Jerome Austin Browne was born in Christiansted on February 13, 1966. He was the fourth of five children (three boys and two girls) born to Rudolph and Iris Browne.

Growing up, young Jerry played Little League, Babe Ruth League, and American Legion ball. “Baseball was pretty much the pastime, besides basketball — and my thing was baseball. That’s all I did, really. I got started playing through my uncle, who ran a Little League team, and then I got introduced to Horace Clarke and Elmo Plaskett [two other major-leaguers from St. Croix who became government-paid baseball instructors when their playing days were over]. They taught us a lot of the fundamentals.

“Elmo and Horace were the ones that got us to a lot of trips to Puerto Rico — and that opened up a lot of opportunity to us to play winter ball, get a little recognition, let people know what kind of players the Virgin Islands had.” In March 1983, a few months before he graduated from Central High School, the Rangers signed Browne as an undrafted free agent thanks to scout Orlando Gómez. Gómez, a longtime catcher and manager in Puerto Rico, had played with Clarke, Joe Christopher (also from St. Croix), and José Morales, among others.

“We had a little tournament in Puerto Rico. They actually came over to St. Croix first, and Orlando came over with them. The following week, we ended up going back over there, and luckily I had a pretty good series. I caught his eye, and he came back, and we sat down and talked. He told me who he was and what was going on, and I’m like ‘Whoa!’ That was kind of surprising. There were a few scouts coming in and out of the Virgin Islands, but not very many.”

Browne showed off his good speed at four minor-league stops: Sarasota (Rookie League, 1983); Burlington (Midwest League, 1984); Salem (Carolina League, 1985), and Tulsa (Texas League, 1986). With the Drillers in ’86, he hit .303 with 39 stolen bases. Then — even though he was so quiet his teammates thought he spoke no English [1] — he made a splash when the Rangers brought him up that September. Browne appeared only in the field in his debut on September 6 and then pinch-ran twice. His first hit came in his second at-bat, against Minnesota’s Dwayne Henry on September 13. But in three straight starts from September 30 to October 2, he went 8-for-17. He finished 10-for-24 (.417).

In the winter of 1986-87, Browne became the fourth Virgin Islander to win Rookie of the Year in the Puerto Rican Winter League, batting .316 and scoring a league-leading 36 runs for the Santurce Cangrejeros. Luis Rodríguez Mayoral, the ubiquitous and tireless baseball booster who became Latin American liaison for the Rangers, secured an exemption for Browne to play as a “native” of Puerto Rico, not as an import. Mayoral got support from Juan Luis, then governor of the Virgin Islands. Elmo Plaskett and another well-connected vet from St. Croix, Valmy Thomas, also used their influence.

Yet despite this auspicious season, Browne did not return to winter ball for many years to come. He noted, “I ended up just staying here in Texas,” where he took up residence after joining the Rangers first. “I started to do a lot of stuff with my off-season program up here, instead of going back and forth. It wasn’t so much that the Rangers didn’t want me to play. It really wasn’t no need for me to go down and play any more, wearing myself out.”

Browne was also the Rangers’ top rookie in 1987 after winning the regular second base job. Toby Harrah was not re-signed and wound up managing in Triple-A. That spring, Jeff Kunkel separated his shoulder, management decided that shifting Steve Buechele from third was not the answer, and Curtis Wilkerson remained a reserve. Manager Bobby Valentine was dubious at first that the young Crucian was ready. But as camp ended, he said, “Jerry began to put more effort out. He relaxed more and got his rhythm together on the double play. There’s definite growth opportunity the way we’ve gone. I tested him, and he passed the test.” After a slow start, The Guv’nor himself noted, “I just had to be more patient. I was swinging at bad pitches. That’s not me.” [2]

In his first full season, Browne played 132 games, missing a couple of stretches with hamstring problems. He hit .271 and stole 27 bases (though he got caught 17 times). He had just one homer — an inside-the-parker, his first in the majors, off Bud Black on August 19 — and 38 RBIs.

One story holds that it was Texas third-base coach Dave Oliver, a Californian, who nicknamed Browne that year after the Golden State’s quirky former governor. [3] But the label appears in news stories before then; it may date as far back as rookie league. Browne confirmed that Oliver coined it, but whenever it was it was, the Caribbean observed, “The funny part about it is that I wasn’t sure who he was talking about.”

