On New Year’s Day fifty years ago, I heard the news – and wept.
The greatest right fielder I’ve ever seen had died the night before. It was on a characteristic mission of mercy, personally delivering a plane load of supplies to earthquake victims in Nicaragua. The plane carrying Roberto Clemente, four other people, and the much-needed food and medical supplies had crashed into the sea not long after takeoff in San Juan.
In one awful moment, wife Vera was widowed with three young sons, the relief was scuttled, the Pirates lost a franchise icon, and the groundbreaking Latin American superstar shockingly was gone.
The Greatest Right Fielder?
Calling anyone the greatest anything in sports is asking for an argument, but twelve consecutive gold gloves makes the statement above no mere hyperbole. Simply put, baseball’s best right fielders have known comparisons to Clemente were inevitable ever since he set the standard. Indeed, other than Willie Mays in center, Roberto was the best outfielder I’ve seen.
His range and glove were remarkable, but his throwing arm – what an arm! – made him incomparable. Woe to anyone looking to advance from first to third on a single to right. Baserunners thinking they had it made were greeted by a third baseman with a smile on his face and a baseball in his glove. Fans who got to see the speed and trajectory of the ball’s path getting to third could scarcely believe their eyes. Seeing such a laser-beam strike thrown that far, that fast, and that accurately was one of sports’ real thrills.
Oh, and batters who managed to hit a shot to the corner that Clemente couldn’t catch needed to settle for a double, if that – and hustle to second base. Triples to right were rare against the Pirates.
That Wasn’t All
Roberto Clemente was special when the Pirates were up, too. Hitting, hitting for power, and taking extra bases he made impossible for opponents: he was a complete package.
Baseball lends itself to statistics like few other sports. Clemente’s are readily available. Let’s just mention a few with some other fun facts. With a lifetime batting average of .317, it’s hardly surprising that he hit over .300 thirteen times and won four batting titles. With his last at bat, on September 30, 1972, Clemente hit a double and became the eleventh player ever to reach 3000 hits.
He hit to all fields and not just singles; his extra base hits included 440 doubles, 166 triples and 240 home runs. Pitchers not wanting him to be the one to beat them with a timely hit had to be very careful; Clemente was one of the best bad-ball hitters ever.
He is the only player to hit a walk-off, inside-the-park, grand slam.
At 38 when he died, Clemente was presumably no longer in his prime. His last four batting averages, though, were .345, .352, .341, and .312. He had led the Pirates to a World Series title as MVP in 1971. While injuries were hindering him more regularly, it is reasonable to assume he have had another good year or two in him.
The mind boggles at what he might have accomplished after playing. While developing into one of the greatest ball players ever, Roberto was also a tireless humanitarian.
Beyond The Stats
Clemente seemingly did everything with a rare combination of grace, passion and elegance. That wasn’t limited to the field of play. His heavily-accented English led to considerable derision, especially in the early years, and his insistence on speaking up for himself and other Latin American players had him labeled as moody and worse by some. I can picture one baseball card I had of him, wondering even as a kid “What is this? Bob Clemente?!”
Yet, his impact ended up being similar to that of Jackie Robinson for African American players in the Major Leagues.
The Major League award given annually to the player who “best represents the game of Baseball through extraordinary character, community involvement, philanthropy and positive contributions, both on and off the field” is the Roberto Clemente Award. Recipients consider it the achievement of a lifetime. Those who knew its namesake tell of extraordinary acts of kindness and charity done on the condition of no publicity.
The fatally overloaded plane was the fourth Clemente had sent to Nicaragua after the quake killed and injured thousands and left hundreds of thousands homeless. It was the first of the planes he boarded. Apparently, he wanted to ensure personally that supplies got to the victims rather than being taken by corrupt officials.
A grief-stricken sport waived its rule that a player not be eligible for the Hall of Fame until five years passed after he’d last played. (The only other time was for Lou Gehrig.) Clemente was enshrined in 1973. One of his three sons, Roberto, Jr., has told of how often people have approached him over the years to say what his father meant to them. Thus he finds himself consoling strangers over the death of the dad he lost when he was seven years old.
Fifty Years Later
As a people, we sometimes choose our heroes poorly. Here, on the other hand, is one for the ages. In his own way, he taught that it really is okay to seek and attain rare excellence and to do real good – the right way and for the best reasons. On the day he got that 3000th hit, Clemente told a writer “I never was a big shot and I never will be a big shot.”
Perhaps, but if we’re smart, he’ll serve as an iconic role model well beyond his beloved Puerto Rico.
Ken Bossong
© 2023 Kenneth J. Bossong