Every now and again we need to be reminded of the homegrown heroes who made a difference in our young lives — those special people who inspired us to be more than we ever thought we could be.
Recently, me one of my high school mates, Kevin Miller, got to remembering a shooting star from our days growing up on Queen Anne Hill.
To capture the essence of this story you have to travel back to those summers in the early 1960’s on Queen Anne Hill when most of us boys were consumed with mastering the game of baseball.
Back then kids didn’t have the smorgasbord of summer camps to choose from. It was before video games, smart phones and helicopter parents.
Mom would open the back door after breakfast and tell us to be home for supper.
Like so many other boys in my neighborhood I’d grab my mitt and head up to Howe Field to play baseball.
I am transported back to a time when just putting on a “Dag’s Hamburger” jersey changed me from Pat to — PAT.
Even if I wasn’t the best player I remember the TEAM on which I played, and how good it felt to be a part of something bigger than myself.
When I put on my uniform I actually became a baseball player.
As Kevin As I reminisced, the names of two homegrown heroes came to mind:
The Varga brothers — Bela and Johnny.
Older brother Bela was a player of outstanding ability, a star on all the teams he played for. He was good, really good. I remember eyeing him from the bleachers at Howe Field and marveling at his ability. Later, I was blessed to have him as a fraternity brother at the University of Washington.
But younger brother, Johnny — ahhhh — now he was something special.
Johnny was a real athlete, a three sport standout. But it was in baseball he would shine the brightest. Johnny played at a level way, way beyond the rest of us. So much so he was being scouted as a 10-year-old and later drafted by the New York Yankees.
Imagine that — Queen Anne Hill had its very own Babe Ruth.
It’s hard to capture in words what it was like watching Johnny play. He wasn’t just good — he was absolutely magical.
When he stepped into that batter’s box, time seemed to stop.
He played with a smooth, quiet grace that you couldn’t teach if you tried. Whether he was turning two at second or sending a line drive screaming into the outfield, he made the game look like art.
Boys would go home summer evenings and spend hours in their backyards trying to copy his swing.
We all wanted to be the one to score the run that won the big game. But Johnny did.
Johnny graduated from Queen Anne High School in 1969, when the Kansas City Royals drafted him.
He chose college instead, playing at Seattle University before the New York Yankees drafted him in 1972.
Across two minor league seasons (1973–1974), John played 201 games as an infielder, hitting .248 with 162 hits.
Friend Kevin Miller, a fine ball player himself, captured all the old feelings perfectly in his poem —
“Cabin Visitation, Flagermus” In memory of John Julius Varga, from his book of baseball poems: Spring Meditations.
Johnny passed away in 2016.
His resting place is on top of Queen Anne Hill in Mount Pleasant Cemetery where he fondly looks down over all the kids who continue to play the game he loved so dearly.
Remembering the legendary Johnny Varga has reminded me of why we need homegrown heroes.
They teach unforgettable lessons in life that, if taken to heart, can immeasurably improve our lives —
- never take a single pitch for granted
- make the most of every swing
- keep your head in the game
And always leave your best on the field.
Thank you, Johnny.
Now hear his brother Bela’s musical tribute:
My Brother John
[Verse 1]
Baseball, basketball, football —John played them all,
From every first pitch to the final whistle call.
On every field and court, his natural talent was clear from the start,
A gifted all-around athlete, but baseball captured his heart.
With grit instead of muscle, and teamwork as his creed,
He showed that heart—not stature—was all he’d ever need.
[Verse 2]
In Little League, so small in size, already a local Queen Anne hero,
Crouched so low he’d walk each time—his average: point-zero-zero-zero.
No pitcher ever found his strike zone no matter how they’d throw,
As he grew in strength and confidence, his natural gifts began to show.
A birthday card from a New York scout when John was only ten,
Already sure he’d wear the pinstripes with baseball’s finest men.
[Chorus]
John left his mark on the diamond, sketchbooks, and canvases too,
Winning games and painting memories with a gifted point of view.
Life may determine the final score, but kindness wins each day,
That’s how John will be remembered, long beyond today.
Awards and trophies gather dust over time, friendship never ends…
Greg Gardner, Smitty, Steve Waite, the Pease twins, lifelong friends.
[Verse 3]
With a Fine Arts degree from Seattle U., his future was shining bright,
But professional ball was the dream he’d pursue with all his might.
Cape Cod, Fort Lauderdale, the bright lights of New York City drew near,
John was poised to be the Yankee’s second baseman for years.
Injuries robbed him of those innings, cutting his career short,
But nothing ever stole his passion and love of the sport.
[Verse 4]
Fate can change best-laid plans without a hint or warning,
John met each challenge graciously, grateful for each morning.
Life kept throwing curveballs, but he faced them one by one;
He never stopped swinging—his life and legacy a home run.
[Chorus]
John left his mark on the diamond, sketchbooks, and canvases too,
Winning games and painting memories with a gifted point of view.
Life may determine the final score, but kindness wins each day,
That’s how John will be remembered, long beyond today.
Awards and trophies gather dust over time, friendship never ends…
Greg Gardner, Smitty, Steve Waite, the Pease twins, lifelong friends.
[Bridge]
Some players fill the record books.
Others fill our hearts instead.
All games have a final out,
And seasons always end—
But character lasts forever,
And so does being a true friend.
[Outro]
The later years brought greater trials than any ballgame ever would,
Yet John stayed in life’s batter’s box, swinging for the fences best he could.
It was hard to leave behind the cheers he’d known from the very start,
But becoming a kind and friendly soul became his greatest work of art.
John Varga…Forever in our hearts…
Rest in peace, dear brother,
we love you…