Clemente: The Passion and Grace of Baseball's Last Hero

by David Maraniss

  (22) As the outstanding player of the 1971 World Series, Clemente was awarded a new car by Sport magazine. One of the guests at the award ceremony at Mamma Leone’s restaurant said that Roberto and Vera “seemed to be unreal people, sculptured out of bronze instead of ordinary flesh and blood like those surrounding them.” Clemente told the crowd that the World Series allowed him to talk to millions of people about issues that meant the most to him.

  (23) Bob Prince (center), the Pirates’ colorful announcer, had a nickname for everyone, and shouted ¡Arriba! whenever Clemente strolled to the plate. Roberto felt that Prince treated him fairly, and during an offseason he decided to honor “the Gunner” at a ceremony in San Juan. Along with a carved trophy, he gave Prince the Silver Bat he had won for his first batting title.

  (24) September 30, 1972, Three Rivers Stadium, Pirates vs. Mets. New York lefty Jon Matlack on the mound. It was an outside curve going just where Matlack wanted it to go until Clemente thwacked it against the left field wall for his three-thousandth hit.

  (25) When the inning was over, Clemente walked slowly out to his position in right and tipped his cap to the fans. El Nuevo Día photographer Luis Ramos followed him step by step and caught the moment forever.

  (26) On December 2, 1972, the lightning-striped DC-7 that would carry Clemente to his death a few weeks later was taxied into a ditch at San Juan International Airport by its owner, Arthur Rivera. Clemente knew nothing about the plane’s troubled history when he boarded the plane, overloaded with humanitarian aid, on New Year’s Eve.

  (27) Despite a massive effort to assist the people of Nicaragua after the devastating earthquake that leveled Managua and killed thousands of residents two days before Christmas, 1972, much of the aid was not getting to the people. In the aftermath of the quake, the greed of Nicaraguan military leader Anastasio Somoza became apparent. Clemente decided to go to Managua to make sure that food and medical supplies from Puerto Rico reached the people who needed help.

  (28) Eleven weeks after his death, Roberto Clemente was voted into the Hall of Fame. He and Lou Gehrig, the Yankees first baseman who also died a tragic early death, are the only players in major league history to be enshrined without waiting the normal five-year period after the end of their playing days. Vera represented the family at the ceremony.

  (29) Memory and myth are entwined in the Clemente story. “That night on which Roberto Clemente left us physically, his immortality began,” the Puerto Rican writer Elliott Castro later observed. Clemente’s three sons, including Roberto Jr., here kissing his picture, lost a father, and all of Latin America lost “one of their glories.”

  (30) From beginning to end, there was a bond between Clemente and baseball fans, especially children. Clemente among the people was an image that burned in the memories of many of his friends. In some sense, they saw him as a prophet.

  Acknowledgments

  This book is dedicated to my father, who died last year at age eighty-six before I could finish it. Everything I love and know about baseball, I learned from him. He was born in Boston, but taught me never to root for the Red Sox because they were the last team to integrate. He spent most of his youth on Coney Island in Brooklyn, which made him a Dodgers fan, and family legend has it that he was holding me and listening on the radio when Bobby Thomson hit the home run, and dropped me in disgust—or maybe he just threw some crackers. He stopped rooting for the Bums when they traded Jackie Robinson and moved West. When we lived in Detroit, he became a Tigers fan. My mother would know that he’d gone to a game when he came home with mustard on his shirt. Once he was at Briggs Stadium watching them play the Red Sox, and with Detroit winning but Boston threatening late in the game, the bases loaded and Ted Williams at the plate, he screamed, “Walk him! Walk him!” seconds before a grand slam came crashing toward his seat in the outfield bleachers. Many of my favorite adolescent memories in Wisconsin are of the two of us listening to Braves or Cubs games on the radio. He liked the soft voice of Lou Boudreau. He liked Rico Carty and Denis Menke and Felipe Alou and Adolfo Phillips and Whale No. 1 and sweet-swinging Billy Williams. He said that Henry Aaron hit the ball harder than any player he ever saw. He had absolutely no use for the Yankees, though he liked Mickey Mantle and Derek Jeter and Joe Torre. He always rooted for the underdog, which meant that he had a soft spot for teams like the Pittsburgh Pirates, which is partly why Roberto Clemente became my favorite player.

