Presidential Medal Of Freedom Recipients

"Roberto Clemente, to me, was a compassionate man. He was a man of two faces. In the clubhouse, he was the center of all the funny stories. He’d hold court in front of his locker and there was always gaiety and laughter. When the time came for the game, Roberto would put on his other face – the disturbed face he always wore when he was concentrating completely on winning a baseball game. That’s why I say the fans never knew the real Roberto Clemente."

"I’ve often said he was the greatest player ballplayer I ever saw. I think it was typical of Roberto – a man who gave so much of himself to become an outstanding athlete – to give all of himself in an effort to help others less fortunate than himself. It was quite an honor to manage in the major leagues, bit it was a double honor to manage a superstar like Roberto … and he was a super star. He made his mark not only on baseball, but on everybody he touched."

"When he was approaching his 3,000th hit, I asked him if that would be the most important thing in his life. ‘No, Danny,’ he said. "I have a project going in Puerto Rico for the underprivileged and I have made so much progress with the political men in our country that I’m beginning to think my dream will come true." That’s the Roberto Clemente I know, who constantly thought of others instead of himself."

"The side of Roberto that everybody missed was that he was a kind man. For all the deadpan (he rarely smiled), bluster and complaints (he never talked, he yelled), he was always available. God is getting an earful someplace today because Roberto is sure he was quick-pitched. The thing I like best is, you never heard of him doing a disreputable thing. The only thing Roberto slipped into his room at night was a book. You never found him having breakfast with a niece from Boston. The only thing he drank out of a bottle was patent medicine. I can’t believe he won’t come walking out of a clearing, bent over and holding his back and complaining that the swim was bad for his sciatica. If you see someone answering that description, throw him a bad pitch down around the ankles outside and, if he hits it screaming down the right field line, it can only be Clemente, and you’ll know reports of his condition have been grossly exaggerated once again."

"Surgery is almost never indicated, Clemente argues – an opinion which may dismay his colleagues in the fellows of the American College of Surgery. But, of course, the march of medicine is no respecter of consulting fees. His clinic is strictly for the public weal. "I do not need the money – I am set for life. This is something I want to do to help humankind." The mark of a great physician is the confidence he can inspire in the patient. Clemente is as equal to this as Pasteur. “When I come to Los Angeles, I can make anyone you bring to me feel good with one treatment to the spine. I can even make you feel good.” If he can do that, he should go from the MVP to the Nobel Prize. The last fellow able to do that was the inventor of the martini. Still, you have to admit, not many people can handle curvature of the spine as well as curvature of the pitch."

"It’s sad, but there’s a myth in baseball that certain classes of players are more susceptible to fits of ‘dogging’ than others. This dread ballplayers’ palsy is widely believed to affect blacks more than whites, and Latins more than either. I have never seen anything to substantiate it, but the superstition is present in almost every locker room. For instance, Roberto Clemente did have a very capricious set of vertebral discs. He could play them for you like castanets – and would, on demand. But the grand old game was skeptical. “How can you bat .351 with a bad back?” the dugouts scoff. The point is Hemingway had to write best sellers standing up because of a bad back. John Kennedy had to run the country wearing a corset. But no one believed you could bat .351 with a bad back. Actually, Clemente himself fell into the trap one night when, speaking of Sandy Koufax’s reported sore arm, he asked a reporter irritably, “How can you strike out 15 batters a night with a sore arm?” Said the reporter gently, “Roberto, how can you bat .351 with a sore back?” Roberto got the point."

"Every sports fan admired and respected Roberto Clemente as one of the greatest baseball players of our time. In the tragedy of his untimely death, we are reminded that he deserved even greater respect and admiration for his splendid qualities as a generous and kind human being. He sacrificed his life on a mission of mercy. The best memorial we can build to his memory is to contribute generously for the relief of those he was trying to help – the earthquake victims in Nicaragua."

