Clemente's legacy

Clemente's legacy: Thirty years after his death, former Pirates star is still making an impact on Latin players, children

New Year's Eve parties were already in full swing when the DC7 rolled away from the cargo terminal at San Juan International Airport, pointed its nose into the wind and lumbered down the runway.

The plane, overloaded with relief supplies for victims of a deadly earthquake in Nicaragua, was on a mission of mercy. Its five passengers, including Pittsburgh Pirates outfielder Roberto Clemente, counted on fate to be kind.

On this night, however, fate was not in a kindly mood. Minutes after lifting off and with the airport still in sight, the plane suffered catastrophic engine failure and plunged into the murky, shark-infested waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

That was 30 years ago tonight. So this evening, as she has done on each of the past 30 New Year's Eves, Vera Clemente will drive to a desolate stretch of Puerto Rican coastline and remember her late husband by praying a rosary and tossing flowers into the sea.

And in a few weeks, thousands of young men from throughout Latin American will honor Clemente's legacy in another way: by showing up at major-league training camps in Arizona and Florida ready to play baseball.

''No question he inspired so many Latin players, especially players from the Caribbean area, to work hard and to reach the major leagues,'' says Hall of Fame broadcaster Jaime Jarrín, who has called Dodgers games in Spanish since 1959. ``He was very proud of being Latin American. He was very proud of being Puerto Rican. He knew that he had a responsibility of opening the doors for other players.''

Thanks in large part to Clemente, those doors are wide open now. In the three decades since Clemente's death, Latins have gone from a novelty to the dominant force in professional baseball.

When Clemente made his debut with the Pirates in 1955, there were just 14 Latin-born players in the majors. Today, nearly a third of the players on baseball's 40-man rosters are of Hispanic origin. Last season, there were more players named Rodríguez (48) and Martínez (47) playing organized baseball than there were Smiths (38) and Joneses (31).

And the Latin influence in baseball today goes beyond mere acceptance or sheer numbers, especially in the American League, where four of the past seven MVPs were from Latin America and players of Hispanic origin topped the AL in batting average, home runs, RBI, runs scored, hits, doubles, stolen bases, earned-run average, strikeouts and saves last season.

His widow says Clemente was instrumental in creating the climate that allowed that to happen.

''Roberto, in his time, always fought, like Jackie Robinson, to erase the color barrier in the major leagues,'' says Vera Clemente, speaking in Spanish from the Roberto Clemente Sports City in Carolina, Puerto Rico. ``Roberto fought to protect Latins.

``At that time, [they] had it tough because of the discrimination. But thank God that over the years Roberto and the others were able to overcome. That opened the doors for the players of today.''

And not just the doors to the clubhouse. Clemente also forced opened the doors to the manager's office and the front office as well. Omar Minaya, the Montreal Expos' general manager and the highest-ranking Latin in baseball, says he wouldn't have his job if Clemente hadn't come along first, demanding equal rights for Latin Americans in baseball.

''One of the reasons that I am here is because of the impact that he had as a player, but also the impact that he had as a person and the legacy he left behind,'' says Minaya, a Dominican who keeps a photo of Clemente in his office. ``He would talk about issues that are beyond the playing field. He transcended baseball.''

Adds Giants manager Felipe Alou, one of three Latin American-born managers in the majors: ``There is no question about the influence of Roberto Clemente. He was a guy who, at a time of great restrictions, when there were things that players didn't say, Roberto Clemente said them.

``There were things that Latin players would never dare say or challenge that Roberto Clemente, from his position of being a super-super star, went out and denounced or wasn't afraid to talk about.''

The discrimination Clemente encountered took many forms, from being refused entry into hotels and restaurants with the rest of the team because he was black to being criticized as a malingerer and mocked for his broken English by a press corps that quoted him as saying things like ''I heet home run'' and ``how I gonna run when I still on ground.''

Clemente thought that made him sound childish and uneducated when the real problem was none of the writers spoke Spanish.

But the way Clemente died has probably had more to do with cementing his legacy than his .317 career batting average, 12 gold gloves, 3,000 hits and four National League batting titles.

After a massive earthquake struck Nicaragua just after midnight Dec. 23, killing 6,000 and destroying nearly two-thirds of the structures in the capital of Managua, Clemente joined a campaign to collect money and relief supplies in Puerto Rico.

Just weeks earlier, Clemente had been in Nicaragua coaching in an amateur baseball tournament. While there, he befriended a boy who had lost both legs in an accident. Clemente solicited funds to buy the boy artificial limbs.

When reports began to surface that officials of Nicaraguan dictator Anastasio Somoza's National Guard were stealing relief supplies intended for earthquake victims, Clemente ignored the pleas of his wife and teammates and insisted on accompanying the Puerto Rican donations to Managua to supervise their dispersal.