The next year Browne started nicely but slid below the [Mario] Mendoza Line (a .200 batting average). He was sent back to the minors on June 9, spending his first stretch in AAA (.252-5-34 in 76 games with the Oklahoma City ’89ers). Two higher-profile demotions came around the same time: #1 draft picks Oddibe McDowell and Bobby Witt. Returning to the Rangers in September, Jerry finished the year at .229-1-17 in 73 games. Initially he didn’t want to speak to the media, but then he opened up. “It’s the same swing, but I’m hitting the ball more on a line than I was at the beginning of the season.”

Said Rangers general manager Tom Grieve, “Jerry is doing what he has to do to get back in the picture,” which fit with his remarks in June. But that December, Browne was sent to the Cleveland Indians along with Pete O’Brien and McDowell in the four-player swap that brought future batting champ Julio Franco to Texas. In a story filed by Fort Worth Star-Telegram writer T.R. Sullivan, Grieve observed, “I realize Jerry Browne has the potential to become a Johnny Ray or Willie Randolph — a young second baseman who is traded before he establishes himself in the big leagues. But I know right now Julio Franco is an outstanding second baseman, and (Browne) can not fit in our plans if Julio Franco is our second baseman.”

Sullivan added that Browne took it well, saying, “I want to be an everyday second baseman, and if that’s the kind of chance I’m getting then I’m going to have no regrets. There’s no room for me to be bitter about the Rangers. They gave me a shot at second one year and I did all right. They gave me another shot and I stunk. They said they had to make some trades, and I guess I just made myself one of them.”

Browne did get to handle nearly all the keystone duties for Cleveland in 1989. He hit a career-high .299 — including .314 as the leadoff man after the Indians gave up on McDowell — to go with 5 homers and 45 RBIs. He was called “the saving grace” of the Franco trade, and the Cleveland baseball writers voted him Indians’ Man of the Year. Jerry was the regular again in 1990 (.267-6-50). However, he had an off year in ’91 (.228-1-29), and emerging star Carlos Baerga moved over from third base. Cleveland released Browne late the next spring training. Manager Mike Hargrove said, “That might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” [4]

The Guv’nor joined the Oakland A’s, who initially assigned him to Triple-A Tacoma but called him up after the first few weeks of the season. In the East Bay, Jerry adapted fully to the utility role he had begun to inhabit the previous season. Tony La Russa played him at seven positions, mainly third and the outfield, and he posted .287-3-40 numbers. He also went 4-for-10 in the ALCS against the Blue Jays — all the hits came in Game 5, as he singled four times in as many at-bats. “‘Jerry Browne is outstanding,’ said winning pitcher Dave Stewart. ‘He’s more than a fill-in.'” [5] A broken hand restricted him in 1993, though (.250-2-19). So the A’s decided not to offer Browne arbitration, making him a free agent.

Browne signed with Florida, an attractive option because of playing time, weather, and hailing distance from St. Croix. He joined fellow Crucian José Morales, who was then the Marlins batting coach — “I had a blast when Shady was there.” Manager René Lachemann said, “It’s fun to hear them talk… you can’t understand a word they’re saying.” [6]

Dave Magadan‘s broken leg left Browne a semi-regular at third base in strike-shortened ’94, and he had a nice year (.295-3-30). But the Marlins signed Terry Pendleton as the ’95 season began, and so Browne went back to the bench. His showing was fair (.255-1-17), but Florida chose not to resign their utilityman. Browne went to camp with the Mets in 1996 and appeared to have won a job, but when Dallas Green decided to carry 11 pitchers, the veteran was optioned to Norfolk. He refused the assignment, irritating his old manager Bobby Valentine, who was then running the Tides. The reason: his pregnant wife and family were more important than returning to the minor leagues.

When asked in 1999 if he would react differently if he had to do it all over again, Browne responded,: “I doubt it. I don’t regret nothing I did. I went into camp as an invitee, knowing that I had to have a real good spring to make the club, and I knew to myself that I did. I was the odd man out, and I sat down with the Mets and asked, ‘Now if I go to Norfolk, what’s the chances of getting called up?’ And they said, ‘We can’t guarantee anything.’ So I made the decision that I was going to come home and hang out with the family, and I don’t regret it one bit.”

But following his layoff, Browne felt the desire to play ball again, and the Rangers invited him to their minor-league camp in 1997. “I said I’ma bite the bullet, no fuss at all about it, not even complainin’ about nothin’. I did everything they asked me to do. The only thing I asked them was, if you guys know that I’m not going to make your team, release me in enough time so I can try to catch on with somebody else before spring training’s over. They said ‘Well, no, you’re a veteran player, we can see you helping our organization.’

