Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #34 : Guns in Cuba, Slams in Queens: The Tim Harkness Story

Welcome back to the 34th edition of Sunday School: The Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush aside the cobwebbed pennants and yellowing scorecards to rediscover the players who made you say, “Oh yeah… that guy!”

Last week, we stayed in the outfield to relive the roller-coaster ride that was Kirk Nieuwenhuis — a Citi Field cult hero whose flowing locks, flair for the dramatic, and three-homer game made him feel like the baseball version of a one-hit wonder that somehow kept sneaking back onto the charts.

This week, we’re rewinding all the way back to the Mets’ very first season and shining the spotlight on an original: Tim Harkness.

Harkness may not have the name recognition of Ashburn, Throneberry, or Craig, but the Canadian-born first baseman carved out his own place in Mets lore with one unforgettable swing in 1963 — a walk-off grand slam at the Polo Grounds that still echoes through the franchise’s earliest and most chaotic years.

While his time in Queens was brief, his story captures the spirit of those lovable early Mets: underdogs, castoffs, and dreamers who somehow found a way to deliver moments that fans would talk about long after the losses piled up.

Baseball, like life, has a way of rewarding the grinders — the men who hang around long enough to leave a memory or two etched in stone. Or, in Tim Harkness’s case, etched in Polo Grounds concrete.

Harkness wasn’t a superstar, or even close. His lifetime batting average was .235, which in those days meant “average,” and in today’s launch-angle world would probably get him DFA’d by May. But for a brief window in the early ’60s, the Canadian-born first baseman provided Mets fans with a couple of unforgettable moments, including one that still gets dusted off whenever someone says, “Hey, remember when the Mets were lovable losers instead of just plain losers?”

Harkness grew up in Lachine, Quebec, where kids are born with hockey skates on their feet. He could have pursued a career in the NHL but chose baseball instead, which tells you two things: (1) he must have loved the game, and (2) he clearly didn’t mind being cold, because the Polo Grounds in April could make you question your life choices.

Signed originally by the Phillies in 1956, Harkness bounced around the minors, hit 118 home runs, and crossed paths with all sorts of characters, including a young Tommy Lasorda. The two even played winter ball in Cuba, right around the time Fidel Castro was figuring out how to turn baseball fields into political theater. In one game, when a soldier pointed a gun at Harkness after a pitch went astray, it was Lasorda who calmed things down. Harkness later joked, “He saved my life. He belongs in the Hall of Fame.” (Lasorda would get there, though not with “dodging bullets in Havana” listed on the plaque.)

Harkness finally made it to the big leagues with the Los Angeles Dodgers in 1961. He got a cup of coffee, a couple of doubles, and a .500 batting average to brag about back home in Montreal. The next year, he stuck a little longer but found himself blocked at first base by a logjam of names you might recognize: Gil Hodges, Ron Fairly, Norm Larker. There was no room for Tim Harkness, which is how he ended up on the expansion Mets , otherwise known as the Island of Misfit Toys.

In November of 1962, the Dodgers sent Harkness and Larry Burright to New York in exchange for a pitcher named Bob Miller (one of *two* Bob Millers the Mets had, which confused even Casey Stengel). With the Amazins, Harkness immediately won the job at first base. On a team that would lose 111 games, he was what you might politely call a “bright spot.”

He hit .211 in 1963, which wasn’t Cooperstown-worthy but, compared to Choo-Choo Coleman’s .178, looked like Tony Gwynn. He finished with 10 homers and 41 RBIs, but more importantly, he gave Mets fans two moments that would become part of franchise folklore.

June 26, 1963. Polo Grounds. Fourteenth inning. Mets trailing the Cubs, 6–4.

Up steps Harkness with the bases loaded. Jim Brewer is on the mound. Nine thousand or so weary fans are still in the stands, probably wondering why they didn’t just beat the traffic. Then crack, Harkness launches a walk-off grand slam, the kind of swing that makes strangers hug and beer vendors forget about exact change.

It was one of the earliest signature wins in Mets history, a franchise still searching for anything resembling legitimacy. For a few minutes that night, Tim Harkness was the toast of New York.

As if that weren’t enough, on September 1 of the same year, Harkness did it again. This time against the Braves, hitting a walk-off homer in the 16th inning. The fans chanted his name outside the clubhouse, and for a kid from Quebec who once dreamed of hockey glory, that had to feel pretty sweet.

1964 brought a new season, a new ballpark, and a bit of trivia that would cement Harkness in Mets lore forever: on April 17, he became the first Mets player to bat at Shea Stadium. He also became the first to get a hit there, a single off Bob Friend of the Pirates. That’s one of those little nuggets that Mets fans cling to like a foul ball caught in the upper deck.

He hit .282 that year in limited duty, and even took Bob Gibson deep for a three-run homer. But before long, youth won out. Ed Kranepool was the future at first base, and Harkness was shuffled off to the Cincinnati Reds system. His time in the majors ended quietly after 1964.

Harkness finished with 14 career homers, 61 RBIs, and a batting average that hovered in the neighborhood of .235. Not Hall of Fame numbers, but if you ask any Mets fan who was around in those days, they’ll tell you he gave them something more important: memories.

After hanging up his spikes at 28, Harkness stayed in the game, carving out a long career as a scout. In 1996, he was named Scout of the Year while working for the Padres, and later managed the Toronto Maple Leafs of the Intercounty Baseball League. Not a bad postscript for a guy once staring down a Cuban soldier with a loaded rifle.

Tim Harkness will never have his number retired by the Mets. He doesn’t need to. He’s part of Mets history in a way statistics can’t measure. He gave fans their first Shea Stadium hit, their first Polo Grounds walk-off grand slam, and two moments of pure joy in an era when joy was in short supply.

And that’s what Sunday School is about: remembering the guys who, for a brief moment, made being a Mets fan feel like winning the lottery even if the actual bank book said we were still broke.