  Whatever baseball mistakes are in this book, and I’m sure some earnest baseball lover will find them, my dad would have caught. My mother, Mary Maraniss, who also loves baseball—perhaps out of necessity, though she prefers Mozart to Moe Drabowsky—read the manuscript alone this time, but with her usual editing grace. She and I both achingly wish that she could have fought over each page with my father. My son, Andrew Maraniss, learned to love baseball from his grandpa, and went on to work in the major leagues, and is the type of true blue Milwaukee Brewers fan who might never forgive Rick Manning for how he ruined Paul Molitor’s hitting streak. It was wonderful that Andrew could be at my side at times on my one baseball book. The Yankees v. Red Sox rivalry is played out in our family by my daughter, Sarah, who apparently has come to love Jeter and A-Rod and New York, and her husband, Tom Vander Schaaff, who has excellent taste in all other matters yet remains loyal to Boston.

  There are many other people to acknowledge. Palmira Rojas, organizer and interpreter extraordinaire, was an amazing guide in Puerto Rico. In helping me go through scores of Spanish-language documents, I couldn’t have had a more thorough and accurate translator than Sandra Alboum. Patricia Rengel of Madison did a marvelous job translating chapters from Pedro Chamorro’s Richter 7. Adria Fernández in Managua, Lisa Margot Johnson in Pittsburgh, Jim Shelton in Fort Myers, and Madonna Lebling in Washington were terrific in helping me track down clippings. Dale Petroskey and Bill Francis were of great assistance at the National Baseball Hall of Fame, as was Jeff Flannery, manuscript librarian at the Library of Congress, and Laura J. Brown at the Federal Aviation Administration. Ramiro Martínez in San Juan, Dwayne Rieder in Pittsburgh, Squire Galbreath in Columbus, and Mike Pangia in Washington all were generous in opening up their incredible personal collections related to different aspects of Roberto Clemente’s life and death.

  Also pointing me in the right direction, reading parts of the manuscript, or providing moral support were Nelson Briles (who died too young), Javier Velez-Arocho, Daniel Rolleri, Luis Ferré, George de Lama, Dawn Law, Chad Schmidt, Gene Collier, Scott Higham, Paul Schwartzmann, Len Coleman, Brad Snyder, Mark London, Howard Fineman, Tom Hinger, Barbara and Ned Nakles, Roy McHugh, Myron Cope, Bill Nunn Jr., Jim Warren (Yankee fan, but eagle-eyed), Michael Weisskopf (lover of Sherm Lollar and Jungle Jim Rivera), Beth and Michael Norman (despite their Yankee bobble heads), John Feinstein, Carol Rigolot and the Henry House crew at Princeton, the sixteen students of HUM 440, Juliet Eilperin, Edith Eglin, John McPhee, Whitney Gould, scribbler pals Rick Atkinson (a Mays and Marichal man) and Anne Hull, Chip Brown, Bob Woodward, Jim Maraniss, Gigi Kaeser, Scott Garner, Jean and Mike Alexander, Dick and Maryann Porter, Jim Rowen, Paul Soglin, Kim Vergeront, and Andy Cohn. This is in no way an authorized biography, but Vera Clemente and her sons were gracious and helpful throughout the process. People often say that Doña Vera is the sweetest person in the world, and I agree. Rafe Sagalyn, my agent and fellow rotisserie baseball owner for twenty years, was supportive from the beginning. Many thanks to James Shokoff (for making some great baseball-related catches in the manuscript), Simon & Schuster’s David Rosenthal (big baseball guy), Carolyn Reidy, Victoria Meyer, Aileen Boyle, my wonderful team of Rebecca Davis and Roger Labrie, Serena Jones, Leah Wasielewski, Kathleen Rizzo, and Carolyn Schogol. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather write books for than my editor, Alice Mayhew, who brings a Clemente-like passion to her profession.

  And finally, this book has been blessed by two beauties. My wife, Linda, was the first to read every chapter, her eye, wit, and love of life as sharp a
nd clear as ever. I’m sure she appreciated the fact that unlike my last sports book, when we moved to Green Bay for a winter to research Vince Lombardi, winters this time took us to Puerto Rico. They say that writing a book is like giving birth, but of course that is ridiculous; how would I or any man know? What I do know is that as much as this book means to me it doesn’t compare with the arrival this year of our first granddaughter, the huggable redheaded bundle named Heidi. We were lucky to live nearby for the first six weeks of her life, and the reward of finishing a day of writing was doubled by the prospect of a Heidi fix. May she someday enjoy listening to a ball game on the radio like the great-grandfather she sadly missed, the sweet-swinging lefty first baseman from Coney Island’s Abraham Lincoln High, Elliott Maraniss.

