It’s easy to get caught up in the scenery on the street that leads up to Ron Blomberg’s home in Roswell, Georgia. Beautiful houses line both sides of the road, just about all of them sitting behind plush green yards. The large hemlock trees that line the pavement are even more eye-catching and give way to so many more in the background.

On an early July morning, the neighborhood is quiet. At the top of a steep driveway, Blomberg is just starting a day that he has been looking forward to for a while. A few months removed from the 50th anniversary of becoming the first designated hitter in baseball history and a few long years after Yankees Magazine had originally planned to chronicle the 75-year-old’s journey from his hometown of Atlanta to the house he has lived in for the past three decades, the stars have finally aligned.

“Hey, big guy,” Blomberg says with a wide smile. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Those simple words, spoken at Blomberg’s front door, don’t just serve as a positive start to the day. They tell the story of who he is. Blomberg is not only down to earth, but he’s completely genuine in the importance he places on being kind to everyone with whom he crosses paths.

When he wasn’t penciled in as a designated hitter, Blomberg played right field and first base for the Yankees beginning in 1969. The first overall Draft choice in 1967 wore the pinstripes for seven seasons, batting .302 with 47 home runs and 202 RBIs before finishing his career with the Chicago White Sox in 1978.

A few minutes after the warm welcome, Blomberg, whose wife, Beth, is babysitting one of the couple’s grandchildren, settles into his seat on a dark brown leather couch. The morning sun illuminates the living room through two sets of windows that overlook the backyard, and the hardwood floors match the beams that span the vaulted ceiling. In this area of the house, paintings of horses -- Beth’s passion -- and family photos give the room character.

Even before Blomberg’s historic at-bat from April 6, 1973, is brought up, he expounds on the core belief that has endeared him to the countless people he has interacted with or who have admired him for decades.

“It’s easy to be nice to people,” says Blomberg, proudly wearing a 1977 World Series ring and a University of Miami visor. “I get that not everyone is going to be nice to you all the time, but I’ve never understood why people want to alienate the world.”

Like the roads that lead to Blomberg’s house in this quaint Atlanta suburb, the ballplayer’s journey has had its own twists and turns, peaks and valleys. He had no idea in the days leading up to the first American League game to feature a designated hitter that not only would he occupy the groundbreaking spot on manager Ralph Houk’s lineup card, but that it would also be a watershed moment in his life ­-- and arguably in the sport.

“I had first heard about the DH in 1972,” he says. “People were talking about it for a little while before they finally adopted it. Everyone in baseball thought it was a gimmick. I thought it was a gimmick. A ‘designated pinch-hitter,’ as it was originally called; how could that be something that would last?”

Blomberg reported to Spring Training in 1973 on the heels of his most productive season, having played in a career-high 107 games the year before. Despite the organization’s struggles under the ownership of CBS for almost a decade, Blomberg arrived in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, with an increased sense of optimism stemming from the recent news that George Steinbrenner had led the purchase of the team earlier that winter.

“All I knew about George was that he was a former football coach from Ohio,” Blomberg says. “He came into the locker room right after he bought the team, and you could feel the energy in the room. He had his sons with him that day, Hank and Hal. He just told us that he was there for whatever we needed. He told us that if we gave him 120 percent, we were going to make this team what it was in the past, when they were winning championships. It was like a Knute Rockne speech.”

***

Even though the DH position was set to make its debut on American League lineup cards when the regular season began, it was not a highly anticipated event.

“We really didn’t talk about it in Spring Training that year,” Blomberg says. “Whoever was the designated pinch-hitter had ‘DH’ next to his name on the lineup card. I was never the DH that spring. I was playing first base pretty much every day.”

Blomberg’s good feelings about the start of the season turned south just before the team headed north for an Opening Day tilt in Boston. Four days before the team broke camp, Blomberg suffered a pulled hamstring. Although the injury hampered his ability to run and to get to the ball in the field, he resisted the idea of being placed on the team’s injured list.

“When Ralph Houk raised the idea, I told him not to do that,” Blomberg says. “You never wanted to be on the disabled list unless you absolutely couldn’t play. Everyone knows what happened to Wally Pipp when the Yankees replaced him with Lou Gehrig. You never know if you’re going to get replaced for good, especially back when we had one-year contracts.”

Sometime between that meeting and the team plane’s departure from Fort Lauderdale, Houk huddled with his coaches and came up with a plan that would not have been an option in previous seasons.