The plane first taxied to the rain-soaked runway at 6:38 p.m. -- nearly 15 hours after its scheduled 4 a.m. departure -- but returned to its hangar 21 minutes later for new spark plugs and more than an hour of mechanical work to both right-side engines.

Clemente was growing impatient by the time the four-engine, propeller-driven transport finally headed back to the runway nearly 5,000 pounds overweight.

The DC7 needed more than 8,000 feet of the 10,000-foot runway to reach takeoff speed and climbed ''very slowly,'' according to witnesses quoted in a months-long investigation by the National Transportation Safety Board.

At 8:22 p.m., the plane lumbered into the air. But 75 seconds later, Miami-based pilot Jerry Hill radioed the airport that he was ``coming back around.''

Seconds later, the plane crashed into 125 feet of water about 1 ½ miles off the Puerto Rican coast.

News of the crash spread quickly. Hundreds of people made their way to the beach to search for survivors. But Hill's body was the only one ever recovered.

Among the many ironies in Clemente's death is the fact that he raised much more money for the relief cause in death than he was able to solicit while alive. Hundreds of thousands of dollars -- including a $1,000 check from then-President Richard Nixon -- poured in overnight to continue Clemente's work in Nicaragua and to bring to reality his long-held dream of a sports camp for children in Puerto Rico.

Within days, the baseball writers association -- including many writers who had openly mocked Clemente's accent and penchant for injuries just years earlier -- voted to ignore the mandatory five-year wait and induct Clemente into the Hall of Fame, making him the first Latin player to be enshrined. Lou Gehrig is the only other player for whom the five-year wait has been waived.

Hurdles that had long stalled plans for a sports city in his hometown of Carolina, where Clemente grew up poor in a barrio called San Anton, also disappeared overnight.

The government of Puerto Rico set aside more than 300 acres of land, and donations from the U.S. funded much of the construction.

Today, the $13-million center, which took shape shortly after Clemente's death, sprawls over 600 acres and features seven baseball diamonds, three indoor basketball/volleyball courts, a pool, 10 batting cages, two playgrounds and a track stadium.

The center serves 200,000 people a year, many of whom are escaping homes ravaged by drug and alcohol addiction. Sports city alumni include major-league stars Carlos Baerga, Ivan Rodríguez, Rey Sanchez and Ruben Sierra, all of whom return on a regular basis to work with the children.

''Roberto loved children,'' says Vera, who runs the sports city with a board that includes son Luis, Sharon Robinson, daughter of Jackie Robinson, and former presidents of both the American and National leagues.

``He was making plans to construct a project like this where there would be facilities for all the sports, and other alternatives as well. Because not all kids like sports. In the case of Roberto, he liked music. He liked working with ceramics and plaster. And he was a poet.

``I think Roberto is very satisfied and happy with what's happening. After all these years, we're winning the battle.''

12/31/2002 12:29 pm ET
Remembering Roberto Clemente
By Jonathan Mayo / MLB.com

Roberto Clemente collected 3,000 hits and played on two World Series-winning Pirates teams. (AP)

There are some moments in history that are frozen in time, the kind of tragedies that force everyone to remember exactly where they were when they heard the news.

For many people -- and not just baseball fans -- particularly for the people of Pittsburgh and Puerto Rico, December 31, 1972 is one of those moments. Ask them what they were doing when they found out that Roberto Clemente had been killed in a plane crash on New Year's Eve, 1972, and even now, 30 years later, they'll undoubtedly be able to recall that information with chilling detail.

Clemente left such an indellible mark on the world not just because of his exploits on the field, but because of his tireless efforts to make a difference off of it. Yes, he had a Hall of Fame career, finishing with 3,000 hits, a .317 career batting average and a dozen Gold Gloves. But that was almost secondary to a very simple, yet powerful credo:

"Anytime you have an opportunity to make things better and you don't, then you are wasting your time on this Earth."

Roberto Clemente lived by those words, and ultimately, he died by them. He boarded a plane 30 years ago with the intent to help the victims of a terrible earthquake in Nicaragua. The plane was overloaded with food, medical supplies and clothes and Clemente was determined to get them into the hands of the quarter-million people who were left homeless by the quake. The plane disappeared into the Atlantic off the coast of Puerto Rico and Clemente's body was never found.

"Roberto Clemente played the game of baseball with great passion," said Pirate teammate Manny Sanguillen, who was so distraught at the news that he had to be dragged away from the shores after diving relentlessly to find Clemente. "That passion could only be matched by his unrelenting commitment to make a difference in the lives of the less fortunate and those in need.

"People saw Roberto as a great ballplayer and humanitarian. He was also a great father, husband, teammate and friend."

Now, on the 30th anniversary of his death, that is how Clemente is remembered. His strenghts as a hitter and right fielder notwithstanding, it was his power as a human being that is his lasting legacy.

