In the final days of the 1969 season,
I agonized every day over the batting race between my boyhood idol, Pete
Rose, and the great Roberto
Clemente. Each day that it seemed that Rose would win the crown,
Clemente matched him. Rose hung on to win and I was jubilant, but I never
forgot Clemente. With Rose out of the race in 1970, I rooted for him
against Rico
Carty; and I cheered his every play during the 1971 World Series when
his Pirates defeated the unbeatable Orioles and he captured the Series
MVP. I was young; I didn’t realize that these amazing performances
came at the end of a great career.
His greatness inspired imitation—my friend and I pitched bottle caps
to each other and tried to hit them with a broomstick because we had heard
that Clemente learned to hit that way. The broomstick and bottle cap story
found its way into David Maraniss’ marvelous biography, Clemente:
The Passion and Grace of Baseball’s Last Hero. Relying on hundreds
of marvelous details like that one, his book unites memories with fresh
material into a wonderful narrative that is also outstanding history.
Unlike many biographers, Maraniss scrutinizes his subject's history and
dispels myths through critical analysis. For example, he relates the
commonly accepted story that Branch
Rickey—General Manager of the Pirates when Pittsburgh claimed
Clemente from the Dodgers in the Rule 5 Draft—immediately recognized
Clemente's potential and told him that he would be a star. Maraniss
presents Rickey's own notes on Clemente, which clearly declared Rickey's
reservations about Clemente's base running ability and his excessive
cautiousness in the outfield. Although impressed with Clemente’s
potential as a batter, those notes indicate that Rickey thought that
Clemente was years away from being able to help a Major League club. In a
beautiful piece of investigative history, Maraniss points out that Rickey
missed the fact that Clemente's tenuousness may have been the result of a
recent car accident in which he hurt his neck and back.
This attention to detail allows Maraniss to tell with great ease the
story of Clemente’s early baseball days. He weaves anecdotes about Latin
baseball, life in Montreal, the Dodgers hiding Clemente on the bench, and
shifting racial tensions seamlessly into a neat narrative.1
He even retells the story of the 1960 World Series—which most baseball
fans know by heart—with enough freshness to make it interesting in its
own right, while revealing much about Clemente’s athletic prowess and
unique psychology.
Clemente
That Roberto Clemente
is a revered figure in American history is
evident by the fact that he is one of the
few non-presidents to appear on multiple
USPS stamps.
Only rare biographies present psychological insight without
degenerating into speculation. Maraniss succeeds by using Clemente’s
intensity as a motif to depict his deep sense of justice, his aloof
preparation, his persistence in courting his wife, his longing to be
valued, his occasional and unexplained quick temper, and virtually every
other aspect of his character and personality. The descriptions work
because Maraniss is not trying to show that Clemente was intense,
passionate, and graceful; they work because he lets the stories of
Clemente’s life demonstrate his intensity, passion, and grace.
Clemente gained his grace with years. One fulfilling aspect of Maraniss’
biography is that he allows the reader to see Clemente mature, growing
from a hot-headed, brooding youngster to a wise, complex, and motivated
leader. Again, Maraniss never tries to make that point—he is
consistently unobtrusive—but he effectively conveys the process that
made Clemente into a captivating, simple, yet heroic person. He never
devotes a chapter to Clemente’s growth—it is simply part of the
narrative that makes you want to see who Clemente will become next. Even
simple stories about his approach to hitting grow from details of raw
talent to iconic fables of wisdom and obsessive patience.
Notes:
1. Recent scholarship by Stew Thornley (The National Pastime,
Number 26, "Clemente's Entry into Organized Baseball" pp. 61-71)
indicates that the Dodgers did not try to hide Clemente on the bench. The
story appears to have originated with Clemente's own feelings about not
playing; he concluded that he was not playing because Dodger management
wanted to avoid losing him in the draft. Clemente's statements then became
a part of standard history which have only recently been refuted.
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