“First-base coach] Elston Howard came to my seat on the plane and asked if I could be the DH on Opening Day,” Blomberg recalls. “‘Absolutely,’ I told him. My leg was still bothering me, and considering that we were going up to the cold weather in Boston, I knew it wasn’t going to get any better for a few days. The temperature was in the high 40s up there, and I knew that it wasn’t going to be the easiest place to loosen up.”

Blomberg began the season with a sense of relief. The new position had helped him keep going, and that was his only objective on the day of the season opener.

“They wouldn’t have wanted to waste a roster spot on a player who wasn’t available at all,” Blomberg says. “But the DH gave me a position. When you play the field, you need the type of strength I just didn’t have that week.”

Regardless of the obstacles that the tight muscle and Beantown weather presented, Blomberg showed up at Fenway Park for the first regular-season game of 1973 with the same anxiousness and excitement he normally had.

“I wrapped my leg up really well,” he says. “When you get that spark, you don’t feel like you’re injured. I couldn’t really feel my leg at all that morning, either because it was so chilly or because I was so pumped up.”

Still adjusting to the idea that he was starting the season in a role that was years away from being recognized favorably within the sport and by fans and the media, the 24-year-old hoped that he would return to first base soon after the series at Fenway Park.

“People looked at the DH as not being a real ballplayer,” says Blomberg. “I wanted to play, not just hit. I didn’t want to be looked at as a halfway player, as a guy who couldn’t field. I wasn’t the worst fielder out there, and I wasn’t the best either.”

With mixed feelings, Blomberg watched his teammate Horace Clarke lead off the game against Red Sox legend Luis Tiant with a single. Then, left fielder Roy White quickly hit into a double play. With three batters in front of him, there was suddenly more uncertainly about whether Blomberg would indeed be the first person to step to the plate as a DH. Although all the other American League games were scheduled for later that day, Red Sox DH Orlando Cepeda was hitting fifth for Boston and could appear in the bottom of the frame.

Maybe it was fate, or just a matter of the cold air and gusty winds affecting Tiant’s ability to find his command in the first inning, but the right-hander proceeded to give up a double to Matty Alou and back-to-back walks to Bobby Murcer and Graig Nettles, bringing the Yankees’ sixth hitter in the lineup to the plate with two outs and the bases loaded.

“I really wasn’t thinking about the significance of it at the time,” Blomberg says. “When Graig walked, I was just happy to get a chance to face Luis with the bases loaded.”

In the anticlimactic yet historic at-bat, Blomberg also worked a walk against the legendary pitcher who paced the Majors with a 1.91 ERA the previous season.

“I couldn’t feel anything when I got to first base,” he says. “I was pretty much numb.”

***

More than 50 years after his plate appearance served as the beginning of an era of American League baseball that has withstood the test of time -- and has recently been adopted throughout the game with National League lineups including the DH as of 2022 -- Blomberg learned that the at-bat has some added significance within the Yankees organization. In the half-century that Steinbrenner and his family have owned the Yankees, the team has scored more than 40,000 runs. Blomberg drove in the very first of those runs with his first-inning walk at Fenway Park.

“I never knew that,” Blomberg says. “Nobody has ever brought that up. But it’s a good question to stump people with.”

Suddenly faced with the challenge of staying warm and passing the time until his next at-bat -- something that designated hitters have now had decades to master -- Blomberg initially took a seat in the dugout.

“Ellie [Howard] suggested that I go into the clubhouse because it was so cold,” he says. “Back then, to get to the visiting clubhouse at Fenway Park, you had to walk across a plank that went over stagnant water. When I got to my locker, I started listening to the game on the radio. As I was getting warm, the clubhouse manager was putting out some Polish sausages. I was a little hungry, and I asked him for one. So, I’m eating lunch and listening to the game in the warmth of the clubhouse. That’s when I realized that being a DH really wasn’t that bad after all! You hit, you eat and you listen to the game.”

After his in-game snack, Blomberg returned to the plate and collected his first hit of the season, a broken-bat infield single off Tiant in the third.

It’s likely that the bat Blomberg used ended up in a trash can somewhere in Fenway Park. But the National Baseball Hall of Fame collected the one he used in the first inning, along with Blomberg’s No. 12 jersey from that game, giving the items a permanent home in Cooperstown.

“Looking back on that now, it’s a special thing,” says Blomberg. “Whenever I’m around Orlando Cepeda or Luis Tiant, I tell those guys that I’m glad I got that [honor]. They certainly had a lot of other successes.”

The story of Blomberg’s career may be highlighted with that special at-bat in his team’s 15-5 loss to the Red Sox, but it didn’t start or end there.

