Rodríguez Mayoral: Clemente and other spring training stories

“The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again…”— A. Bartlett Giamatti, former MLB Commissioner

Every year, when the World Series ends, millions of baseball fans enter a lull in their lives that lasts until mid-February, when pitchers and catchers report to their spring training camps in Arizona and Florida.

It is then that these weary fans finally see a light at the end of the tunnel, an annual revival that comes at a fitting time. Or as the late, great Major League Baseball Commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti once wrote, “The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again…”

Experiencing spring training as a member of the media for many years, whether it was for radio, TV or print, has provided a particular vantage point from which to witness the annual return of baseball. My vault of spring training memories is open once more, and I would like to share several of them with you.

While a member of four MLB organizations — Pittsburgh, Chicago White Sox, Texas and Detroit, working in different capacities, from broadcaster to Hispanic liaison to scout — I cherished the opportunity to serve as a cultural bridge between teams, players, fans and the media.

During those springs, I saw the need for MLB to implement mandatory social and cultural training to assist Latino players with their transition into mainstream America, as well as training team employees to help players in this process. I feel that need is still apparent today.

I was also privileged to witness the career arc of many players — from the young prospect angling for a chance to the superstar seeing his professional days come to an end.

Spring brings hope and renewal, closure and reflection.

The Sad Spring of ’73

In 1973, I spent a few days in Bradenton, Fla., the Pittsburgh Pirates’ spring training site.

The main purpose of my visit was to coordinate the Puerto Rican portion of Opening Day ceremonies planned for Friday, April 6, at Three Rivers Stadium. The Pirates and the city of Pittsburgh wanted to hold a special memorial ceremony to retire Roberto Clemente’s No. 21. Clemente had perished tragically the previous December while on a mission of mercy to earthquake victims in Nicaragua.

I met with Pirates general manager Joe L. Brown and Bill Guilfoile, the director of public relations. During my walks through the facility, I spoke to many of the players, including Willie Stargell, Al Oliver, Dock Ellis, Bruce Kison, the Panamanian second baseman Rennie Stennett and the Cuban shortstop Jackie Hernández.

While the routine at camp was normal, the overall ambiance had a pronounced sense of sadness; Roberto was no longer there. The players were all emotionally affected, but the one I sensed was most profoundly sad was his best friend, Manny Sanguillén, the All-Star catcher from Panama with whom Roberto loved to joke. He cherished Manny like a brother.

I’ll never forget how the usually composed manager of the Pirates, Bill Virdon — the only person to play with, coach and manage Clemente, someone who had spent not just hours but years patrolling the outfield with him — had a distinct look of sadness etched on his face.

Several weeks later, on Opening Day, the Pirates beat the St. Louis Cardinals, 7-5. The final play could well have been scripted in heaven. Sanguillén had two hits in four at-bats. In an added touch, he started not at catcher, but in right field, where his friend was king for 18 years.

And wouldn’t you know, the game ended with St. Louis star Lou Brock hitting a high fly ball — caught by Sanguillén in right field!

The 51,695 fans at the stadium shared these powerful moments with Clemente’s compatriots back in Puerto Rico, as the game was broadcast by WAPA Radio 680-AM with the legendary Buck Canel, Terry García and me sharing the mic. That night at the hotel, I felt Roberto’s legacy in baseball had been indelibly preserved. That feeling immediately gave me joy in what was otherwise a sad day.

boston massacre

In 1974, I visited Boston’s spring training camp in Winter Haven, Fla., from March 22 to 25. While there, I mingled with and interviewed Bob Veale, Luis Tiant, Chuck Goggin, Juan Beníquez, Roger Moret, Juan Marichal, Luis Aparicio, Orlando Cepeda and Dom DiMaggio, the younger brother of Joltin’ Joe who served as a special outfield instructor. To say the least, it was a satisfying visit with the Red Sox.

I arrived back home in Puerto Rico late on March 26. The following morning, I was shocked to learn that two players with Hall of Fame potential, shortstop Aparicio and designated hitter Cepeda, had been released by the team.