"By chance I met Clemente once, in the humble role of autograph-seeker. He was doing wind sprints down at the Pirate training camp in Bradenton, Florida. And although I claimed I was getting an autograph for my son (true, for a change), he looked at me with a hidalgo’s contempt – at a grown man simpering over a blunt pencil; he turned his back abruptly and did another wind sprint, then slashed his name onto my scorecard and sauntered away. To hell with you, Clemente, I thought. But on the way out, I saw him funning with three old ladies from Allentown, Pennsylvania, and I have never seen sweeter courtesy. Arrogance and gentleness. Where did it come from? Clemente was like a Martian to most North Americans, and written about as such."

"He was such a down-to-earth human being. Those of us in the minors would come in for dinner at 5:30 PM and leave an hour later when the big leaguers would have their meal. Roberto would stay outside the dining hall, chatting with us and sharing advice and crack a few jokes. Then we would tell Roberto the last call was made for the big leaguers to eat, but he would tell us: "The heck with the meal. I’ll eat somewhere else later in the evening. Let’s keep talking.""

"You were an island Alone where the three rivers meet A beautiful fury, you moved like a fish Ranging that great, green sea Un boricua You were summer in The solitary skin, the tongue The arm of God The hand of gold Puerto Rico’s son"

"One thing stood out – through all the outbursts and the arguments and the controversies, it was almost impossible not to like the guy. I can remember the first time as a rookie that I had to interview him. He was polite and pleasant, as though he sensed my anxiety and was trying to make it easier for me. If the question was particularly penetrating, he might sit there for a moment with that quizzical, little-boy look on his face. But always there was an answer, and always it came from the heart."

"Roberto’s carefree outlook on life began to change when the press started to misunderstand him when he talked about his injuries. When he was hurt he had trouble explaining himself because of the language problem and everyone thought he was jakin’. I don’t think he’s ever jaked. He just could do things when he was hurt as well as the rest of us could when we were healthy, and people would see this and decide he was dogging it. They thought he used the basket catch because Mays did and everything he did in the outfield was exciting, so right away to some writers he was a hot dog who jaked. Stories were written to that effect and he went through some years when he didn’t trust writers, and I don’t blame him. Some of them put words in your mouth and that’s what they did to him when he was younger. They tried to make him look like an ass by getting him to say controversial things and then they wrote how the Puerto Rican hot dog was popping off again. He was just learning to handle the language and he couldn’t express what he felt or thought and it frustrated him. Writers who couldn’t speak three words of Spanish tried to make him look silly, but he was an intelligent man who knows people and knows the game."

"In the first two games of this Series, when the rest of the Pirates played like they were looking for a place to hide, Clemente stood out like a Cadillac in a junkyard. Everything he did was touched with class, from the way he hit the ball with authority to the way he played right field to the way he answered questions in the locker room. After Monday's humiliating 11-3 defeat on a rubbing table for half an hour surrounded by reporters and, when an equipment man came around and said, "bus leaves in 25 minutes, Bob," Clemente just said, "don't worry about it." He was ready to stay until the last writer was satisfied."

"For a long time he was a loner. People would ask, "Why doesn’t he go out with the rest of you?" Well, Clemente doesn’t go out, period. He watches TV, orders room service, sleeps. He enjoys that; that’s the type of guy he is. This year he’s changed some. We took him to a Chinese restaurant in Chicago, and he looked so happy. I think he was surprised he had such a good time. I said, "Momen, you have to do this more often." But he’s the kind of guy who’ll go out when he wants to... you can’t influence him. He’s too independent."

"Dave Giusti was the player rep in 1972, but Roberto Clemente was the real leader of the clubhouse. He himself was known to stand up to the owners. Dave Giusti told me a Clemente story that I’ll always treasure. Pirates’ owner Dan Galbreath was in the locker room talking to the players. The club would draw better, he said, if the players signed more autographs and made more public appearances. Galbreath piled it on, claiming that the players weren’t appreciative enough of the fans. According to Giusti, the team had had enough, but nobody had the audacity to speak up. Finally, Clemente said, "Mr. Galbreath, I had a dream last night about this. I had a terrible neckache, and suddenly I had become so old and tired and injured that I could no longer play. But those wonderful fans out in right field banded together and said, ‘Even if the Great One can’t play, we can’t let him go. He belongs in right field.’ So the fans presented me with a rocking chair and said that I should sit comfortably between the stands and the right field foul line and relax all through my retirement." The rest of the Bucs didn’t know what to think. Was he buttering management up? Had he gone loco? But Clemente continued in his heavily accented English. "You know, Mr. Galbreath, what that dream is?" Galbreath hesitated. "No, what?" Clemente replied firmly, "It is boolsheet!" Everybody busted up. Except Galbreath."