“Well, cool, I already had my mind made up, I’m going to Triple-A. If anything happens, and the Rangers don’t call me up, I might catch someone else’s eye and go back in the big leagues. Two days before the season opens in Oklahoma City, sitting on the bus getting ready to go to Tulsa to play the Double-A team, they released me. That one I thought was the worst of anything else because I asked them to give me time. But I just jumped in my truck and came on home.”

However, even though that comeback fell short, Browne still wasn’t quite ready to quit. After ten seasons away from Puerto Rico, he played for the Arecibo Lobos in the winter of 1997-98. “I sat down and talked to my family again. I said, look, I’m going to give it one more shot. I had to make that club again, and I had a real good winter ball [.284-1-13 in 39 games]. I got two calls in the early part of the winter, feelers from the Giants and Houston, but I didn’t hear anything after that. So I said, ain’t nothin’ else I can do, it’s time for me to shut it down.”

Browne finished his major-league career with 23 homers, 288 RBIs, and a .271 average. He played in 982 games, second only to Horace Clarke on the lifetime list among Virgin Islanders. He had many things in common with Clarke as a player — size, speed, natural position, switch-hitting, and modest power. Browne hit for better average than his mentor, and he worked out a lot more walks, but his base-stealing decisions were not as good (62%). Though he led off a lot, skillful bunting also made him a good number-two hitter. However, like Clarke, his weakness as a second baseman was turning the double play.

The Rangers of the ’80s were criticized for rushing players to the majors, and Browne might have benefited from more seasoning. Nonetheless, he was a productive major-leaguer and a classy, good-humored presence in the clubhouse.

Although Browne hasn’t lived in the Virgin Islands for a long time, he still felt a deep attachment to his birthplace. “I love it,” he said. “It’ll always be my place.” Though he mainly headed back to Christiansted at Thanksgiving or Christmastime, he said, “Once in a while I might get the urge to jump up and go.” He got a little information about what’s happening with baseball there and his fellow players, though he admitted, “Half of the guys from the islands that signed, I don’t know them personally.”

Jerry kept tabs on the careers of the two Virgin Islanders who followed him most closely in the majors: Midre Cummings and Calvin Pickering. The new millennium brought a lean stretch at the top level. After 2001, Cummings and Pickering resurfaced just briefly, for a total of 57 big-league games in ’04 and nine in ’05. Browne does not know Midre, but while Calvin used to call him quite a bit in years past, they fell out of touch and never did reconnect. As of 2007, Cummings was retired; “Picko” hung on in independent leagues through 2008.

Yet several heirs to the V.I. baseball tradition emerged, though their time in the majors has been brief. A young second baseman from St. Thomas named Callix Crabbe (born 1983) played for the San Diego Padres in 2008. Three more St. Thomians — pitcher Akeel Morris (Mets, 2015); outfielder Jabari Blash (Padres, 2016), and pitcher Jharel Cotton (A’s, 2016) — have since made it to The Show. Several other players have appeared in the lower minors. Often they had been drafted after attending either college or high school on the mainland, as was the case with Crabbe. Browne stated, “I don’t think the caliber of ball in the islands is what it used to be. It’s harder to get scouts in there to take a look.”

Also, in recent decades, basketball’s popularity surged in the Virgin Islands. Tim Duncan, Christiansted’s NBA star, was a big factor. Browne added, “A lot of kids are getting away from baseball, not just in the islands, all over. It’s easier to get into basketball or football, there’s no minor-league system. In baseball, even if you get drafted #1, you still have to go through the minors.” There was an audible tinge of sadness when the subject of the Puerto Rican Winter League, which canceled its 2007-08 season, came up. “It’s unbelievable not to have winter ball in Puerto Rico,” he said.

Yet there is still a Virgin Islands baseball scene. At least one big-league organization, the Angels, has held youth camps there. Arnold Brathwaite, a St. Croix native and Angels scout, helped these clinics come together in late 2005 and early 2006. “I met him the year before last when I went home,” said Browne in 2007. “I was there for the Queen Louise [Home for Children] golf tournament. He was giving those clinics. It’s a lot of real small kids — not saying they’re not baseball material, but it’s harder to judge.”

After the most recent sessions on St. Thomas in September 2007, Brathwaite’s colleague with the Angels, Ron Marigny, made a telling remark. “What I’ve noticed over the past four years is that there’s a gap between little league and high school where there are not enough avenues available that allow the kids to keep playing all year round.” [7] Horace Clarke has also stated that this is the crucial time for young prospects.

