Josh Rawitch
I’ve been lucky enough to step on the field at all 30 ballparks—and even I got goosebumps walking into Cooperstown. So I had to ask Josh Rawitch, the guy who runs the whole dang Hall of Fame: what makes this place so special? Turns out, it’s the same thing that makes baseball so special. It’s the stories. The moments. The little things—like handing a kid a ball—that stick for life. Whether he’s preserving Shohei’s 50th or remembering Vin Scully saying his name, Josh gets it. This isn’t just baseball. It’s magic. And the Hall of Fame? It’s the beating heart of the game.
Do you remember the first time you walked into Dodger Stadium? What was that like?
I grew up loving the game, but I don’t have that cinematic “saw the grass for the first time” moment everyone talks about. What I do remember is a specific game—Cecil Fielder made a leaping catch at the wall late in the season. The Dodgers had already clinched, so they were playing some of the younger guys. I even went back years later and found the box score for that game, just because it stuck with me.
We didn’t have a ton of money growing up, so baseball was something we planned for. I remember my dad giving us the Dodgers’ pocket schedule—well, actually, it was called Line Drive, the fan magazine—and me and my brother would sit down and circle three or four games for the year. We always picked based on the promotions: bat night, helmet night, glow-in-the-dark bat night. Those giveaways were the highlight of the summer. That’s really where my love of baseball began—those little family moments at the ballpark.
Not many teams preserve the history of opposing players, but the Dodgers still have those yellow stars marking where Willie Stargell hit moonshots. Why did they keep that?
The Dodgers have always been deeply aware of their history—not just their own, but the history of the game. That’s largely thanks to the O’Malley family, who owned the team for decades. They were incredible at documenting everything. We recently received Walter O’Malley’s entire personal archive from the 1950s onward. Peter O’Malley, who succeeded him, is still a major benefactor of the Hall of Fame. That’s just who they are—they believe in preserving history.
Growing up, I always knew Willie Stargell was the only visiting player who had hit balls there. Later, I saw Mike Piazza and Mark McGwire hit similar shots in batting practice, but not in games. There was this one guy, Billy Ashley, who was known for BP bombs. Every time he’d crush one, people would say, “Hasn’t happened in a game since Stargell.” That reverence for history was baked into the Dodgers’ DNA, and I carried that with me.
You’ve worked with some legends, but what was it like meeting Vin Scully?
He’s the only person I’ve ever been truly starstruck by. The first time I met Vin, he looked me in the eye and said, “Hi, Josh.” It blew me away. I grew up idolizing him—he was the voice of my childhood—and suddenly he knew my name.
Vin was as great a human being as he was a broadcaster. I wanted to be a broadcaster myself, largely because of him. And then I found myself working with him every day for a decade. As head of communications, I’d check in with him each afternoon. We’d talk about family, friends, what was happening with the team. Just sitting in that booth with him—those moments are treasures I’ll never forget. To me, that’s what made him special. He wasn’t just a legend; he was genuine.
What was it like going from a historic franchise like the Dodgers to the Diamondbacks?
When I joined the Diamondbacks in 2011, they were only 13 years old. That’s nothing compared to the Dodgers’ century-plus history. With the Dodgers, I’d say, “Hi, this is Josh with the Dodgers,” and instantly everyone—from Japan to Mexico—knew the team. With the D-backs, I’d sometimes have to explain: “We’re the baseball team in Phoenix.” It was a completely different challenge.
But I saw it as an opportunity to help build something. We wanted to create a sense of tradition and pride that would grow into the kind of legacy teams like the Dodgers have. We borrowed a lot of lessons about preserving history and connecting with fans. It wasn’t easy, but it was exciting.
Now you’re at the Hall of Fame. When you look back someday, what do you hope you’ll remember?
I love the word “steward.” That’s how I see my role. We don’t own baseball’s history—we care for it, protect it, and pass it on. I hope I can look back and say we preserved the Hall’s integrity while keeping it relevant for new generations of fans. The Hall of Fame isn’t just a museum; it’s a living story. Our job is to make sure that story remains vibrant, accurate, and inspiring.
I’ve seen kids freeze up meeting players like Joe Mauer or Andrew McCutchen. What’s it like watching fans experience Cooperstown for the first time?
That’s the best part of this job. People spend their whole lives dreaming about coming here, and when they finally do, it never disappoints. I say all the time: we need to move Cooperstown from people’s “bucket list” to their “to-do list.” You don’t need to dream about it someday—you should just make the trip. It’s that special.
Simple things matter. A kid meeting a Hall of Famer, holding a game-used ball—those are the moments people remember forever. I still remember being 17, touring colleges, and visiting Kauffman Stadium. My uncle knew someone who worked the fountains, and they handed me a waterlogged ball. It probably meant nothing to them, but I still talk about it 30 years later. That’s baseball.
The Hall of Fame is separate from MLB, right?
That’s right—we’re an independent nonprofit. It’s crucial because it gives us the freedom to tell the complete story of baseball—the good, the bad, and the controversial. Take the Oakland A’s. We recently added artifacts from their final game in Oakland, including a fan’s “SELL” shirt. Is that going to make some people uncomfortable? Maybe. But it’s part of the story, and our job is to capture that history honestly.
How do you decide what artifacts to collect?
We have a committee that moves fast when big moments happen. If there’s a no-hitter, we’ll request the pitcher’s cap or another relevant item right after the game. About half of our artifacts come in that way, directly from players. The other half come from fans or collectors who reach out. We evaluate every piece—its condition, its historical significance, whether we already have similar items. Once something’s accepted, we promise to preserve it forever.
You recently accepted a kid’s sign from Shohei Ohtani’s 50th game?
Yes! It said, “I skipped math to witness history.” There’s this great photo of the kid holding the sign while Ohtani is high-fiving teammates. The family called us to see if we wanted it. We did. It’s the kind of artifact that tells a story—not just about Ohtani, but about the connection between fans and the game.
What’s it like seeing your son play on Doubleday Field?
It’s surreal. Babe Ruth played there. Ozzie Smith played there. And now my son’s high school team calls it home. I sit in the stands and think, That’s where Babe hit. It’s probably the only field in America where high schoolers get to share the same diamond with legends. I think the kids know how special that is. The parents definitely do.
For someone who’s never been to Cooperstown, what would you tell them?
Don’t wait. Every time, it exceeds expectations. By coming here, you’re not just visiting a museum—you’re making family memories that last a lifetime. And honestly? You’re helping us preserve the history of the game you love.
What’s induction weekend like?
Induction Sunday is actually the calmest part of the weekend! Thursday through Saturday is full of events. By Sunday, it’s all about the inductees—making sure they’re comfortable, ready for their speeches, and enjoying time with fellow Hall of Famers. We set up a giant stage just outside town, near the Clark Sports Center. Fans make a pilgrimage, laying down blankets and chairs. It’s free to attend, and sometimes we get 80,000 people. It’s a scene unlike anything else in baseball.
How many Hall of Famers are in your phone contacts?
All of the living ones. It’s wild. Every day, I have moments where I think, How did a kid from Southern California end up here? I didn’t even know this job existed when I was younger. But I feel like everything in my career unknowingly prepared me for this role.
You’ve always been generous with your time. How important is that to you?
It’s essential. This job is about relationships—with players, with fans, with everyone who loves the game. I think being a public relations person prepared me for that. We’re here to welcome people, to share baseball’s stories, and to make sure they leave feeling connected to the game.
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More from Josh Rawitch
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.