roberto clemente

Don’t call me “Bob!”

Roberto Clemente Walker, 1934 — 1972

CAROLINA, Puerto Rico — Roberto Clemente was a brilliant right fielder for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the 1960s. He also was a Puerto Rican and a black man.

And he never let you forget any of that.

American sportswriters and trading–card makers tried to make him into “Bob Clemente” or “Bobby Clemente.” He wanted no parts of that. His heritage may not have mattered to them, but it meant a great deal to him.

His name was Roberto — pa’que los sepas, just so you know.

And if that fact happened to slip your mind, rest assured, he would remind you.

In radio or TV interviews, he addressed his countrymen en Español. If you didn’t like it, that was your problem.

But this was more than the stubborn defiance of a proud young man who also happened to be a ballplayer. This was the opening volley of a major culture clash in Major League Baseball.

In the words of Puerto Rican journalist Luis Mayoral, he was on a crusade to show what a black Hispanic man could do.

“Clemente was our Jackie Robinson,” Mayoral said. It’s an apt comparison, because in the early stages of his major–league career, he suffered much the same kind of abuse as Jackie did.

Long before Europeans earned shame for their racist taunts of black soccer players, American baseball fans and sportswriters alike routinely mocked Clemente’s broken English with the same poisonous intent.

“Some people act like they think I live in the jungle someplace,” he once said.

Similar hostility so repelled Hector Espino during those years that he returned to Mexico after less than one minor–league season in the American South, vowing never to play in the United States again.

Clemente, however, stood his ground. And if those taunting him had hoped to get under his skin and thus undermine his game, they soon learned the hard way that their barbs were having just the opposite effect. They spurred him on.If anything, the fury he felt over the abuse he was getting may have fueled an inner fire in the man that scorched baseball diamonds from coast to coast.

Some of that fire he channeled into his throwing arm, and baserunners challenged it at their peril. In the words of Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully, “Clemente could field the ball in New York and throw out a guy in Pennsylvania.”

But that’s not all Clemente was throwing out.

Outside the ballpark as a staunch advocate of civil rights and a close associate of Martin Luther King Jr., which no doubt chafed a lot of white baseball fans around the country.

In the end, he won acceptance in the States for himself and those like him, enabling Latinos to play the game with their heritage intact and unquestioned.

Here at home, he created Ciudad Deportiva Roberto Clemente near the tough Barrio San Anton of his youth — fields of dreams for other poor kids.

You could just about build your own All–Star team with Ciudad Deportiva alumni. Sandy and Roberto Alomar, Carlos Baerga, Juan Gonzalez, Ivan “Pudge” Rodriguez, Benito Santiago and Ruben Sierra all played on these urban diamonds that he left behind.

He was still trying to help others on the last day of 1972 when he boarded, over his family's pleadings, a charter flight overloaded with supplies for Nicaraguan earthquake victims. The aging Douglas DC–7 transport struggled into the air, then plunged into the Atlantic Ocean.

No one aboard survived. His body was never found.

As great a player as he was, Clemente’s real legacy is not a subject for baseball trivia. Pride, dignity and caring for others don't show up in box scores, but they still matter.

A major exhibit celebrating his life was held at the Art Museum of San Juan while we were there. His career is thoroughly catalogued in the Baseball Hall of Fame and on the websites of admiring fans.

By the time we saw it, its many years of continued use and a serious scarcity of funds had taken a harsh toll on Ciudad Deportiva, but it remains very much in use. And to many on this island, the man who erected it remains Puerto Rico”s favorite son.

Roberto Clemente’s time on this Earth was tragically short, but no one could accuse him of wasting it.