  Madison, Wisconsin

  September 2005

  About the Author

  David Maraniss is an associate editor at the Washington Post and the author of the critically acclaimed and bestselling books They Marched into Sunlight, When Pride Still Mattered, and First in His Class. He won the 1993 Pulitzer Prize for National Reporting and has been a Pulitzer finalist three other times. He lives in Washington, D.C., and Madison, Wisconsin, with his wife, Linda. They have two grown children.

  Also by David Maraniss

  They Marched Into Sunlight: War and Peace, Vietnam and America, October 1967

  When Pride Still Mattered: A Life of Vince Lombardi

  First in His Class: A Biography of Bill Clinton

  The Clinton Enigma

  The Prince of Tennessee: Al Gore Meets His Fate (with Ellen Nakashima)

  “Tell Newt to Shut Up!” (with Michael Weisskopf)

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  Notes

  The Library of Congress might seem an unlikely place to conduct research for a book on a baseball player, but it was invaluable in the hunt for information on Roberto Clemente. Using its occasionally cranky microfilm machines but incomparable collection of newspapers, I was able to pore over old copies of a geographically and sociologically diverse group of papers that covered Clemente at various times, including the San Juan Star, Montreal Gazette, New York Times, New York Herald Tribune, San Francisco Chronicle, Milwaukee Journal, Los Angeles Times, Chicago Tribune, Philadelphia Inquirer, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph, and Pittsburgh Courier, the influential black weekly that opened up a fascinating new world to me by writing about Clemente and major league baseball from a detailed and uniquely black perspective. In addition, the papers of Branch Rickey Jr. are archived at the Manuscript Division of the Library of Congress. The historic patina of those papers comes from Rickey’s key role in integrating baseball by bringing Jackie Robinson to the Brooklyn Dodgers, but he moved on to the Pittsburgh Pirates after that and ran the club when Clemente arrived as a rookie in 1955. Rickey was a meticulous note keeper, and his papers and records were of enormous help in providing the feel of baseball, the Pirates, and Clemente during that era.

  Other important research sources included the National Baseball Hall of Fame, which maintains file cabinets of clippings, photographs, and archival material on Clemente; the National Archives at College Park, which houses the presidential papers of Richard Nixon and other materials related to the Nicaraguan earthquake that led Clemente to his death; the Harvey S. Firestone Memorial Library at Princeton University, for its collection of African American newspapers; the Carimar Design and Research studio in Old San Juan, for its special archive on the art and mythology of Clemente; Darby Dan farm in Columbus, Ohio, for the personal archives of former Pirates owner John W. Galbreath and his son, former team president Dan Galbreath; public libraries in Pittsburgh, Managua, and Fort Myers; the newsroom morgues at San Juan’s El Nuevo Día, the Washington Post, Chicago Tribune, and New York Daily News; and the personal collections of Ramiro Martínez, the family of Pedrin Zorrilla, Duane Rieder, Caguitas Colón, Les Banos, Roy McHugh, and most of all, the home files and memorabilia of Clemente’s widow, Vera.

  Tracking down records related to the fatal plane crash at times seemed like a futile effort—only the sparest documents were available at the Federal Aviation Administration and in the dockets of various courts that heard the ensuing lawsuit. Then, one day in March 2004, I visited the office of aviation lawyer Michael Pangia, who had worked for the U.S. Department of Justice in the 1970s and represented the government in the case. After talking with Pangia for several hours, he took me downstairs to a closet and hauled out two large boxes marked “Clemente”—and inside were copies of all the depositions and transcripts from the trial as well as the internal reports from the FAA and National Transportation Safety Board. Gold mine, as reporters like to say.