"For the two years I was there, it was hard to get close to Clemente. He would be invited to parties after games, but never attended. But it’s not like he disliked his teammates. And he showed a good sense of humor in the clubhouse – hiding your shoes or playing other practical jokes. Joe Christopher was one of his targets. But Joe was kind of easy to egg on. [...] For the time I was there, Clemente and Murtaugh got along very well. Of course, I was there at a very good time – in 1960 when we won the Series. Everybody got along then. There might have been a few harsh words between players once in a while, but no major problems."

"In professional sports, there is a tendency to see something that appears less than maximum effort. That is the legacy which I think he would have wanted to leave primarily – as a great professional who gave everything. Beyond that, I’m sure he would want to leave the legacy that there is an obligation, a further obligation, to be a role model. We hadn’t used that phrase in talking, but he was a marvelous role model – not only as a player but also as a human being and what he did for people. You could not find a greater athlete in terms of what he stood for and the impact he had on people than Clemente."

"If Roberto Clemente could sing, he would make Harry Belafonte wish he could hit."

"I watch him drift. Trapped. Or am I trapped, here in 1987, while he, through some malfunction of the universe, is borne into timelessness? What if I were to accompany him? "Wait!" I call. "There's something..." But Clemente has already drifted beyond hearing. I watch as he paddles, his back broad and strong. Just as the mist is about to engulf him, as ocean, fog, and sky merge, he waves his oar once, holding it like a baseball bat, thrusting it at the soft, white sky."

"If somebody pays you a compliment in Puerto Rico, you accept it and say "thank you very much," and then you say why you are deserving of such a compliment. If someone told him "You are one of the greatest ballplayers," Roberto would smile and say, "Thank you," and then tell why he thought he was. He didn't understand that wasn't the way players in this country would handle it. In the United states, if a guy gives you a compliment, you play the humility game. "Nah, I don't deserve that kind of praise." Humble pie stuff. In Puerto Rico, you have to support what they said. He knew he was good. No one ingratiated themselves to people more than I did, so I know how to play the humble role. I had grown up in an orphanage, so I was always trying to please people and be accepted."

"I do remember my first impressions. It was the same impression I always had of Clemente. He was a very commanding man – commanding in manner of style and appearance. Even in the way he moved, he was commanding. And I was struck immediately with the fact that he had none of the sort of reticence that ballplayers are apt to have when talking to the commissioner – not at all. He spoke to the commissioner and everybody else as equals – that’s the way he was. And I don’t say that in any sense critically. It was refreshing and it was all done with excellent style. It was his commanding character that I will always remember about him as vividly today, all these years after his death, as at the beginning – commanding of everybody, particularly the ballplayers around him. He was the leader and nobody dared to be performing at less than his best as long as Clemente was looking."

"He had tremendous faith in a chiropractor named Arturo Garcia, and he learned a lot from that man. Soon he was helping people himself, without publicity. One day while we were preparing the food for a special homage we gave him in the town of Corozal, a fellow whom I had known for quite some time told me, "The greatest favor of my life I owe to Roberto Clemente." I didn’t think Roberto knew him, but Roberto gave him a big abrazo and asked him how he felt. That’s when I learned that the man had been disabled and Roberto treated him for his injuries. The fellow was once a ship’s cook and he said, "I’m going to prepare this meal myself.""

"The year he spoke at the baseball dinner here is something I’ll never forget. It was one of the greatest speeches I ever heard. I'll remember that night as much as anything."

"Standing still as a statue in the October shadows, he looked, grotesquely, more like a patriot than anything usually seen on a baseball field. A trick of light perhaps. Yet what famous athlete last died for a cause bigger than himself? Clemente could sometimes seem like a pest, a nagging narcissist, with only his burningly serious play to deny it. Yet when that plane crashed carrying relief supplies to Nicaragua we saw what he had meant all along. It was like the old Clemente crashing into the right field wall in a losing game: the act of a totally serious man."