For some years after retiring, Jerry remained at home in Arlington with his wife, Wanda Reed Browne. In 1999 he said, “I had fun at baseball, I thought I was really going to miss it, but I got other stuff going. I’ll sit down and watch a ballgame at home now, but I won’t go out to the ballpark. The guys I played with, whenever they come to town, I’ll go out and shoot the breeze with them, but I can’t even tell you the last time I picked up a bat and ball.”

But in 2001, Browne returned to the game as a roving infield instructor in the Toronto Blue Jays organization. Former A’s teammate Dave Stewart gave Jerry a call and asked him if he was ready yet. In November ’01, he noted, “The kids were one of my big sticking points, but they’re 9 and 5, old enough to let me go. They got they own little life going on. It turned out to be pretty good. I’m working at all levels, top to bottom. I just got back from Instructional League in Florida.”

The Jays purged several of their minor-league coaches after the 2002 season, though, and Browne was not affiliated with any club for the next two years. Starting in 2005, he served as a hitting coach at various levels. He was first with the Augusta GreenJackets of the South Atlantic League, in the San Francisco Giants chain. He then joined the Washington Nationals, instructing young pros with the Savannah Sand Gnats (2006), Hagerstown Suns (2007), Potomac Nationals (2008-09), and Syracuse Chiefs (2010-11). In something of a surprise, he never talked shop with his friend, hitting guru José Morales. But Browne was his own man.

“I like coaching,” said The Guv’nor in 2007. “I like the game, giving them insight and getting them to the next level. And these days, the Internet is so big, the players will check out coaches on the Net. If they see you haven’t done anything they may not respect you. But if you did, they listen.”

This biography originally appeared on the now-defunct website “Baseball in the Virgin Islands,” from which it was adapted. Grateful acknowledgment to Jerry Browne for his personal memories (additional telephone interviews on November 10, 2001 and October 1, 2007).

Notes

[1] Michael A. Lutz, The Associated Press, March 26, 1987.

[2] The Sporting News, April 13, 1987, p. 22.

[3] David Bush, “A’s Browne Can Do It All–and Does,” San Francisco Chronicle, June 19, 1992, p. F1.

[4] Sheldon Ocker, “Tribe Springs a Surprise, Releases Hillegas,” Akron Beacon Journal, April 1, 1992, p. B1.

[5] Tom Haudricourt, “‘Fill-in Browne at plate,” Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, October 13, 1992.

[6] Gordon Edes, “Browne Feeling Warm and Fuzzy after Re-Signing,” Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel, April 11, 1995, p. C7.

[7] James Gardner, “Big Smiles and New Wrinkles at L.A. Angels Baseball Workshop,” St. Thomas Source, September 1, 2007

Sources

www.retrosheet.org

www.paperofrecord.com (items from The Sporting News)

T.R. Sullivan, Rangers beat writer for mlb.com and previously for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.

Photo Credits

The Topps Company

In 1959, Christopher became the first man actually born in the Virgin Islands to reach the top level since Negro Leaguer Alphonso Gerard. One must, however, be aware that Valmy Thomas, also from St. Croix, made his big-league debut in 1957. Thomas was born on Puerto Rican soil, but only because his mother sought a better hospital — newborn Valmy was immediately brought home. 

US fans mainly remember Christopher today as one of the original Amazin’ Mets, but the outfielder, whose pictures most often show him grinning calmly, started his big-league career as a backup for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Fleet afoot, “Hurryin’ Joe” (as announcer Bob Prince dubbed him) was often used as a pinch-runner. In the 1960 World Series, he appeared in three games and scored twice. In addition to his small role with the 1960 world champs, Christopher won several more titles in his second home, Puerto Rico, plus two more as a playoff reinforcement in the Dominican Republic and Venezuela.

* * *

Joseph O’Neal Christopher was born in Frederiksted, St. Croix, on December 13, 1935. His father, Patrick Christopher, was an overseer on a mango and cane plantation in Estate Oxford, part of the “rainforest” section in the northwest corner of St. Croix. His mother, Sarah Richards Christopher, had five other children. There were two brothers, Patrick and Alfred, and two sisters, Elizabeth and Agnes. (Another brother, Augustus, died in infancy.) Joe was the baby of the family, born to Sarah in her 40s.

Baseball was once the most popular sport in the Virgin Islands. Four other major leaguers of the 1960s and ’70s also grew up around Frederiksted, which had a population of 2,000 when Christopher was young. Pitcher Julio Navarro, who was born on the nearby Puerto Rican island of Vieques but moved to St. Croix at the age of seven, was about a couple of years older than Joe. Elmo Plaskett, who used to wake Joe up to play sandlot ball when both were young boys, was born in 1938. Horace Clarke and José Morales came along in 1940 and 1944, respectively.

