People From San Juan

"Aside from playing baseball myself over the years, the culture of identifying with star baseball players and my hometown team is an inextricable part of my boyhood. As a young boy playing and watching baseball, I learned the value of hard work, the importance of teamwork, how to deal with success and failure, how to concentrate and stay focused on a goal, and how to look beyond personal achievement to something bigger than oneself. Roberto Clemente embodied all these virtues."

"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."

"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."

"My locker was next to Bobby’s for the entire six years I played with the Pirates. I watched him and listened to him on a daily basis. He had great pride in being Latin. He consistently brought this to people’s attention. Each year he played winter ball at his hometown of San Juan, not for the money but because he felt he owed it to his town folk. One winter I pitched for him when he managed the San Juan club. I met his wife and children to whom he was deeply devoted. Although a national hero in Puerto Rico and this country, he never took on the air of being a celebrity. He was always just one of the guys, yet separate. I never saw Bobby drunk, disorderly or chasing women, as I did other guys. I always believed he felt the obligation and responsibility of being a major league baseball player was to set an example for the public."

"The man was a man in every true sense. He was proud, dedicated. He wouldn't want anyone to give him anything. Yet he never had a national commercial, was on only one talk show, , and he never made any appearances in the Pittsburgh area. Blacks get the trophies . . . whites get the money."

"I’m an observing type of person, and there was no one I loved to watch more than Roberto. I learned a lot about him. I watched his reactions to a variety of everyday game situations. A silent, strong type, Clemente vicariously taught me a lot about life and baseball. I hear talking all the time, but words do not always translate to action. That’s why I feel observation is often the best way to learn about someone. I’m more interested in what a person does than what he says, and Roberto did a lot."

"I remember we were up in Montreal one time. Something happened to my back and I couldn’t play. I was left in the clubhouse for treatment. Roberto didn’t play the first game. He stayed in the clubhouse through the entire game and gave me an ice rubdown. He put this cold ice in his bare hands and would rub and apply pressure to different areas of my back. He said I would be able to play the next day based on things he had learned. It must have been about forty minutes of constant rubbing with that ice. We all know when you put ice in your hand for any period of time, you must release that ice after about five minutes at the most. But he was so into what he was doing, it didn’t faze him at all."

"He was so intense in terms of doing something to make me feel better. I felt great, and the next night I played. He didn’t have to do that, but he did it. And he wanted to do it in such a way that very few people, if any, knew about it other than the two of us. That was just one of the many things he did. And it’s those kinds of things that separate him from most people."

"The shivering fans in the stands took their hands out of their pockets to applaud Roberto Clemente for a small, but at the same time very large, sympathetic act. During batting practice, a little boy in the right-field stands was hit in the arm by a line drive. He then hid among the seats to have his little cry. Clemente retrieved the ball and gave it away, his thanks coming in a puddle of tears."

"He’d try to help you and talk to you about the way to play baseball and the way to handle yourself in society and to represent your country. He was the type of guy who would just sit with you and talk – do this, do that. In my life, besides my mom and father, I’d met no person who meant so much to me. People say he was moody, he was this and that. But he would say the truth – he told you the truth. He never tried to hide anything from anybody."

"He always liked kids. I had one long conversation with him, and he told me what he wanted to do in Puerto Rico. He had this dream to build a special Sports City for the kids, especially the poor kids. I always talked to kids, and he was that type of person, too, so we had something in common in that respect. Maybe he recognized that, and maybe that’s why he talked to me at length about what he wanted to do in his home country. He was a moody guy. He was very quiet. He had two strikes against him when he first came up. He didn't speak or understand English very well, and he was a loner. That guy from the Post office – the one who got into trouble a few years ago for stealing and selling stamps – he was always with him. I think he was genuine in his thinking. He cared for people. But like I said, I only spent four years with him, when he wasn't really into his own yet."