"Bobby clearly was a good person. What he did to help those people in Nicaragua was typical of Bobby. Down deep, he was a very good person. He wanted to help people. He never felt he got his just due from the news media, and he was always trying to prove himself. But he was kinda bashful, at first, and didn’t like to talk too much. Later, he’d give the news guys a rough time a lot, hollering at them as soon as they identified themselves or started to ask him questions. It took him a long time to get the language down where he felt confident to be interviewed. When Bobby wanted to be, he could be most entertaining on the bus. Every so often, he’d get all wound up and he’d be entertaining everyone on the bus. Most of the people, though, don’t know that Bobby Clemente existed."

"I was crushed. You don’t want to drag your career out. You want to contribute, especially with a club like this one. It was a dumb pitch. I felt terrible. Everyone got dressed quickly – I guess they wanted to leave me with my misery. But Clemente came over and talked to me. All he did was spend 20 minutes holding my hand because he knew I was suffering. He’s a guy who’d been in baseball for so long, and he had three hits that night, and he came over to help. It’s the warmest thing anyone’s ever done for me in baseball."

"“You mean you wrote me a nasty letter objecting to a column you had never read?” “A friend call me and tell me what you write about me,” he said. “I’m angry so I sit down and write to you when I’m mad.” “Now I’m mad,” I said. “Don’t ever talk to me again or complain again until you’ve read that column.” Weeks passed. I had forgotten the incident completely when I next saw Clemente. “I call my friend and tell him he is horse_ _ _ _,” Roberto said. For the moment, I didn’t understand. Roberto recognized that. “You remember you tell me I have to read your story before I talk to you and complain?” he said. “I read the story I find out that you did not write what my friend said. So now I apologize to you for the letter and I tell my friend he is no longer my friend because he does not tell me the truth.” It was a rare moment in my years in sports; a player admitting that he may have been wrong. Clemente didn’t need me but he felt it incumbent upon himself to tell me that he had done me an injustice."

"He came over to me and talked to me for about ten or fifteen minutes. He talked about life in general, about family, and he tried to bring out the belief that baseball wasn’t the end all in our lives – that we had to make sure we kept things in balance. He wanted to make sure you kept them in the right order; like family and your wife. He wanted us to remember that these were the most important things. He didn't have to come over and talk to me, but he did."

"In most cases I wouldn’t have felt compelled to provide a reason for knocking a batter down, but somehow Clemente brought out my soft side. It was virtually impossible to ignore him because he was always talking. Usually, it was to complain about how much his back or his shoulder or some other damn thing was hurting him. "Oh, my back," he would say, "ees keeling me." He would go on and on until you had no choice but to say, "Clemente, shut the fuck up!" Then he would step in the batter’s box and swing so hard that the flagsticks on top of the stadium would bend. He was so full of shit that you had to laugh, and you couldn’t help liking the guy."

"He always complained about pains in his stomach. He’d come to the plate and I could see he was in pain and I’d say, "Robby, what’s wrong?" And he’d say, "Tom, I don’t feel too good." But he didn’t like to go to the doctor – he didn’t believe in doctors."

"Roberto unleashed a barrage of English and Spanish – and I don’t know what all – in which he was obviously indicating his displeasure with this particular individual. Unknown to me, they had had some problems over the years. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. After this outburst, Roberto sort of settled down. He looked at me and said, "Would it help you if I do this interview?" I said, "Well, yes, I guess it would. This is my first day on the job. I don’t know you and I don’t know him and I’m trying to get off on the right foot." And Roberto said, "OK, for you, I will do it." And he got dressed and went out and talked to the individual for the first time, apparently, in several years. He did it as a favor to me – someone he had only met a few moments before. I just never forgot that. I don’t think you would find many athletes who would have been so solicitous and so understanding, and go out of their way as he did to accommodate me that day. We went on to become very good friends, but I never forgot that gesture on his part. It was just an indication of the type of person that he was."

"Everybody looked rumpled next to Roberto Clemente."

