Was Ted Williams Latino? The case against

In this second part of a two-piece conversation we consider whether or not we consider Ted Williams a Latino member of Red Sox history. Read the first half of the conversation here. 

Ted Williams was many things.

“The Splendid Splinter” was a decorated fighter pilot who flew missions in World War II and Korean War and possessed perhaps the sweetest lefty swing in Major League Baseball history.

Williams can also be celebrated as the man who changed the National Baseball Hall of Fame through what he said during his Induction Speech in 1966, opening the door for Negro League stars to join major leaguers in Cooperstown.

But was Williams baseball’s first Latino superstar?

Debating Latino Identity

Latino identity can be a tricky thing.

Does it come from your DNA? Is it how you look? Whether one speaks Spanish or not?

Cultural practices has a lot to do with Latino identity.

For U.S. Latinos this means more than just their ability to speak Spanish.

It is also about a collection of cultural practices, from how we think about family, the way we prepare our foods, how and what language(s) we speak, and the sports we follow.

Certainly there is more than one way to define as Latino.

Debating Latino identity is nothing new because identity matters. It is part of who we are, how we acknowledge and even honor our ancestors and our past.

Perhaps this is part of the reason why students, colleagues, and people across the country have engaged in debates about how to define Latinos.

As a university professor since 2001, talking about Latinos is part of my job.  Many of the courses I teach focus on the history and experience of Latinos in the United States.

From classrooms to coffee shops and even at parties, I have been involved in plenty of lengthy discussions, sometimes heated, about who is Latino.

A topic that often incites the most passionate debate is whether to claim (or impose) a Latino identity on those who did not embrace it while they lived.

Can we rewrite history by claiming someone who, for whatever reasons, chose not to openly acknowledge or celebrate their Mexican, Cuban, Dominican, or what Latino background they had?

History Matters

The passion for baseball that my Puerto Rican abuelas and other Latinos I knew growing up prompted me to explore the history of Latinos and baseball.

What the game means to us as Latinos and what we have meant to baseball has been the focus of my research for the past 25 years.

The Latino story in baseball speaks to the complexity of identity and race. Indeed, during the era of Major League Baseball’s color line (1889 to 1947) the majority of Latinos were excluded from MLB and instead starred in the Negro Leagues.

Which is where the influence of Williams comes into our conversation.

Williams spoke directly to the power of the color line in baseball history during his induction speech in 1966.

The setting was the steps of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, N.Y. Williams’ closing words stunned the baseball establishment.

“I’ve been a very lucky guy to have worn a baseball uniform, and I hope some day the names of Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson in some way can be added as a symbol of the great Negro players who are not here only because they weren’t given a chance,” Williams said.

Just as he had done in deciding to warm up with African American teammate Elijah “Pumpsie” Green when their Red Sox teammates refused to do so with Boston’s integration pioneer, Williams demonstrated a certain kind of valor through his call for the Hall to recognize the greats of the Negro Leagues.

Honoring History

Williams’ call to honor Negro League greats signaled his appreciation for rightfully honoring history. However, the label “Latino” doesn’t fit the man who starred in Boston from 1939 to 1960.

On the subject of his own Mexican identity, Williams remained silent until his 1976 autobiography, My Turn at Bat.

“If I had my mother’s name [Venzor], there is no doubt that I would have run into problems in those days, the prejudices people had in Southern California,” Williams declared.

This influenced Williams to not to identify as Mexican in California, a practice he continued when he arrived in Boston.

Some supporters of labeling Williams a Latino cite Boston’s history with racial integration as a factor. Boston would not have been welcoming of a Mexican player, they contend. However there already had been a Mexican player in Boston just before Ted Williams’ 1939 debut.

Mel Almada, born in Huatabampo, Mexico, and raised partly in Los Angeles, Calif., was an outfielder with the Red Sox from 1933 to 1937.

Almada’s Mexican ancestry was openly acknowledged in Boston. It was also very much celebrated among Mexican baseball fans throughout the United States and Mexico.

There were the other Latinos who played in MLB during the 1930s, 40s, and 50s.

Cubans like Roberto Estalella, Venezuelans like Alejandro Carrasquel, Puerto Ricans like Hiram Bithorn or Mexicans like Jesse Flores suffered from racial slurs from fans and opponent, had pitches thrown at them or players sliding into them with sharpened spikes high, and dealt with white teammates and opposing team players not welcoming them.

Imagine their surprise that some people are now wanting to claim that Williams was one of them, a Latino, when he did not claim that identity with them while they were contemporaries in the Major Leagues.

Williams was many things worth celebrating: a stellar player, a war hero, a man of his convictions and words.

Let’s celebrate Ted Williams for what he did, not what he hid.

Featured Image: Hulton Archive