Christopher played high-school ball at St. Patrick’s, a parochial school in Frederiksted. An Irish Catholic priest named Mullin was a driving force behind the program. Joe also became the shortstop for a local team called the Annaly Athletics. This club was sponsored by Frits Lawaetz, a member of one of the old Danish families on St. Croix, which along with St. Thomas and St. John was owned by Denmark until 1917.

Historically, the Catholic Church planted strong roots in the islands under the Danes. In fact, Joe said that his middle name came from a nun called Mother Ermin. “When I was born, she asked to hold me, and she told my mother that I looked like her brother — except I was black! So I got her family name, O’Neal.” He also joked that another priest, Father Caskey, “always told me to tell the truth. And that’s gotten me in more trouble during my life than anything else!”

On Sunday mornings the young ballplayers of Frederiksted would go out and do their own groundskeeping, using a handmade roller that weighed at least 200 pounds. They played in the afternoons after resting from their labor and sat around talking baseball past midnight.

At the age of 18 in 1954, Joe was at the crux of Virgin Islands baseball history. A man from St. Thomas named Fernando Corneiro made a connection with the National Baseball Congress (NBC) tournament in Wichita, Kansas. Christopher recalled Corneiro as “one of the most influential men in the islands. He had the ability to get things done, to put things together. If he had never accomplished what he set out to do, I would not be heard of today.”

The Christiansted Commandos, with Joe at shortstop, journeyed 3,129 miles to Wichita. The squad also featured Joe’s brother Alfred at catcher, Julio Navarro, and 16-year-old Elmo Plaskett. The Commandos lost two games after getting a bye, but Joe Christopher caught the eye of Pirates superscout Howie Haak. After he signed Joe, the Virgin Islands became part of Haak’s itinerary. He later signed Plaskett and Al McBean for the Bucs.

As Christopher remembered, though, it wasn’t that easy for Haak. “He was offering $150 a month plus a $200 bonus, and I told him I could work in the post office for $600 a month.” But Joe did join the Pirates, where he encountered general manager Branch Rickey, “an old man in a Panama hat giving lectures. Everybody was falling asleep — except Joe Christopher.” According to Joe, Branch took a liking to the neophyte and passed on thoughts about scouting systems and the process that led to the signing of Jackie Robinson.

In the winter of 1954-55, Joe gained his first pro experience, in the Puerto Rican Winter League. As it did for many of his fellow Virgin Islanders, this league proved to be an invaluable apprenticeship. Christopher’s first manager in the US, Jerry Gardner, switched him to the outfield in 1955. With the Mexico City Tigers (a.k.a. the Blues) in 1957, he led that Double-A league in stolen bases, swiping 24 in just 64 games. Joe earned promotion to Triple-A in 1958. He batted .327 with 8 homers, 58 RBIs, and 16 steals for the Salt Lake City Bees. In addition, he led the Puerto Rican Winter League in steals for the first time during the winter of 1958-59, while hitting .318. The Sporting News described him as “a flashing Pepper Martin type who steals bases head first and will take an extra sack at the drop of an enemy outfielder’s eyelash.”1

Christopher was ready for the majors. He was a backup outfielder with the Pirates from 1959 through 1961. He was first called up when Roberto Clemente was injured, making his debut in nothing less than Harvey Haddix’s masterpiece of 12 perfect innings at Milwaukee’s County Stadium on May 26, 1959. Joe Adcock’s game-ending hit in the 13th inning went over the wall in right-center. “Christopher, who was playing right field at the time, remembered talk that the taller Clemente would have been able to reach Adcock’s shot. He dismissed this, saying, ‘It was high over the fence. I don’t think even [Clemente] could have gotten that ball.’”2

However, Joe appeared in just five games before getting hurt himself. Charging in from the terrace at old Crosley Field in Cincinnati, he turned a somersault as he picked off Wally Post’s sinking liner. He was sure he had broken the thumb on his glove hand – and when trainer Doc Jorgensen and manager Danny Murtaugh ran out to tend to their player in pain, they found to their annoyance that Doc’s medical bag was filled with ham and cheese sandwiches! The prankster was Pirates coach Jimmy Dykes, still into mischief at age 62.3

After later injuring his ankle as he hit first base, Christopher returned to Columbus. Manager Cal Ermer greeted him, “Joe, I hate to see you . . . but I’m glad to see you!” That is, Ermer wished that Christopher could have stayed with the big club, but even so, he was happy to use him on his squad.