I was young then, and for the first time in my life I abruptly understood that players become expendable. That day had come for both. Cepeda hung around the game, played a few weeks in Mexico, and then saw action in 33 games for Kansas City, playing his last major league game on Sept. 19, two days after turning 37.

On the other hand, the 39-year-old Aparicio quietly returned home to Venezuela, after thanking the Yankees for inviting him to play for New York. Luckily, my journey in the game allowed me to visit with him at his home in Maracaibo, Venezuela years later.

At my age, I still have trouble accepting that players get old, get lost to history and, above all, turn out to be as human as you and me. As far as I know, this could have been the first time that two potential future Hall of Famers were released by one club on the same day.

The Red Sox releasing Aparicio and Cepeda, while opening the door for younger talent, is still remembered by many fans in Latin America as the “Boston Massacre.”

In the end, I was able to share an important moment with the two, witnessing their enshrinements in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown — Aparicio in 1984 and Cepeda in 1999.

José feliciano’s ‘Star-Spangled banner’

Another benefit of the annual return of baseball is how we get to renew our acquaintances with players and other media members. Since the 1970s, I had visited face-to-face many times, across different ballparks, with legendary play-by-play announcer Ernie Harwell. However, thanks to our mutual friend Sam Bender, it was not until I conducted the 1984 Latin American Baseball Players’ Day in Detroit that our friendship flourished.

Born in Washington, Georgia on Jan. 15, 1918, Ernie worked the mic from 1943 to 2002 for the Atlanta Crackers, Brooklyn Dodgers, New York Giants, Baltimore Orioles, California Angels and Detroit Tigers, spending the bulk of his career — 42 years — with the Tigers. It is believed that he called some 8,300 games. He was the recipient of the Ford C. Frick Award — the sport’s highest broadcasting honor — by the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1981.

During the spring of 2000, while I was working with the Tigers in Florida, Ernie invited me to accompany him on a trip from Lakeland to Vero Beach for a Tigers’ exhibition game against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Accompanied by his driver, Ernie and I happily chatted throughout the 212-mile round-trip.

Among other things, I brought up the name of a blind singer from Puerto Rico, José Feliciano. With a grin and surprised look, Ernie recalled in a gentle voice …

“I love music, I write songs, and I appreciated José’s skills with his guitar and loved his version of ‘Light My Fire,’ a great hit by The Doors,” Ernie said. “The Tigers asked me to select the national anthem singers at Tiger Stadium for the 1968 World Series, and I had heard that José sang a unique version of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ so I proceeded accordingly and invited him to sing it prior to Game 5.

“We flew him in from Las Vegas, he mingled with our players in the clubhouse, and proceeded to do a 105-second anthem with a beautiful soulful rendition, wearing sunglasses, with his guide dog, Trudy, close by.

“Then came the immediate uproar. People felt insulted by his interpretation and the national media could have killed him with their opinions. However, José, even though surprised, took it all in stride.

“Now, some 32 years later, the great majority of singers have their own personalized versions of our anthem. José, the artist, simply broke the mold in 1968.”

After a few minutes of silence, Ernie stated, “You know, to this day José and his wife Susan remain close friends of my family.”

Ernie died of cancer on May 4, 2010, at age 92. One of his wishes became a reality the following week at Comerica Park, as the Detroit Tigers paid tribute to him. His dear friend, José Feliciano, sang the national anthem!

In my mind, I imagine a smiling Ernie saying, “José did his thing again, and he did it his way.”

When I think of Ernie Harwell, I do so feeling how easy it was to appreciate the righteousness embodied in him. To me, Ernie was a crusader of goodwill, dedication and professionalism. With those qualities, he contributed immensely to making the game of baseball a grand jewel in the greatness of America. One of the reasons why every year I look forward to spring.

Featured Image: Transcendental Graphics / Getty Images Sport

Inset Images: Luis Rodríguez Mayoral