American Experience

Orlando Cepeda, San Francisco Giants: He told me that, that it was very lonely for him because of communication — he couldn’t communicate, and that’s why — we have two strikes: being black, and being Latin.

Narrator: Clemente spent little free time with his fellow Pirates, some of whom found him guarded and aloof. Whatever the reason, the result was obvious: besides baseball, #21 and his teammates had little in common.

Samuel O. Regalado, historian: Clemente after baseball games has no one really to pal around with in terms of his teammates. He often wanders around by himself and Clemente, in fact, signed autographs till the last person had his baseball signed in large part because Clemente had really nothing else better to do that day after games.

Narrator: In the days before publicists and security guards, players and fans could sometimes have a human encounter. One day, a seventeen-year-old fan from rural Pennsylvania saw Clemente after a Phillies game.

Carol Brezovec Bass: I decided to approach him and I said, “May I please have your autograph?” — and I had just begun to learn some Spanish and so I said, “O, gracias, ah, Señor Clemente” and he smiled and he looked up and he started to rattle and go off into Spanish. And he just went on and on, and I was just like, um, you know, so nervous inside and I thought, “Oh my gosh, you know, how do I, you know, what do I do to tell him, you know, I don’t understand what he, what he had to say.”

“Mr. Clemente, I’m so sorry.” I said, um “I’m just beginning to learn Spanish, I only know a few words, Well he, you know, started to laugh, he said, you know, “You’re never going to get a lot of autographs being so far back.”

David Maraniss, biographer: An athlete’s life is mostly being uprooted. And a lot of athletes deal with that by finding superficial outlets. Clemente mostly dealt with it by trying to find reminders of home and family wherever he was. Carol was one part of that in an unlikely white girl from Philadelphia becomes part of the Clemente family.

Narrator: Over the years, Clemente would host Carol and her parents when they visited him in Puerto Rico. But friendships with individual fans were one thing; relations with Pittsburgh’s hard-bitten press were quite another.

Theirs was an awkward dance of mutual incomprehension and often hostility.

Roy McHugh, sportswriter: If Clemente wasn’t approached in the right way, he would flare up. His feelings seemed to be right on the surface. And after the wrong question or the wrong word would set him off. I can’t say that I enjoyed talking with him.

Al Oliver, teammate: What cracked me up about Roberto was in a lot of his interviews, they would come and interview him, he would start talking about life. And the writers just weren’t ready for that.

Narrator: Baseball players were supposed to be upbeat, and uncomplicated; not Clemente. The Pirate outfielder was often moody, haunted by chronic insomnia, a serious man ill-at-ease in a boisterous locker room.

An accent didn’t help.

[Clemente speaking heavily-accented Spanish]

Narrator: For much of the Pittsburgh press, it seemed a Latino player’s background was something to be mocked, or ignored.

Juan Gonzales, writer: There was an attempt to really sort of deny the Latino heritage of these ballplayers. I was, uh, just a kid then, but I remember he was always called Bobby Clemente. They Americanized the names and always the sports writers and the ball players ridiculed their attempts to speak English.

Al Oliver, teammate: Bottom line was there wasn’t a lot of knowledge of Puerto Rican players. There wasn’t a lot of knowledge of even black players at that particular time. And it had a lot to do with not being around. If you’re not around a certain group of people, then you form opinions.

Narrator: Clemente repeatedly broke an unwritten rule for professional athletes: never say what’s really on your mind. And another: never complain about injuries, aches, or pains.

Roberto Clemente (archival): Well, last year I wasn’t feeling good last year and I hit .312 and I hope with my rest and my stomach will stop hurting me I feel, I think I can have a better year. I hope so anyhow. I was, uh, under-weight, under-weight last year. I was having a little trouble with my stomach.

Narrator: His stomach, his back, his legs, his neck — everything seemed to plague him at some point. Before long, Clemente acquired a reputation as an oversensitive hypochondriac.

Roy McHugh, sportswriter: One day after a game, he was sitting in front of his locker with his uniform off and Joe Brown the general manager told him to get into the shower and get dressed. He said, “You’ll catch a cold,” he said “I don’t want you to be sick.” Clemente said, “I feel better when I’m sick.” I don’t know what he meant by that but he knew what he meant.

George Will, writer: We acquired a national stoicism from the thirties and our troubles in the Depression, from the forties from the war. Stoicism was identified with manliness, and it was thought somehow less than manly to complain about ailments, even though real.

Robert Ruck, historian: White ballplayers and black ballplayers uh, were relatively taciturn, they chewed tobacco. Not too many of them had a great sense of style or flair. Certainly if they asked these players questions about how they were feeling and the player actually talked about their feelings, that was not something they were accustomed to.

Pirates player (archival): Frank, there’s a lot of reasons for it. I believe the biggest one being confidence, the main thing and uh, swinging the bat.

Narrator: There was a source for some of Clemente’s pain, but he seldom spoke of it. Back in 1954 he had been in a serious car accident that damaged his spine and neck. The injuries would plague him for the rest of his life.

Stung by what he saw as unfair criticism, Clemente lashed out at his detractors. “Hypochondriacs don’t produce,” he growled. “I produce!”

George Will, writer: Clemente played hard all the time, he played all the time, but he talked all the time about how hard it was to do what he did. And I think it grated on some people who thought that the ideal ballplayer should be like Gary Cooper — tall, silent, stoical.

Narrator: In his first five seasons with the Pirates, Clemente hadn’t exactly lit up Forbes Field with his hitting. He’d batted over .300 only once, with seven or less homers. His play in right field was something else: he’d won over a growing number of local fans with his powerful arm and remarkable range. Still, he was on a lackluster team and the national press barely noticed.

Until, that is, 1960.

Samuel O. Regalado, historian: In 1960, the Pittsburgh Pirates were no longer the laughing stock of baseball. The Pittsburgh Pirates are champions of the national league.

Narrator: That year, Clemente led the team in runs batted in, was second in home runs and game-winning hits, and led the league in outfield assists.

Samuel O. Regalado, historian: By 1960 he is an all-star player in the national league. He is becoming a real threat to opponents. He might not be recognized by the national media, but on the baseball diamond, clearly his opponents recognize Roberto Clemente’s rising star.

Narrator: For the first time in 33 years, the Pirates found themselves playing in the World Series. Unluckily, they had to face the New York Yankees, winner of five titles in the past decade, and a team packed with superstars such as Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, and Whitey Ford.