"My father's life and death has had such profound affect on so many people", said Luis Roberto Clemente, one of Roberto's sons. "Our family has been the recipient of so much love and affection from people who knew him and/or have been just touched by his spirit."

It's not uncommon for a former great player to have Little Leagues named after him, or even a street in his hometown or the city in which he played. Clemente has a slew of those: 16 streets, leagues, parks and recreation centers throughout the United States and Puerto Rico. But there are also 10 schools that bear Clemente's name, an honor usually bestowed upon a fallen head of state or military hero.

There's also the Roberto Clemente Award, an annual recognition of a player "who best exemplifies the game of baseball, sportsmanship, community involvement and the individual's contribution to his team." Originally the Commissioner's Award, it was renamed to honor Clemente after his death.

But even this does not do justice to the Clemente legacy because it doesn't fully encompass the pioneering role he took on the field. While today's game is dominated by Latino greats, Clemente often stood alone on that pedestal. He brought a different flair to the game, one that at the time was often wrongly portrayed as "hot-dogging."

"He really stood out, because there weren't a lot of Latino players," said journalist Marcus Breton, who co-authored the book "Away Games: The Life and Times of a Latin Baseball Player" about Miguel Tejada and has a new work, "Home is Everything: The Latino Baseball Story: From the Barrio to the Major Leagues," set to be published this spring. "The game was much more mechanical back then. He kind of put that style on the map and made it what it was. He foreshadowed what the game would become, which is one dominated by Latino players.

"He really championed the cause of Latino players back in the '60s and '70s and challenged stereotypes of Latino people, not just players, but in larger life."

He foreshadowed today's game only to a point, says Breton. While today's players may owe a debt of gratitude to Clemente for paving the way on the field, they haven't always followed his example off of it. Clemente wasn't a perfect human being, but was rare in having strong convictions and always following them.

"The thing with Clemente is, all these years later, he's become a myth," Breton said. "The myth is a lot less interesting than the real man. The real man had flaws and shortcomings, but also really cared about things and really stood for things. He had really admirable characteristics absent from today's athletes."

From the moment news spread about his death to the present -- and most likely into the future -- people will struggle to find the correct words to describe what Roberto Clemente has meant to the game and the world at large. Bowie Kuhn, then the Commissioner of baseball, offered these words to eulogize the great right fielder, hitter and human being in 1972. Now, 30 years later, they handle the herculean task of capturing Clemente as well as can be expected:

"He gave the term 'complete' a new meaning," Kuhn said. "He made the word 'superstar' seem inadequate. He had about him the touch of royalty."

"So very great was he as a player. So very great was he a leader. So very great was he a humanitarian in the cause of his fellow men. So very great was he an inspiration to the young and to all of us in baseball and throughout the world of sports. And so very great was his devotion to young people everywhere and particularly to the young people of his native island of Puerto Rico. Having said all those words, they are very inadequate to describe the real greatness of Roberto Walker Clemente."

Jonathan Mayo is a writer for MLB.com. This story was not subject to the approval of Major League Baseball or its clubs.

Link: Remembering Roberto Clemente

ROBERTO CLEMENTE
By Jim Molony / MLB.com

It was the last day of the 1972 season and Roberto Clemente was still trying to get that milestone 3,000th hit. The Pittsburgh Pirate great thought he had No. 3,000 a day earlier when he beat out a ground ball to the right side of the infield, but the official scorer ruled an error when New York Mets second baseman Ken Boswell bobbled the ball. Clemente never came close to getting a hit the rest of the day.

Now it was Sept. 30 and Clemente came to the plate in the fourth inning having gone hitless in one previous at-bat. A crowd of 13,119 had come to what was then known as Three Rivers Stadium to see if Clemente would become only the 11th player to amass 3,000 hits.

Met left-hander Jon Matlack, one of the toughest pitchers in the league, had matched Pittsburgh starter Dock Ellis with three shutout innings.

The wait was over. Clemente lashed a Matlack fastball to left-center field for a double, which ignited a three-run Pirate rally and gave the 12-time Gold Glove Award winner his milestone 3,000th hit.

Second base umpire Doug Harvey gave the ball to Clemente and Clemente gave it to first base coach Don Leppert.

"They stopped the game and retrieved the ball and the crowd gave him a long round of applause," said Jim Fregosi, an Atlanta scout who was playing shortstop for the Mets that day. "I gave him a pat on the back, so did [Boswell] and a few others who were nearby. He wasn't an emotional guy, but you could see it was an emotional moment for him."

Clemente was immediately removed from the game and no one could know that it would be the final regular-season hit of his life. Clemente had four hits in a five-game NLCS the Pirates lost to the Reds.