"Roberto Clemente was deeply committed to the Sports City idea – the idea of bringing to the children of Puerto Rico a place where they could all be together and play the game of their choice. It was the subject of the last long conversation I had with him. “I need your help,” he told me at the house of Felipe Rodríguez, the singer. It was my son’s baptismal day, and Clemente had come to the small fiesta following the service. We can get the best people. Help me,” he said. Then he went on to tell me about the mechanics of how his Sports City would work. “You and Carlos can come here once in a while to motivate these kids to boxing. Orlando Cepeda and I can do the same thing for the ones who like baseball. Charley Passarell in tennis, Chi Chi Rodriguez in golf…” And he went on through all the sports."

"He did not just lend his name to the fund-raising activities the way some famous personalities do. He took over the entire thing, arranging for collection points, publicity and the transportation to Nicaragua."

"I knew Roberto was a man – perhaps the only man – who could give enough of himself to make this work. The city agreed to give us Sixto Escobar Stadium as a staging area. I put Roberto on my show and he told them: "Bring what you can. Bring medicine ... clothes ... food ... shoes ... bring yourself to help us load ... trust me – whatever you bring we will use.""

"My wife and I spent a week with Roberto in Puerto Rico, and it was quite an experience. It was in the middle of winter, and the home was wide open. They didn't need any screens on the windows, because there were no insects on the island. And the temperature was so mild that it was comfortable sleeping like that. During the day, he took us up in the mountains. When we stopped, people in the village there brought him some shrimp that were as big as lobsters. They all recognized him, and they all wanted to bring him gifts. Roberto wanted to be the Babe Ruth of Puerto Rico, someone who could inspire other kids on the island to do something with their lives. In a way, he did that, even though he died too young."

"The man saved my life. It's ingrained in my memory to this day. I don't know what Neil's regimen is every day at the park, but I'm sure when he looks out to that Roberto Clemente wall in right field, he probably thinks about that too."

"The unconnected letters show creativeness [sic]. The downward T-bar stroke shows the ability to be critical, skeptical, wants things proved to him. His writing shows great pride, great ambition, also a love of music, of beautiful things."

"Someone once said that if Roberto Clemente could sing, Harry Belafonte would have to learn to hit a baseball for a living, and it’s true. Clemente has more than a well-made face and a hipless physique; he has eyes that sparkle, a smile that captivates and a Puerto Rican accent that sings. When he tells a story, he tells it with a zest that fills the room – and you listen and like him. Governor Wallace would like him."

"Roberto defended the cause of the Latins, especially the dark-skinned Latins, and they owe him a lot. Clemente wasn’t a star after he got his 3,000th hit, he was a star a couple of years after he rose to the big leagues. But the press denied him the credit he deserved. I think this made him try to prove that a Puerto Rican was as good as anyone in America and could do what a Babe Ruth or a Ted Williams had done, that this wasn’t a game exclusively for people from Pennsylvania, Alabama, and New Jersey, that in Puerto Rico, this tiny little country, there are great men, too, in every sense of the word."

"Last year I lose almost 20 pounds. When I go home end season I weigh only 163. I worry more 'bout bad back than I worry 'bout baseball. Now I feel goot. Ver goot. I sink I play one fitty games and I hit thee hunnert. I feel I hab goot season. Maybe fiteen home runs, nyenee RBIs, steal maybe dirty bases."

"How you blame Bragan for what we do? He no hit for us, no run for us, no peetch for us, no feeld for us. Bes manager I efer play for."

"I won't play ball in the winter. I gonna rest. If the pain is still there, I won't come back to spring training. I don't want to play the way I play now. I can't do nothing. That's like I steal money from the club."

"No one knows what eet is. They can't find anything. I run, I throw, I move eet hurts. Eet goes away and come back. Someday eet hurt . . . someday no. If eet doesn't cure, I quit baseball ... No fool around."

"I will try to play this season out, then rest for a while. Then I will play some winter baseball, and if my back still hurts, I'll quit."

