encouraging people to move away from self-centeredness to serving others, in whatever form that may take. He believes that attitude will make for stronger businesses, stronger families, stronger self-worth and a stronger country. "Ed used to get fan mail that was mostly about autographs and signing baseball cards,'' said Tricia Hearn, a pediatric nurse. "Now he gets notes from people about the difference he's made in their lives. To do it now from a different platform, I think it gives him a sense of purpose." "Maybe it's a reason why he had to endure all this, so he could help others with their struggles, no matter what they are. It's a sense of validation." Hearn almost didn't attend the Mets' 20-year World Series reunion because, though he cherished seeing old friends again, he felt awkward about receiving adulation for accomplishments that didn't seem as meaningful as they once did. And maybe, too, it was a painful reminder of the baseball career that never reached full bloom because of his health problems. But Hearn relented and returned to Shea Stadium, if nothing else to let his son experience the joyous, rock-and-roll atmosphere that was the '86 Mets. Besides, what really matters is not who Ed Hearn was 20 years ago, but how he has persevered through a mountain of medical challenges and become a different kind of hero. Of the '86 Mets, the only player to attain Hall of Fame status was Hearn's mentor and the team's starting catcher, Gary Carter. You'll never see a bust of Ed Hearn in Cooperstown. But in a humanitarian sense of the word, he belongs in anyone's Hall of Fame. Learn more about Ed Hearn's triumphs at www.edhearn.com Gene Frenette is a sports columnist at the Florida Times-Union in Jacksonville. He has won numerous writing awards and been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize. You can contact him at
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