***

Born in Atlanta on Aug. 23, 1948, exactly one week after baseball’s most famous slugger passed away, Blomberg didn’t try to emulate Babe Ruth the way that so many other children did until he picked up a bat for the first time at 7 years old.

“When I was growing up, I really didn’t know too much about sports,” Blomberg says. “My parents were not athletic, and no one else in my family was, either. But when I was 7 years old, I went out for a Little League team. There were about 400 kids trying out. I didn’t have a glove, a bat or the right kind of shoes.

“I didn’t catch any of the balls, and I couldn’t hit. I got assigned to the Sally League, which was lower than the Majors and the Minors. But I had the attitude that none of the kids who were out there were going to be better than me. That night, I told my father that I needed a pair of tennis shoes, and he got them for me right away. The next day, I tried out again under a different name. I started hitting the ball and catching the ball on that second day. All of a sudden, they put me in the Minors.”

Having made the most of the second chance he created for himself, Blomberg was on his way.

“Everything came naturally, even though I didn’t know the game,” he says. “The next year, I made the Majors. At 9 years old, I was the youngest guy on that team, and that season, I hit my first home run. I also made the All-Star team.”

Although Blomberg’s parents were not interested in sports, the support that they gave their son proved to be just what he needed. What the family lacked in baseball acumen, they more than made up for with love and a strong Jewish faith that still remains with Blomberg.

“My father didn’t really put that much pressure on me the way that other parents did,” Blomberg says. “Being Jewish, all of my relatives thought I was crazy for wanting to be a professional athlete. But my parents let me pursue my dreams. I remember sneaking off to play in games on religious holidays. Everyone looked at me like I was the black sheep of the family because I wanted to do something that wasn’t the norm. The guy up above gave me the ability to do what I wanted to do, and my parents were always in my corner.”

At the time that Blomberg was growing up in the South, his family’s religious faith also put them in a precarious place. Antisemitism was widespread in and around Atlanta, and violent and destructive acts of hate were happening with regularity, including in his own Decatur neighborhood, where a synagogue was set on fire.

Blomberg’s father owned a jewelry store on Peachtree Street in Atlanta, still a main artery that traverses several diverse neighborhoods. Although the Blombergs were never victims of violence, they still had to live in fear of what could happen to them.

“There were problems, but we didn’t have to deal with them on a firsthand basis,” Blomberg remembers. “We had [segregationist Georgia Governor] Lester Maddox and [segregationist Alabama Governor] George Wallace in power. We would see ‘Welcome to Klan Country’ all over the place. That was very big. The Ku Klux Klan used to hold their Klan march down the street from where my father’s jewelry store was, and four houses away from where we lived, there was a Grand Dragon, the highest-ranking official in the Klan.”

Despite being in a most unaccepting environment, Blomberg’s ability to play sports actually kept him safe.

“Half of my teammates when I was in high school were in the Ku Klux Klan!” Blomberg says. “But my parents and I never had any problems because I was a good athlete. I was like the honey that the bees came to. They left me and my family alone, even though they knew that I was Jewish.

“I was very close to so many people in the Black community. I played on teams with Black players, and I brought those teammates to my house for dinner when I was in high school. We used to make every Southern meal you could think of.”

Not long after he began to excel on the baseball diamond, Blomberg began playing basketball, making the high school team as an eighth grader. A few years later, when the football coach at Druid Hills High School found out that Blomberg’s vertical leap was off the charts, he recruited him to play wide receiver as a senior.

Blomberg’s stardom in three sports made for a whirlwind experience. Former Yankees All-Star second baseman Bobby Richardson began scouting Blomberg when he was in ninth grade, and a visit from the most famous college basketball coach in the country would also take place.

“When I was in 11th grade, John Wooden started recruiting me to play basketball at UCLA,” Blomberg says. “I was getting letters from colleges all over the country to play basketball, and I signed a letter of intent with UCLA.”

Following Blomberg’s one season on the gridiron, the most successful college football coach followed Wooden to Druid Hills High School.

“Bear Bryant came down from the University of Alabama,” Blomberg recalls. “We sat down together during the recruiting period. I can still remember him wearing that famous hat; I couldn’t believe I was talking to Bear Bryant.”

Blomberg finished his high school baseball career with a .472 average, leading to a climactic moment in the spring of 1967.

“During my high school graduation ceremony, they announced that the Yankees had just drafted Ronnie Blomberg with the first overall pick,” he says. “I was literally standing on the stage when that happened.”

Although he was flattered by the interest from UCLA and Alabama, it didn’t take Blomberg any time to make the decision to sign with the Yankees.

