`BUCK' LEONARD, 89, RELIVES DAYS OF GLORY.

Byline: Marcus Hayes Philadelphia Daily News 

Jean Leonard calls the 10-foot-by-10-foot cubicle ``that room,'' in a voice somehow laced with disdain and appreciation. It is the smallest of seven rooms in the house. It is the room her husband loves best.

In that room Walter Fenner ``Buck'' Leonard lives again his glory days. Batting behind the legendary Josh Gibson and playing a chillingly steady first base, mostly for the Homestead Grays. Bearing the title ``the black Lou Gehrig'' while banished with a generation of similar greats to the Negro baseball leagues. Personifying the term All-Star.

That room, close to the point of stifling on a muggy June midday, is home to two desks, two chairs and the creaky, green leather couch that Leonard prefers.

He sits with his memorabilia; here, he and Gibson and Satchel Paige pose together; there, his induction plaque from the Baseball Hall of Fame; behind the door, hanging tightly together, eight commemorative jackets. With the signed baseballs in glass cases, with the pictures and the assortment of plaques and honorary degrees hanging on the paneled walls, the room is a treasure-trove worth thousands. In Leonard's dimming eyes, the value is far greater.

Buck Leonard is 89 years old. The latest stroke, in the spring of '86, left the right side of his body crippled - the body that ripped signature line drives in contrast to Gibson's towering home runs, the body that snagged everything thrown near first base. No big thing, really, because Leonard, the stocky, 5-foot-10, 185-pound man who batted .317 in his career as an All-Star, is a lefty, and that's the hand that still makes him money.

``Sign with my left,'' he says, slowly, eyes opening a little, smile bright. ``Write with my right, always signed with my left.''

Leonard hit .324 in a 21-year career that enveloped the heyday of the Negro Leagues. He went to 13 East-West games, one of several records he owns as an All-Star. The others: home runs (three), RBI (12), total bases (27) and runs (10). He was second in at-bats (48) and third in hits (13) and consecutive appearances (six).

Among his contemporaries, Leonard produced as well in the classic as Gibson, whose exploits were considered at least Ruthian. He produced better than Paige - perhaps the greatest pitcher ever - whose feuds with ownership and two-year bout with injury limited his All-Star appearances and production.

Now, the oldest living member of the Hall of Fame uses an aluminum cane to hobble around the house he bought here with his first wife, Sarah, in 1937. It is a cute place on Atlantic Avenue, just off state Route 64 near I-95, between Tarboro and Castalia. Leonard moves mostly from the large master bedroom down a wide hallway, where he and Jean put a television and a pair of recliners. The bathroom sits just to the right of the TV.

It is hard for Leonard to concentrate, to answer more than a question or two every five minutes. He tires easily. His mind wanders.

Then, he hears a question about the East-West Game. His eyes open wide. Excited, he points to the wall in the northeast corner of the room. Among the seeming hodgepodge of black-and-white shots surfaces a theme: All-Star portraits.

``They would come from far and wide,'' Leonard says of the fans. ``I guess the All-Star Game pulled all the best players together. All the stars.''

He stops and stares at the pictures. The 1937 East team. The '38 team, and '39. The team from the biggest game, in '47, in front of more than 50,000 at Chicago's Comiskey Park. Group shots. A sweet shot of Leonard reaching back with his leg to nip Ted Strong at first.

Leonard's gaze absorbs them all.

``Oh, yes,'' he manages. ``Oooh, yesss.''

Point made. Gene Benson - a Philadelphia resident, frequent All-Star and a rookie with Leonard in '33 with the Brooklyn Elite Giants - translates.

``Why'd he light up so much?'' Benson repeats. ``He lit up because that was a good part oStf his life. That was a highlight. We didn't have many highlights.''

They made their own at that game, that sacred annual Sunday in August when the best gathered for a showcase bigger than the Negro World Series. And Buck Leonard, why, he was a showcase by himself. Not that he ever would admit to it.

A sign hangs just over one of the desks. ``Them thet kin brag without lyin' ... Let 'em brag,'' it reads. The sign doesn't fit. Leonard always has been modest to the point of painfulness.

Asked who he considered the best Negro League first baseman of all time, he says, ``Buck O'Neil.'' When told that O'Neil, who played for the Kansas City Monarchs, named Leonard as his choice, Leonard only chuckles.

Asked about the importance of his records, Leonard shrugs a bit. Asked if he knew he held them, he glances over, twinkle in his eye, shakes his head and mutters, ``No.''

Oh, he knows. Among the books prominently displayed on one of the desks is a record book with his record in there. That's why Leonard returns to the room; he knows the story and importance behind each item, and loves them all.

``Sometimes, he'll sit in that room two hours a day. He'll read the mail. He'll read the paper,'' says Jean, sitting in the hallway, the mix still in her voice. ``When he's having a bad day, well, he'll sit in that chair and watch TV.''

Come Sunday, Jean and Buck will have been married 10 years. Sarah died in 1963. Buck and Jean started dating three years later, and their 20-year courtship culminated after his stroke.