Christopher, like fellow Virgin Islanders McBean, Plaskett, and Clarke, met his wife while playing in Puerto Rico. He and Ana Solares were married on December 20, 1959. He then returned to the team with which he would earn his World Series title.

With the 1960 champs, Joe was a role player (61 plate appearances, .232 in 50 games). He came north with the Pirates in April but was barely used over the first several weeks of the season. He was sent down to Salt Lake City to see regular action, but the Pirates recalled him in early June, and he stayed on their roster the rest of the year. On August 7 Joe hit his first big-league homer, a three-run smash off San Francisco’s Billy O’Dell at Forbes Field.

During the World Series, he pinch-hit or pinch-ran in three games, scoring two runs. Joe decided not to wear his championship ring. This was a show of solidarity with Clemente, his road roommate and friend from Puerto Rico. Roberto was upset with his embarrassingly low eighth-place finish in the MVP voting that year.4

Joe pointed to the goodness of the late Hall of Famer, especially where sick and underprivileged children were concerned. In a characteristic comment, he said, “I really enjoyed the man and appreciated what he had to deal with. Because deep in his heart he was a very, very sensitive, very caring individual. He was always wanting to give other people respect. Clemente, to me, was one of the nicest people I ever met.”5

Joe also recalled how he, Roberto, Román Mejías, and Gene Baker — two other Pirates of African descent – hung together during spring training in the segregated Florida of those days. The men endured having to wait on the bus as sandwiches were brought out to them, since they could not join their teammates inside restaurants. They roomed in a private home in Fort Myers, Florida, home of the Bucs’ camp. Christopher said that as they watched old movies on TV, Clemente formed the idea of what he would eventually do for the youth of Puerto Rico from the Spencer Tracy film Boys Town.

Joe L. Brown, who succeeded Branch Rickey as the Pirates’ general manager in 1955, recalled that Christopher “could run like the dickens, was a good outfielder, and a decent hitter.” But the Pirates did not regard him as a regular, giving him just 186 at-bats in 76 games in 1961. So Joe got his chance to start in the majors with Casey Stengel’s comical crew. He was the Mets’ fifth pick in the expansion draft, costing them $75,000.

Still, it took two more seasons before Christopher emerged as a regular. In 1962 he spent April and most of May at Triple-A Syracuse. The prevalent memory of Joe that year is the oft-told “Yo La Tengo” story: The bilingual Caribbean taught center fielder Richie Ashburn how to say “I got it” in Spanish for the benefit of shortstop Elio Chacón – but Richie was then flattened by left fielder Frank Thomas.

Joe started 69 times in 119 games, playing behind Thomas, Ashburn, and Jim Hickman. He was part of a championship team with the Mayagüez Indios in 1962-63, and won the third of his four stolen-base titles in the Puerto Rican Winter League. But again in 1963, he did not make the Mets out of spring training. He played most of the season at Triple-A Buffalo, and once he was recalled in July, he put up quiet numbers.

But in 1964, Christopher enjoyed easily his finest season as a major-leaguer – still the best by any batter from the Virgin Islands – hitting .300 with 16 homers and 76 RBIs. He had a career-best day on August 19, with two triples, a double, and a homer in an 8-6 win over the Pirates. The credit went to a little 50-cent pamphlet by Hall of Famer Paul Waner. “I saw the ad for the book in The Sporting News and sent away for it. . . . Waner once talked to me in ’61 and helped me a lot.”6

Christopher did not sustain his hitting form in ’65. An injured finger set him back in spring training, and the organization was high on rookie Ron Swoboda. Joe was traded to Boston for Eddie Bressoud after that season, and he played briefly in ’66 for the Red Sox, going 1-for-13 in 12 games. He was dealt with pitcher Earl Wilson to Detroit, but his big-league career had come to an end – he never played for the Tigers. His final totals in the majors were 29 homers, 173 RBIs, and a .260 average in 638 games across eight seasons. He stole 29 bases and was caught stealing 19 times. Right field was his main position; he appeared 278 times there and 154 times in left. His 52 games in center field may have been what colored Christopher’s reputation as an unsteady fielder.