"I've thought about the day," Fregosi said. "That was his farewell. That was it for him. It was an important moment in baseball, everybody knew that at the time, I mean it's not every day a guy gets 3,000 hits and at the time there were only, what, 10 guys who had done it. But none of us really knew that because of what happened later how big a moment that was."

Clemente, who could be surly with reporters, was quite the opposite that day.

"I felt kind of bashful [about the long ovation by the fans]," he told reporters afterward, according to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. "I'm a very quiet, shy person, although you writers might not believe it because I shout sometimes.

"This is a very special hit for me. I will always remember this day and I want to thank the fans and the Pirates organization and the people who helped me in my career."

Three months later, Clemente was killed in a tragic plane crash on New Year's Eve while attempting to deliver relief supplies to earthquake-ravaged Nicaragua. The world mourned, and Clemente's native Puerto Rico was hit especially hard with news of its superstar's death.

Major League Baseball went against custom and by unanimous vote of the Board of Directors, waived the five-year waiting period for induction to the Hall of Fame. Clemente was overwhelmingly voted in, garnering 93 percent of the vote, and was inducted into the Cooperstown shrine on Aug. 5, 1973. He is the only player in history to have the honor of early induction, though Lou Gehrig was also voted into the Hall in a special election in 1939.

Clemente was the first Latin American player to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. Since then five others -- Al Lopez, Juan Marichal, Luis Aparicio, Rod Carew and Tony Perez -- have been enshrined at Cooperstown.

"He was a great player, a great hitter and the best arm you ever saw," said Houston Astros broadcaster Milo Hamilton, a former Pirates broadcaster. "He opened the door for a lot of Hispanic ballplayers. In those days there weren't many players from the Dominican [Republic] or Puerto Rico. Clemente's greatness helped change the way a lot of teams scouted those areas."

Only 38 years old when he died, Clemente left quite a legacy. He was a career .317 hitter with 240 home runs and 1,305 RBIs. A four-time batting champion, he scored 1,416 runs in 2,433 games.

"You have to remember that he played almost his entire career in old Forbes Field, which was a tough place to hit home runs," Hamilton said.

The left field fence at Forbes Field was 365 feet down the line; it was 457 feet to left center.

Clemente was a 12-time National League All-Star and hit .311 or better 13 times during his career, all with the Pirates. He was the 1966 National League Most Valuable Player after hitting .317 with 29 homers and 119 RBIs, the latter two numbers representing career highs. He was the MVP of the 1971 World Series and hit safely in all 14 World Series games he played. The Pirates won both World Series Clemente played in seven games (New York in 1960, Baltimore in '71).

Clemente was without peer defensively. He led NL outfielders in assists a record five years, a incredible feat considering that after roughly five years of his 18-year Major League career, Clemente's arm was rarely challenged.

"He was a great player," said Bill Virdon, a former teammate and current Pirate coach. "There wasn't anything he couldn't do on a baseball field."

Virdon was in his first year of managing the Pirates in '72 the day Clemente got his 3,000th hit.

"We knew he would get it, it was just a question of when," Virdon recalled. "He was such a great hitter you knew he'd get it, he wasn't going to let the season end [at 2,999]."

Virdon remembered that Clemente had hit a couple of balls hard the day before getting the milestone hit, and the near-misses had had everyone on their feet. Each close call had added to the drama and when Clemente came up in the fourth inning in the final game, everyone watched with anticipation.

"There wasn't a huge crowd that day, but it was loud and everybody was watching every time he came to the plate," Virdon said.

When the ball left Clemente's bat the crowd went crazy. Fans jumped up and down, yelling and screaming. On the radio, broadcaster Bob Prince was joining in the jubilation of the moment and Clemente's teammates were on their feet applauding. The scoreboard message board at Three Rivers flashed the number 3,000.

Clemente walked off the field as the crowd gave him a standing ovation. He waved to the fans before ducking into the Pirate dugout. Nagging injuries had limited him to a career-low 378 at bats that year, yet he still hit .312.

Once his season was over, Clemente began work on a sports complex for the youth of San Juan in his native Puerto Rico. When the earthquake in Managua two days before Christmas killed thousands and left many more homeless, Clemente dropped everything and began organizing a relief effort for the victims. In seven days he had arranged for planeloads of supplies to be sent to Nicaragua.

On New Year's Eve, Clemente and four others, including the pilot, boarded a DC-7 in San Juan. The plane crashed in the Atlantic Ocean shortly after takeoff. There were no survivors.

The world was in shock. Clemente was gone.

In memory of their great right fielder, the Pirates wore uniform patches with Clemente's No. 21 on them the following season. Clemente's number has since been retired.

"He gave his life trying to help other people," Hamilton said. "That shows you the kind of man he was."

Jim Molony is reporter for MLB.com. This story was not subject to the approval of Major League Baseball or its clubs.

Link: Memorable Moment 15: Roberto Clemente

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