"Roberto’s body didn't appear because God wanted us to remember him as he was: that handsome negro, so strong, so beautiful within and without."

"He was my middle man if I needed help, if there was a problem between management and one of the players. A lot of people thought he was moody and temperamental, but he wasn’t. He was like a kid in many ways. He had that mischievous look. I always felt he wanted to be a practical joker but that he felt he had to be restrained, the proper leader. He was a god to the Latin-American players. They’d congregate around him in the dining room. If he laughed, they laughed. If he frowned, they frowned. And he was always making appearances you wouldn’t find out about until several days later. He’d go to a hospital or an orphanage and no one would know it. I’m not sure he confided in anyone except his wife."

"I don't believe if Clemente were still alive that there'd be a statue. It's the way he died. I think, in my mind, Stargell did as much for the people of Pittsburgh, for the team, for the organization. He deserves a statue as much as Clemente does for the contributions he made here. That's my feeling. Stargell mingled more with the public, and he mingled more with his teammates, and he was more of a positive influence all around."

"Roberto Clemente's second-game homer that cleared the left center bleachers touched off some excitement . . . Players and fans said they never before had seen a ball go over that section and it was close to a 500 -foot sock . . . Clemente, grinning all the way from here to Puerto Rico, said he never hit a longer one."

"I asked Face if he remembered where he was when he learned that Clemente had died in an airplane crash on New Year's Eve of 1972. Again, somewhat strangely, a smile. "I was sleeping," he said. He was living in Penn Hills at the time with his first wife, Jeanne Kuran, who was from Pittsburgh and to whom he was married for 25 years, and their daughter Michelle, then 17, who woke him up to tell him the bad news about Clemente. Face remembered his reaction to Michelle's wake-up call. "I said, ‘Better him than me,’ and rolled over and went back to sleep." It sounded harsh. Face chortled at his own story."

"Roberto Clemente almost made history Saturday - missing by a foot or so of being the first right-handed batter to hit a ball to the right field roof [at Forbes Field]. Clemente's homer in the first inning landed against the facing of the right field roof, a tremendous blast as it was. The Houston bullpen reported Saturday the ball struck the right field foul screen but Bobby Bragan, who was in the bullpen, corrected the version. "The ball was within a foot or so of landing on top of the roof and perhaps two or three feet in fair territory," Bragan said. "It probably was the longest ball ever hit to that field by a right-handed batter.""

"Dick Stuart, who hit an estimated 500-foot homer over the left field scoreboard in Pittsburgh, has a rival in Roberto Clemente. The Puerto Rican outfielder of the Pirates made the Cubs sit up and take notice when he drilled a homer off southpaw Bill Henry in Chicago in the May 17 nightcap that left Wrigley Field via the left-center corner of the bleachers. Wrigley Field observers rated it at probably 500 feet. Rogers Hornsby, the Cubs batting coach, said it was the longest he ever witnessed and [manager] Bob Scheffing agreed it was No. 1 in his book."

"Retired Cub broadcaster Jack Brickhouse, who saw this home run [hit by Dave Kingman on May 17, 1979], revealed that the ball was greatly helped by a strong wind of 35 miles per hour. Brickhouse estimated Kingman's blast in reality went about 500 feet. In fact, Brickhouse stated Kingman's drive was not the longest ball he had ever seen. A 500-foot blast by the late Roberto Clemente remains the hardest hit ball Brickhouse has seen which was unaided by the wind."

"Clemente offers an object lesson in self-discipline to hitters who swish for the seats. The 25-year-old, 173-pound right-handed hitter who finally has won the unqualified praise of George Sisler as an expert batsman, has learned how to subdue the home run urge. "I do not care about home runs," says Clemente, who can hit for distance with the best. "The pitch is always away from me and it is foolish to try to pull this pitch for a home run. The pitcher does not wish it so, and I don't try. I am not foolish. Only in Philadelphia I think maybe I will try for the home run, but I do not think so even in L.A. I make the hits which the pitcher cannot stop, and that is better than striking out and will drive out the pitcher, too.""

