American Experience

Robert Ruck, historian: The 1960 series was David and Goliath. The Yankees were the franchise of professional sport, winning more titles than any team in any sport.

David Maraniss, biographer: The Pittsburgh Pirates came into the World Series as massive underdogs. They have a very good team but no one had really heard of the Pirates players.

Narrator: Helped by some timely hitting from Clemente, and his outfield play, the Pirates managed to win three of the first six games, despite being outscored by the powerful Yankees, 46 to 17. The seventh and deciding game would be played in Pittsburgh, where only the most diehard Bucs fans gave the home team much of a chance.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, David and Goliath were tied, 9-9. As Pittsburgh held its collective breath, Pirate second baseman Bill Mazeroski came to the plate. When Mazeroski reached home, Clemente was there, celebrating one of the great upsets in baseball history, proud of his own big contribution to the team’s success. Once off the field, he expected to make a quick exit and catch a plane home to Puerto Rico.

But he hadn’t counted on the scene outside the clubhouse. “There’s Clemente!” someone shouted and the crowd surged forward. It took him an hour to make his way through. After years of feeling himself an outsider, he had won them over. The fans of Pittsburgh, he said, had made it all worthwhile.

Finally back in San Juan, at the airport, Clemente received a greeting befitting a returning hero. Proud Puerto Ricans had followed the series closely on the radio, and in the papers — a sign in the crowd said what every one felt about their triumphant native son. He had barely touched ground when the crowd scooped him up and carried him away.

Juan Gonzales, writer: He was the hero of the island. He was like a God. The pride that Puerto Ricans felt over what he had managed to accomplish in baseball was incredible.

Narrator: The celebration went on for weeks. During the day, dressed in his major league uniform, he led clinics for groups of worshipful Puerto Rican kids. Most nights, he attended banquets held in his honor.

But Clemente had a different kind of honor in mind — the National League’s Most Valuable Player Award for the 1960 season. On November 17, the results were finally announced. In the vote of the nation’s baseball writers for the league’s top player, Clemente finished eighth. He took it hard.

Les Banos, friend: He felt that he did the best performance in his life in the 1960 World Series and personally, he felt this, he should deserve the most valuable player for this, but he didn’t get it. And he felt you know a certain amount of prejudice was involved at the time.

George Will, writer: He was very sensitive to slights and to the sense that he was not noticed. Clemente’s resentment arose from, first, his pride. Second, from the injustice of the vote — you can’t say absolutely that Clemente should have been the MVP, but there weren’t seven more valuable players in the National League than Clemente that year.

David Maraniss, biographer: I’ve heard that he never wore his World Series ring after that because he was so upset. Whether that’s apocryphal or not, it represents accurately the way he felt. He felt that he had been done in by racism. It was sort of a reminder that life in America was different from his life in Puerto Rico, that the way he was regarded was different, and worse, and that he would not allow that to happen again.

Narrator: Roberto Clemente arrived for spring training in 1961 with a new contract worth $35,000, and something to prove. Fueled by his anger at being overlooked, the 27-year-old Pirate outfielder lifted his play to a new level. That year he would hit a league-leading .351, while playing stellar defense. Even as the Pirates returned to their old losing ways, Clemente was emerging as one of the greatest right fielders in the game of baseball.

Juan Gonzales, writer: Over 50 years I’ve watched many, many baseball games in my lifetime, I can never remember anyone who threw a ball, uh, better than Roberto Clemente when there was a base runner heading to third or a base runner trying to score at home. It was a rifle, it was an incredible arm that he had and incredibly accurate. And so there were some ways that he was so superior to all the other ballplayers that all of the issues of race and, and nationality and language all fell by the wayside once the game started.

George Will, writer: He would gesture and move his shoulders and his neck as though we were trying to work the kinks out. Then, he would settle himself in the batter’s box, and all hell would break loose.

Robert Ruck, historian: Clemente played with abandon. He was like a horse galloping around the bases, arms flailing.

Steve Blass, teammate: The way he handled his body was incredible. I mean just incredible. It looks like he was galloping. Looked like he was all arms, but got there quickly. His body was a baseball machine.

George Will, writer: So in every facet of the game — hitting, catching, hitting with power, throwing the ball — the classic five-tool player, that was Roberto Clemente.

Narrator: Across the U.S., the Pirates’ talented right fielder was now being cheered by a growing number of Latino fans. Through the 1960s, a surge in immigration from Latin America and the Caribbean brought new faces to US cities — and to baseball dugouts as well.

When Clemente first entered the major leagues in 1955, there had been only a handful of Latino players; now, nearly a decade later, there were dozens. But not everyone in baseball welcomed the trend.

George Will, writer: Alvin Dark, the manager of the San Francisco Giants, forbad the speaking of Spanish in the clubhouse — he thought that Hispanic players were somehow an alien presence and a threat to cohesion. I don’t know what the thinking was.

Narrator: Number 21 realized that to fans and fellow players alike, he had become something more than a right fielder. He had become a role model.

Les Banos, friend: He was very careful always, his appearance. Because he felt the first impression very important, especially from him. Because he felt he not representing Roberto Clemente alone, he always told me, I’m representing the people of Puerto Rico.

George Will, writer: He represented impatience, he was a cauldron of energy, representing the upward mobility, of people who had hitherto been excluded.

Narrator: Each October, after the baseball season ended, Roberto would return to Puerto Rico. Driving the streets of San Juan in his white Cadillac, he attracted attention worthy of a movie star. He was still in his twenties, handsome, famous and single.

David Maraniss, biographer: He was magnetic. There were always women writing him love letters, trying to be near him and it wasn’t that he was just walking around, prowling as a hunk. He was a very soft guy who wanted to hear other people’s stories and so that added to his magnetism.

Narrator: After a decade on the road, Clemente was eager to settle down. Vera Zabalo was striking, a twenty-two year-old college graduate who worked in a bank. And she was from Carolina, Clemente’s beloved childhood home, where her father had worked in the local sugar cane fields.

David Maraniss, biographer: She didn’t even know that Roberto Clemente was a ball player, he started calling her at work, asking her for dates, and eventually Clemente got up the nerve to sort of deal with the father.