""I want play but back hurt. If I no can play good, I no help team. So I wait until pain goes away. I no swing bat good, no run good, no catch ball like old times. I try but pain, she too much. Some days, no pain. Other days, pain all time. Some days pain so much I theenk maybe I quit baseball. But I need money so I play baseball." Clemente doesn't even want to think of an operation on his back. He says he had two brothers and a sister who died following surgery and his family opposes operations."

"I love the game too much to quit. But right now I can't run or swing a bat too well. I had my tonsils out two weeks ago in Pittsburgh and that helped, but I still have the pain. I am studying to be a civil engineer in Puerto Rico, so that's what I'll do if I have to give up baseball."

"No, I don't learn the basket catch from Mays," Roberto protested in his marked Puerto Rican accent. "It was Luis Olmo and Herman Franks who teach me when I in Dodger chain. That back in 1954 Winter league. Before that, I miss fly ball many time 'cause I try to catch too high. But now no drop one ball since I use basket catch." Clemente said Olmo and Franks instructed him to catch the ball about chest high instead of holding his hands outstretched. Later, he said, It became more natural for him to drop his hands even lower, below his waistline. "It work good for me and I juss keep doing it," he said. "It make it more easy for me to throw too, after I make catch."

"I didn't like the trade. Santurce is close to my home town and I like the fans there. They good to me and cheer me all the time. I may not go back. I may work in Pittsburgh."

"Clemente, who says Josh Gibson is the best hitter he ever saw, is anxious to see Ted Williams when the slugger comes here a week from Monday for the benefit exhibition between the Pirates and Red Sox."

""I no play so gut yet," the Puerto Rican star tried to explain yesterday. "Me like hot weather, veree hot. I no run fast cold weather. No get warm in cold. No get warm, no play gut. You see." Clemente likes Forbes Field and Connie Mack Stadium the best of all the parks he's played in but has a strong dislike for Ebbets Field and the Polo Grounds because of the crazy bounces the balls take as they ricochet off the walls."

"Four years ago he was playing amateur softball in Puerto Rico. "I peetch and play shortstop," he said of his early days. "I no play outfield until pro ball." Roberto turned pro in 1952 with Santurce and last year played winter ball for that team with Willie Mays. Herman Franks, Giant coach, was the manager. "Wee-lee May and Herm Frank help me," he answered when I asked him if he had been given special instruction in the game by anyone. "May show me how to field and throw," he added. Did Mays or anyone show him how to hit? "No," he replied, pride in his voice. "I learn to heet myself. Nobody show me.""

"I had offers from Dodgers, Giants and Braves. Braves offer same amount as Dodgers but I have many friends on Brooklyn team. I feel more at home there and I sign."

"“I do not read too much these days about Jerry May, but he is worthy of a story. He is the best defensive catcher I have seen in my 13 years with the Pirates. In fact, I have not seen many better defensive catchers anywhere in my time in baseball. A story now would do him good, make him feel appreciated. How you say, the time is appropriate?" Clemente always knew May could catch but May has opened his eyes in the formidable way he blocks the plate with a runner and the ball both bearing down on him. "He’s a take-charge catcher. He bosses the player throwing the ball – I tell you, that kid amazes me.""

"No, I don't think I can hit .370 for the season. At my age you come to the point when you are tired in the warmer weather. But if I were younger, and I knew what I know now about hitting, I could do it easily. When you are 28, you feel good all the time. At my age, sometimes you feel groggy. People say, "Why do they have to rest Willie Mays once in a while. They think it is not that hard to play the outfield. But it is not playing the outfield that is so tiring. It is the base-running. People don't realize how much more you are on base and how much running you have to do when you get 200 hits a year. You have to concentrate every minute on the bases to avoid the pickoffs, to fake a steal, to know whether to take the extra base. It begins to wear you down in late summer."

"I never go for home runs. I haven't tried to hit one since 1960 when I thought I had a chance to hit 20."

"I don't know. I don't know. I want to be happy because I have never hit three home runs in one game. But how can I be happy when we lose?"