“Being Jewish and coming from the South, the opportunity to live in New York and play for the Yankees was a dream come true,” he says. “Every Jewish newspaper in the world wanted to do a story on me. Even my relatives came out and told me that it was the best thing I could have ever done.”

Blomberg followed his heart, signing a contract with the Yankees for around $100,000. His professional career began in Johnson City, Tennessee, where, coincidentally, his uncle served as the mayor and from where Beth -- his wife of 41 years, whom he met a long time later -- hails.

Blomberg found success quickly, batting .297 with 10 home runs in the Appalachian League. He was promoted to Kinston of the Class A Carolina League in 1968 and hit 19 home runs in Double-A Manchester in 1969. That September, Blomberg got his first big league callup, making his debut at RFK Stadium in Washington, D.C.

“I had reached the goal that I set when I first signed with the Yankees,” Blomberg says. “My parents treated it the same way as if I had graduated from Harvard or Yale. They were so proud. I started playing baseball when I was 7 years old, and I made it to the big leagues when I was 20. Not a lot of people get to the big leagues that early in life.”

Blomberg spent the 1970 season in Syracuse, and after a torrid start in 1971, the Yankees brought him back to the big club that June.

***

As the conversation about Blomberg’s career moves to the Bronx, he heads to an outdoor patio behind his house. This is his favorite part of the property, he admits, while taking a seat on a wooden bench that is situated in front of a stone fireplace and a grill. The yard leads to a small hill that is ringed by a dense assortment of trees.

Blomberg’s excitement regarding his initial big league promotion paled in comparison to the way he felt when he finally had the chance to play for the Yankees on a regular basis.

“Even though Yankee Stadium was run down, and there weren’t many people coming to our games, I was in awe of the history that had taken place there,” he says. “I was playing on the same field where DiMaggio, Gehrig, Ruth, Berra and Mantle played. Muhammad Ali had fought there, and the Pope had been on that very field.”

For a kid from the South whose religious faith didn’t exactly help connect him with many people outside of his family during his childhood, the Big Apple felt more like home than Atlanta in some ways.

“I felt like I was chosen,” he says. “I was doing something for my religion. I became a role model for Jewish kids. When I played right field, there would be fans out there wearing yarmulkes and holding signs for me. I lived in Riverdale, New York, and about 98 percent of the population there was Jewish. I went to Liebman’s, one of the most famous Jewish delis in the city, before every home game. I would eat my pastrami and corned beef and drink my Dr. Brown’s soda. It was great; every day was great.

“So many families would reach out to the Yankees, asking if I could come to their son’s bar mitzvah or to their wedding. That’s how I made a living during the offseason. My job was to light candles. They would all say, ‘Here’s Uncle Ron.’”

Blomberg’s experience in pinstripes was also enriched by the friendships he formed with his teammates, none closer than the bond he had with catcher Thurman Munson.

“We hit it off right away,” Blomberg says of the late captain. “We both loved to eat good food, fish and play golf. We really enjoyed talking about our respective backgrounds. He was a blue-collar guy from the Midwest, and I was from the South. We were the odd couple. I would take him to Jewish restaurants in Miami during Spring Training and to all of the famous delis in New York City. He had never eaten corned beef or pastrami before that, but he loved it.”

One night after a long game in Cleveland, Munson introduced Blomberg to a cuisine that was new to him.

“The only place that was open that late was White Castle,” Blomberg says of the fast-food hamburger chain. “He took me there, and it was a lot different than corned beef or pastrami.”

In the year that Blomberg made history, he was penciled into the lineup as the team’s DH 56 times, while playing first base in another 41 games. At least for that season, the reduced wear and tear on Blomberg’s body proved to be beneficial. His .329 batting average in 1973 was a career high.

Unfortunately for Blomberg, the momentum began to shift not long after that season. His trusted manager, Houk, left the Yankees, and the team moved to Shea Stadium for two seasons while Yankee Stadium -- a home run haven for left-handed hitters such as Blomberg -- was being renovated. But more significantly, Blomberg suffered a few significant injuries that took an unforgiving toll on his body and his ability to play the game at a high level.

After batting .311 in 1974, Blomberg suffered a completely severed biceps tendon the following year, cutting his season down to just 34 games. Then, in 1976, he began dealing with tendinitis in the same arm, requiring surgery and more time off.

Just as he thought that his injury problems were behind him, Blomberg realized that they were in fact very much in front of him, both literally and figuratively. During the team’s final Spring Training game in 1977, Blomberg crashed into a concrete wall while chasing down a line drive. He suffered four broken bones and torn knee cartilage on the play.