  Along with the documentary record, scores of individuals were interviewed for this book. They include: Vera Clemente, Roberto Clemente Jr., Luis Clemente, Matino Clemente, Osvaldo Gil, Caguitas Colón, Vic Power (Victor Pellot), Juan Pizarro, Luis Olmo, Enrique Zorrilla, Diana Zorrilla, Rosa Semprit, Fernando González, Orlando Cepeda, Tony Taylor, Eduardo Valero, Ramiro Martínez, Roy McHugh, Myron Cope, Bill Nunn Jr., George Kiseda, Joe L. Brown, Steve Blass, Richie Hebner, Al Oliver, Bob Veale, Donn Clendenon, Nelson Briles, José Pagán, Don Leppert, Tony Bartirome, Les Banos, Chuck Goggin, Gene Garber, Harding Peterson, Bob Friend, Dick Schofield, Nick Koback, Gene Freese, Ferguson Jenkins, Juan Marichal, Earl Weaver, Paul Blair, Sparky Anderson, Gaylord Perry, Monte Irvin, Don Zimmer, Preston Pearson, Joan Whitman, Chico Fernández, Glenn Cox, Len Harsh, John Yarborough, Pat McCutcheon, Ann Ranalli King, Bruce Laurie, Howard Fineman, Juliet Schor, Richard Santry, Richard Moss, Carolyn Rauch, Squire Galbreath, Carol Bass, Anthony Jilek, Maurice J. Williams, Frederick Zugibe, Hart Achenbach, Nancy Golding, Jorge Carbonell, Nestor Barretto, Bernard Heller, John Heller, Bev Couric, Chico Azocar, Juanita Modale, Stuart Speiser, Jon Hoffman, Gary Czabot, John Parker, Mike Pangia, Vincent Bogucki, Paul Kutch, Chuck Tomasco, Duane Rieder, Eliezer Rodriguez, George Shamoon, and Rex Bradley.

  1: SOMETHING THAT NEVER ENDS

  It was long past midnight: Ints. Osvaldo Gil, Vera Clemente, Juan Pizarro.

  In one bad dream: Int. Vera Clemente. During their years together, Roberto and Vera often talked about dreams, and decades later she could remember the discussions vividly, as well as some of her own long-ago dreams, including one about the monkey they brought back from Nicaragua.

  So much had happened since Gil: Int. Osvaldo Gil.

  Martín the Crazy is not that crazy: Int. Matino Clemente.

  Not only Clemente and his ballplayers: La Prensa, November 10, 1972; Program, XX Campeonato Mundial de Béisbol Aficionado.

  Hughes occupied the entire: Glenn Garvin, Reason, March 2000; Jay Mallin, The Great Managua Earthquake, Broadway: New York, 1972; Drosnin, Citizen Hughes, Henry Holt: New York, 1985; ints. Osvaldo Gil, Vic Power.

  On the fifteenth: Int. Osvaldo Gil; UPI, November 15, 1972; Novedades, November 16, 1972; La Prensa, November 16, 1972. The Novedades account read as though Somoza’s publicist had written it, which was essentially the case: “Thousands of Nicaraguans saw once more General Somoza surrounded in the middle of his people, confirming with his presence the love that the public has for him . . .”

  Clemente took to the people: Ints. Vera Clemente, Vic Power, Osvaldo Gil; Do You Remember? Clemente in Nicaragua with San Juan Senators in 1964, Edgard Tijerino, La Prensa. Tijerino wrote of the San Juan team that year: “The lineup that Puerto Rico presented could not be more impressive: Horace Clarke on second, José Pagán at short, Clemente in right field, Julio LaBoy and Orlando Cepeda alternating in left, Reynaldo Oliver and Marical Allen patrolling center . . . and a strong staff headed by Juan Pizarro, Luis Arroyo, Palillo Santi
ago, and Warren Hacker.”

  This trip went no better: San Juan Star, November 16–30, 1972; ints. Vic Power, Osvaldo Gil.

  With outfielder Julio César Roubert: Int. Osvaldo Gil.

  His longtime friend from Puerto Rico: Int. Vic Power.

  One morning, reading La Prensa: Ints. Osvaldo Gil, Vic Power; Edgard Tijerino, La Prensa, “Standing Up, Clemente Bats.”

  Tijerino was now “oh for two”: Edgard Tijerino, The Last Interview; int. Osvaldo Gil.

  There he met a wheelchair-bound: Ints. Osvaldo Gil, Vera Clemente.

  One day in the old city: Int. Vera Clemente.

  Clemente flew back to Puerto Rico: Ints. Vic Power, Osvaldo Gil, Vera Clemente.

  All seemed well back home: Ints. Vera Clemente, Luis Clemente, Vic Power.

  2: WHERE MOMEN CAME FROM

  This was the summer of 1934: Ints. Matino Clemente, Vera Clemente.

  The story has been told: Int. Vera Clemente.

  Runaway slaves, known as cimarrones: Este Silencio, Lydia Milagros González, Instituto Cultura Puertorriqueña, 1998; Home: A Celebration of Roberto Clemente’s Spirit and Passion, San Juan, 2003.

  Sugar was then nearing the end: Economic Existence, Sugar and Labor: 1928–1930s. 35th Annual Report of the governor of Puerto Rico; Farr’s Manual of Sugar Companies. Department of Labor 1934, Report on Sugar Industry.

  By the standards of Depression-era Carolina: Ints. Matino Clemente, Vera Clemente.