"Clemente is in love with Wrigley Field, where he's batting .693 so far [this season] on nine hits, three homers and nine RBIs. "This is my ball park," Clemente said after his day's work. "Every game is played in daylight and I can see the ball good. And I can reach the stands in any direction. I hope I'm never traded but if I am, I wish it would be to the Cubs. I know I do well there in 77 games." Two years ago, Clemente hit a home run out of the park in center, close to the scoreboard, and natives in Chicago say they never saw it done before."

"Dick Stuart took a look at Roberto Clemente slashing line drives one day and made a pertinent observation. “There must be the best 169-pound slugger in baseball,” Stuart said of the Pirate right fielder. Clemente lost some weight during the winter in his native Puerto Rico and never has been able to regain it. But he hasn’t lost his fierce swing… He was leading the Pirates not only in batting but also in RBIs with 23, and of his three homers, two went to right field, indicating his power to all fields. Clemente slammed a homer into the right field stands in Pittsburgh [on May 9th] and also performed the novel feat of drilling one over the right field wall in Philadelphia [on May 19th]."

"Clemente started a home-run binge against the Dodgers in Los Angeles, August 30th, by hitting a liner over the 375-foot mark in right field,1 and in one stretch owned four homers in five games. He hit one against the Giants over the right field fence in Candlestick Park and the next day drilled one over the left-center fence that Garry Schumacher, Giant publicist, declared was the hardest hit ball there all year. Clemente powered a 420-foot shot into the center field portion of the stands [sic]2 at Forbes Field against Jim Owens and the Phils on September 4th for his fourteenth of the season."

"Roberto Clemente was charged with ten errors in right field, but as one who saw Clemente in every inning, this correspondent believes Bobby is many times the victim of a scoring rule. Possibly half of Clemente’s ten errors came when his lightning throws from the outfield hit a runner as he slid into a base. Clemente, who often led the league in assists had only 13 in 1964. The runners simply don’t take the chances on his fine arm any more."

"was just one strike away from pocketing a 5-4 Cub decision over the Pirates when he found himself in a head-to-head battle with Roberto Clemente. This was the ninth inning in Chicago and there were two outs, none on. Abernathy had Clemente no balls and two strikes, but apparently the Pirate slugger worried the Cub reliever and he grew too careful. He threw three balls and then Clemente put on a dazzling display of bat control. Abernathy threw eight straight strikes and Clemente fouled off every pitch, seven to right field. Then he drew a walk and , who always hits Abernathy, hit him again. Abernathy worked the count to 3-and-1 and Stargell fouled two pitches, then rammed a long, line-drive double high off the center field wall to score Clemente from first with the tying run. The Bucs won it with four runs in the eleventh, but it was Clemente who saved it with his remarkable performance."

"In a period covering the last four years, Clemente owns the highest batting average of any player. His .324 mark is nine points better than Hank Aaron's .315. He seldom hits high fly balls. He specializes in fierce ground balls and line drives between the outfielders."

"If the Dodgers had kept Clemente with them at —as they did with Sandy Koufax—the course of baseball might have been drastically changed. This intrigued me and I did some research on the subject. For years, the Dodgers kept looking for a left fielder to pair up with in center and in right. This might have been an all-time outfield: Clemente-Snider-Furillo. Imagine Clemente taking dead aim at the comfortable home-run area in Ebbets Field for four years and the short left field fence in the Coliseum for the next three years. The Dodgers won the pennant in 1955 and again in 1956. They won after a playoff in 1959 and copped it again in 1963. But wouldn't it be safe to assume they could have won in 1957, 1958, 1960, 1961 and 1962 with a Clemente in their lineup?"

"Clemente made an almost unheard-of assist in this game. With runners on first and second and Pirates charging for the plate, pushed a bunt into the vacated shortstop position for one run. tried to go from first to third but Clemente, sizing up the situation quickly, came in from right field to short and threw out Bond at third."

"There wasn’t too much contact with Clemente off the field; just at the ballpark. He was pretty much by himself, a loner. We were never close… He didn’t hang around with us much. He was always with , or or . He had other friends. There were always people from Puerto Rico or other Latin countries wherever we traveled. He was just more of a loner."