In 1966 he played for the Syracuse Chiefs, Detroit’s affiliate. Joe’s marriage to Ana ended in divorce that year, not long after he was sold by Syracuse to the Richmond Braves (for whom it does not appear he played). Their three daughters continued to live in Puerto Rico. Christopher stayed active in the minors through 1968. He returned to the Pirates organization the next year, but after playing briefly with Columbus, he joined the Tulsa Oilers, a Cardinals farm club. St. Louis wanted to send him down to Double-A after the 1967 season, so Christopher asked for his release. Then at the urging of a friend, AP writer Joe Reichler, he wrote to all the major-league clubs, hoping to benefit from forthcoming expansion. Paul “The Pope” Owens of the Phillies extended an offer, albeit also at Double-A Reading.

Joe also continued to play in Puerto Rico through the 1968-69 season. He held out in the 1964-65 season and also sat out 1966-67, but was part of two more champion teams in 1967-68 and 1968-69. Christopher finished his Puerto Rican Winter League career with 37 home runs, 240 RBIs, a .264 average, and 125 stolen bases in 13 seasons. But he still wasn’t quite through as a player. In the spring of 1972, at the age of 36, he made a ten-game comeback in Mexico.

After leaving the field, Joe continued to live in New York for some years. Among other things, he worked for an ad agency named Promotions Colorful, holding a vice presidency. In the early ’90s, he was married once again. Joe and Karen Matthews Christopher had a daughter named Kameahle. As of 2011, they lived in the Baltimore area.

A big part of Joe always wanted to be a coach. He used to hold forth like a martial arts sensei, talking about hitting to anyone who will listen. He discussed hitting with the innermost elite – Ted Williams, Rogers Hornsby (a ’62 Mets coach), and George Sisler (a special instructor with the Pirates – who first met Joe while serving as US high commissioner at the NBC tournament in 1954).

Yet his consuming passion became art, particularly drawing, in a pre-Columbian style, from which he gained patience and concentration. An individual thinker, he enjoyed debate, and his mental and verbal agility made conversation a test. He developed a broad store of sometimes baffling esoteric knowledge, ranging from Egyptology to numerology. Joe became a great believer in the significance of birthdates, but his insight into human nature prevents you from dismissing it as bunk. In his mid-60s, he said he could still run the 60-yard dash nearly as fast as ever, and who knows, maybe that was because of his focus on the links between body, mind, and spirit. Said Joe in 1999:

“The whole process of nature, it’s there, but the Western world don’t want to give heed to anything. You’re talking about greed. You talk about the Tao, they spell it today D-O-W.”

Postscript

Joe Christoper died at his home in Maryland, where he had been receiving hospice care, on October 3, 2023. He was 87. In an e-mail to the SABR BioProject on October 4, Lynn Tobia – Joe’s nurse for the final five-plus years of his life – honored his memory as follows:

“I can say with all honesty that Mr. Joe was one of the kindest, most pleasant men that I have ever met. Up until his last, he never complained about anything. As he lay in his hospice bed, you didn’t know if he was in pain or not, because he always had a smile on his face, and always stuck out his hand offering a warm handshake to welcome you. He will truly be missed.”

This biography originally appeared on the website “Baseball in the Virgin Islands,” from which it was adapted. It is also included in the book “Sweet ’60: The 1960 Pittsburgh Pirates” (SABR, 2013), edited by Clifton Blue Parker and Bill Nowlin. For more information or to purchase the book in e-book or paperback form, click here.

Most recent updates: October 4 and 5, 2023.

Acknowledgments

Grateful acknowledgment to Joe Christopher for additional personal memories over the years (most recently by telephone on July 3 and October 19, 2007).

Sources

The National Baseball Congress of America, 1955 Official Baseball Annual

Private database of José A. Crescioni, the late SABR member who compiled statistics for the Puerto Rican Winter League.

Professional Baseball Players Database V6.0

Enciclopedia del Béisbol Mexicano

www.baseball-reference.com

www.retrosheet.org

www.ultimatemets.com

Notes

He was a leadoff man. He played all through the eclipse of baseball’s greatest franchise. So, mainly for worse he came to symbolize an era. Alas, Horace Meredith Clarke was never a star, but he was a pesky hitter with speed and a good glove. Perverse as it may be, his durability and visibility made Horace the undeserving scapegoat for the Roman Empire-like dry rot of the Yankees after 1964. This descent was exposed through the neglect of the CBS ownership. The criticism of sportswriters and fans, many of whom had a sense of entitlement, bothered him at the time. “But now that I’m through playing,” said Clarke in 1999, “my conscience is clear.”

Horace was the fifth of 16 men (as of 2020) from the U.S. Virgin Islands to make the major leagues. He was born to Dennis and Vivian Woods Clarke in Frederiksted, St. Croix, on June 2, 1939. During his career, his published year of birth was 1940, but the 1940 census shows him in Frederiksted with his age listed as one.