Despite missing the entire 1977 season, the organization thought so highly of Blomberg’s contributions to the team’s climb from the bottom of baseball to the top that Steinbrenner presented him with the 1977 World Series ring he still wears today. But looking back on those years is still hard for Blomberg, who signed with the White Sox prior to the 1978 season.

“It was tough physically and emotionally,” he says. “You’re at the ballpark, but you’re going to be sitting on the training table all night. That’s very difficult. When I ran into the wall in Spring Training, it killed me. But I wanted to kill that wall, as well.”

Making those years even more difficult, Blomberg had to deal with teammates who were not always supportive. Through that dark time, he found out even more about Munson’s character.

“Players started talking behind my back,” he says. “They felt that I should have been playing even though I was hurt. When Thurman would hear that stuff, he would get right in their faces. He would tell them that he was with me every day, and that he knew I was really injured. People didn’t go around Thurman. He was the kind of guy that you just didn’t confront.”

***

As the temperature in northern Georgia begins to rise, Blomberg is again ready to move the conversation elsewhere, but before he can get up, he gets a call from his son, Adam, an anesthesiologist in Florida who earned undergraduate and medical degrees from the University of Miami (hence the visor Blomberg wears so proudly). The two catch up for a few minutes before Blomberg says goodbye the only way he knows how.

“I love you, honey,” he says. “Love you.”

“He’s my best friend,” Blomberg says after hanging up. “And I’m his best friend.”

Blomberg’s daughter, Chesley, is a speech pathologist who lives in the Atlanta metropolitan area. These days, Blomberg, who wrote two books and played an integral role teaching baseball at a summer camp for 16 years, is reveling in the time he spends with his two children and their families.

“I’m so proud of my kids,” he says. “I talk to them every day. I spend as much time as I can with them and with my three grandchildren. It’s the greatest of joy of my life.”

Before leaving his house for lunch at a local restaurant, Blomberg points to a few pieces of memorabilia from his playing days, including a framed photo of himself from the beginning of his career.

“I didn’t fulfill my potential,” he says. “I had a lot more. Injuries didn’t allow me to do what I was capable of, and it’s hard to come to peace with that. But there’s one thing I could always say: I gave 120 percent. I always did everything I could do.”

***

So much time has passed since Blomberg stepped up to the plate in Fenway Park and ushered in the DH era. Baseball players, executives and fans have debated whether its existence is good for the game or if it has watered down the sport for five decades. Meanwhile, David Ortiz and Edgar Martinez -- who spent the majority of their careers as designated hitters -- have both been inducted into the Hall of Fame.

Not long after Blomberg grabs a seat at Stoney River Steakhouse and Grill, he weighs in.

“Fifty percent of the people love it, and 50 percent hate it,” he says. “I love it. I think it’s great for the game and for guys trying to come back from injuries. It increases attendance, especially when you think that guys like Aaron Judge or Giancarlo Stanton can DH on days when they might not be able to play in the field. Fans are out there to watch guys hit, not field.”

Blomberg’s serious tone soon gives way to a laugh.

“I screwed up the game of baseball in 1973,” he says. “They can never take that away from me. Whether they like it or not, I’m always going to be in the record book. The DH changed the whole makeup of the sport, and I’m always going to be part of the game of baseball.”

A day later, the largest 10-kilometer race in the world is taking place in Atlanta. The Peachtree Road Race runs along the same street on which Blomberg’s father operated a jewelry store all those years ago. On a hot and humid July 4 morning, more than 37,000 runners from around the world are competing in the race. Somewhere between the Buckhead neighborhood and Piedmont Park, they pass a Catholic church where a priest is on the sidewalk dousing runners with holy water. A few miles later, a rabbi is cheering on runners as they dash past a synagogue. The atmosphere among the diverse field of runners and spectators alike is as welcoming as it is festive.

Well aware of how things have changed for the better in the city he has lived in for most of his life, Blomberg is determined to be the first person to congratulate one of the runners. After a few failed attempts, he finally connects with his friend after his completion of the race.

“Hey, big guy,” he says. “How did you do? Are you feeling OK?

“I’m so happy for you, big guy,” he adds a few minutes later.

Just as he did a day earlier at his front door, Ron Blomberg reveals exactly who he is in just a few kind words.

Alfred Santasiere III is the editor-in-chief of Yankees Magazine. This story appears in the September 2023 edition. Get more articles like this delivered to your doorstep by purchasing a subscription to Yankees Magazine at www.yankees.com/publications.