Fifty years after his death, Clemente remembered as pathbreaking athlete and ‘The Great One’
On Saturday, Dec. 23, 1972, what was arguably the most triumphant moment in Pittsburgh sports history unfolded late in the afternoon, when Franco Harris caught the Immaculate Reception and launched the Steelers into its era of NFL dominance.
About 12 hours before and 3,000 miles from Pittsburgh, the events that would lead to its greatest tragedy were being set into motion.
In the middle of the night, residents of Managua, Nicaragua, were shaken from their sleep by a powerful earthquake that registered 6.3 on the Richter Scale. It killed up to 11,000 people, injured 20,000 more and left 300,000 people homeless.
Efforts to aid the devastated Central American country were immediately launched. At his home in San Juan, Puerto Rico, Roberto Clemente was trying to gather any pieces of information he could on the earthquake, listening in to talk on his ham radio. As Christmas celebrations got underway, the Pittsburgh Pirates’ superstar right fielder, who slugged exactly 3,000 hits in his professional career, jumped into relief efforts. When he heard that some of the food, medicine and clothing that was being so diligently gathered was actually ending up in the hands of unscrupulous profiteers associated with the regime of Anastasio Somoza, Nicaragua’s corrupt dictator, Clemente decided he wanted to ensure that the aid went to those who needed it most urgently by traveling to Nicaragua himself onboard one of the planes making a delivery.
So, on Sunday, Dec. 31, 1972, as the clock was running out on the year, Clemente started his journey to Managua. He got on an older plane, one that had a documented series of problems, and was weighted down with supplies. Not long after it took off from San Juan International Airport, it crashed into the sea, killing Clemente and the four other passengers. Clemente’s body was never recovered.
As 1972 gave way to 1973, word spread throughout Pittsburgh that Clemente had died. In those pre-internet days, the offices of the Pittsburgh Baseball Club, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and The Pittsburgh Press were inundated with phone calls from shocked Pirates fans, wondering if the horrible news was actually true. During New Year’s Day services at some churches, some congregations first heard the news from the pulpit.
Leonard C. Staisey, an Allegheny County commissioner, said, “All of a sudden, the new year seems kind of hollow. Greetings just don’t seem quite right. Bob Clemente was not only a superstar for the Pirates, he was a super guy among people generally.”
West Mifflin native John Schnitzer, who saw Clemente play at both Forbes Field and Three Rivers Stadium, was shocked when he heard the news.
“I was driving home early in the morning,” he said. “I had to pull off the road and I cried.”
In the half-century since Clemente’s unexpected death, he has attained a kind of immortality. Considered one of the greatest players to ever swing a bat, he was inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum shortly after his death, and in the years since he has been on a U.S. postage stamp, was given a Congressional Gold Medal and the Presidential Medal of Freedom. The Pirates retired his number – 21 – and there have been calls for the number to be retired across Major League Baseball.
Clemente is remembered today not only for his extraordinary skills on the baseball field, but also for being a pioneer for Latino athletes. When Clemente was recruited at age 20 join the Pirates after a brief stint with the Montreal Royals, there were relatively few Latino athletes participating in American sports. And those who did find a place frequently found themselves being subject to hostility and discrimination. Sports writers would quote Clemente in broken English, a practice that infuriated him. In 1964, the owner of the San Francisco Giants prohibited Spanish from being spoken in the team locker room.
But by 1971, Clemente was the centerpiece of a Pirates squad that consisted entirely of Black and Latino players. Members of that lineup went on to win the World Series that year against the heavily favored Baltimore Orioles. Today, Latino athletes make up almost 32% of all the players in Major League Baseball. David Maraniss, who wrote the 2006 biography, “Clemente: The Passion and Grace of Baseball’s Last Hero,” puts Clemente in the same realm as Jackie Robinson, the first Black player in the Major Leagues.
“Roberto Clemente is the Jackie Robinson of Latino ball players,” Maraniss said.
And if some Pittsburghers were wary of Clemente decades ago, he is now embraced locally. The bridge across the Allegheny River that connects downtown Pittsburgh to PNC Park is named for Clemente, a statue of him stands outside the ball park, and a museum dedicated to him that contains memorabilia and relics has operated in Lawrenceville since 2007.
Duane Rieder, the proprietor of the Clemente Museum and a professional photographer, explained that about 10,000 visitors stop every year at the by-appointment-only site, which has the blessing of the Clemente family. Among its highlights are a bat that Clemente held on the day he made the 3,000th hit, cleats, baseball cards and plenty more. Many of the visitors who stop by offer fond recollections of seeing Clemente in action, or remember a one-on-one interaction they had with him.
Rieder believes that part of the reason the Clemente mystique remains so powerful is “he died trying to help people.”
“People all around the world admire the man,” he added. “He spent so much time giving back. The guy was just constantly doing things to give back and help kids. He packed a lot in those 38 years and left a mark.”
Houston’s Cindy Stefl was fortunate enough to see Clemente play in his final season, as he was marching toward his 3,000th hit. She saw the Pirates play against National League rivals, the Philadelphia Phillies, at Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia, and she said, “Every time he hit the ball, everyone in the stadium, including the Phillies fans, would jump out of their seats, hoping that was it. Of course, it didn’t happen there, but it was great being part of the excitement.”
Fifty years after his death, the “hero” designation still fits Clemente, Maraniss believes.
“I’m always uncomfortable using the word hero with sports figures, since they are called heroes but none of them really are,” he said. “But Clemente can legitimately claim it. He was heroic beyond the baseball field.”