"Yes, my biggest game, but not my best game. My best game is when I drive in the winning run."

"I like to see Maury in Pittsburgh uniform much better than watching him steal bases when I stand helpless in right field."

"You know, Nellie, when I was young I would run on fly balls hit to the outfield. I'd go around second base and I suddenly realize the ball is going to be caught. Sometimes I would run across the infield and never re-touch second base. Sometimes the umpires wouldn't notice if the players wouldn't. I didn't know how to run the bases well the first couple of years."

"I am having a plaque put on the front of my house. It will say, "To God, Mother, Father and Baseball.""

"At the beginning of the season he told me he wanted more homers and more runs batted in. He even named the figures: 25 homers and 115 RBIs. I could have hit more homers before if I wanted to, but I never cared about hitting them. I think a .350 batting average does the same good for a team as 25 homers and 100 runs batted in. But of course, if Walker wants more homers, it's okay with me."

"I'm very happy. Very happy. This is a great honor. The only thing I would trade this for is a pennant. This is the first year a manager made me feel like I wanted to keep going all the time. In 1965 he told me I'd hit .325 when I was sick with malaria and batting about .270. Last spring he told me he wanted me to hit 25 home runs and drive in 100 runs. He made me feel I belonged. He did the job. Maybe he isn't the best manager in the game but he works hard. He made us what we are. Got to give him credit. I had my best year for Walker. So did a lot of others."

"I have more respect for this man than any of my previous managers, and I played for Fred Haney, Danny Murtaugh and Bobby Bragan. This fellow makes me feel that he really appreciates what I do. When he has something to tell you, he tells you in front of everybody. You don’t hear it from some newspaperman. I don’t see why people say he has a big mouth. He knows this business real good and he is doing a great job. He works with the players and he gives them more confidence. Matty Alou never did anything until he came to this man. Donn Clendenon is having his best year and also Willie Stargell. And me, too. That is the reason I want to win so bad. I never played with a club that put out 100 percent like this one. If somebody gets down he comes and talks to the others. No matter what happens, we get together and solve everything. I don’t even think we tried this hard to win in 1960 when they won the pennant and the World Series."

"The Braves have been digging in on us all year. They're taking toeholds on our pitchers. Somebody is going down tonight if I have to come in from right field and do it myself."

"With two men on base I was more concerned with driving in a run than getting No. 2,000. I set a goal of 100 RBIs and 25 home runs at the start of the season. Usually I'm not a home run hitter but I've been swinging more for home runs this season then ever before."

"You could have put salt and pepper on me and fried me out in right field."

"For years, I have been pleading with somebody in charge at Forbes Field to put clay instead of sand in the batter’s box. Sand causes your feet to slip. Clay gives you a chance to keep your feet solid. So all I got for years was sand and more sand. Batters would dig holes. I come to bat and scrape dirt to cover up the holes. Suddenly this year, they put clay in the batter’s box. Now I have firm footing. Now I can get a toe-hold."

"Clendenon isn't like he was last year. If he comes back again, I'll start punching the ball again. But I've been taking a good cut and swinging hard."

"[Clemente] goes back to the ball he hit in Wrigley Field, Chicago. He rates this one No. 1 for distance, perhaps 600 feet. Clemente, himself, paced off the distance from the centerfield wall to the scoreboard right above and when he was shown the spot where the ball landed, he knew this was No. 1. "I hit one off Sam Jones one night over the left-center fence at Candlestick Park and that was a good one," he said. "And two I remember off Sandy Koufax. One over the right field fence at the Coliseum, the other here at Forbes Field. This one hit a transformer on the left-field light tower on the way up and it stopped. No telling how far it might have gone. And you remember I came within a few inches of putting one on the right field roof here."."

""I hit it good and thought it was going over the wall when it left my bat," he observed. Clemente also said this is the fifth time he has hit a ball that was within inches of clearing the fence at the 436-foot sign—two against the Dodgers and two against the Braves."