“Harry” — as he remained known at home — was the youngest of six children. There was one brother named Verne and four sisters named Dina, Holly, Annette, and Letty.

Dennis Clarke was a cricketer. He saw a curveball for the first time from a Navy sailor but decided he “was too old to learn a new game.” He also played the violin, and his son inherited the musical inclinations. “I don’t know whether baseball gained or music lost,” said Horace in 1969.1

At the time, there were no Little Leagues on St. Croix, so the boy’s introduction to the game came via softball. At age 13 or so, he remembered seeing Navy ship’s teams playing hardball against the locals at Frederiksted’s Paul E. Joseph Stadium. “As kids we formed teams and played wherever we could, usually on Saturdays. If the older players were using the ballpark, we were relegated to a small area by the ocean.”

“Almost all of us were right-handed. And since we were strong enough to hit the ball into the water, we switched sides at the plate, and everybody batted left-handed, so we wouldn’t lose the ball.”2

Horace joined the Braves, a local team in the St. Croix Baseball League, which was made up mainly of teenagers with some adults. He played there for five years, also representing Christiansted High School in inter-island school meets against St. Thomas (whose teams featured future Orioles catcher Elrod Hendricks). His coach was math teacher David C. Canegata, for whom the other main ballpark on St. Croix is named.

Clarke remembered attending the 1957 tryout camp where Pittsburgh superscout Howie Haak signed his fellow Frederiksted native, future Pirate Elmo Plaskett. As he noted in 1999, though, “it just wasn’t my time yet.” But the next year he turned pro at the age of 18. Yankees scout José “Pepe” Seda, who contributed to the Puerto Rican Winter League on many levels, signed him that January. It was at that time that Clarke shaved a year off his age, on Seda’s advice.3

The young Crucian made his pro debut in 1958 with Kearney of the Nebraska State League. It took a season to adjust — to night ball, among other things. Clarke batted just .225 in 187 at-bats, with 2 homers and 20 RBIs. However, he showed off his most valuable attribute — speed — with 27 stolen bases.

Clarke’s marks then picked up to 5-58-.292 for St. Petersburg in the Florida State League in 1959. He added 34 steals. In 1960, he followed with 2-40-.307 for Fargo in the Northern League, swiping 22 bases. He made the circuit’s All-Star team at shortstop and moved up to Single-A Binghamton for a game at the end of that year. Staying with Binghamton in 1961, he led the Eastern League with 40 steals (3-38-.278).

As it did for so many players, including other men from the Virgin Islands, the Puerto Rican Winter League spurred Clarke’s development. He felt that hitting against pitchers such as Bob Gibson, Earl Wilson, and Denny McLain really sharpened his skills on the way to the big leagues.4 Clarke began his winter ball career in the winter of 1959-60 with the San Juan Senadores. His father asked José Seda to arrange this opportunity. As a backup to Jerry Adair and local favorite Ronnie Samford (a Texan who played on the great Santurce Crabbers teams in the mid-fifties), he hit .247 over his first three seasons.

The oceanside sandlot training from Frederiksted also reasserted itself. “It was the winter of 1960 when I began to fool around as a switch-hitter in Puerto Rico. I did pretty well with it, so [with the support of manager Jimmy Gleeson] I kept doing it in Binghamton…and have been switching ever since.”5

Clarke roomed for a couple of winters at the San Juan YMCA with his friendly rival from St. Thomas, Ellie Hendricks. Although they were rarely around at the same time, owing to the schedule, they still became close. Hendricks recalled that musical Horace, “who hardly said anything,” played vibraphone and xylophone.

During the 1962-63 season, at Elmo Plaskett’s urging, the Ponce Leones traded for the infielder. Either Al McBean from St. Thomas or Clarke formed a Virgin Islands tandem with Plaskett for several winters in Ponce. However — mainly because Pittsburgh had McBean sit out that PRWL season and the next — the whole trio was on the field together just briefly, in 1964 before Plaskett suffered a broken leg.

Clarke also benefited from the Puerto Rican culture. He had grown up hearing a lot of Spanish spoken on St. Croix, but had never picked up more than a few words. But like Plaskett, McBean, and Joe Christopher, he met his wife in Puerto Rico, and so he had a reason to learn. A San Juan girl, Hilda Robles was a little put out with Elmo — even though she was very fond of him — for making her ride two hours to Ponce! Horace and Hilda eventually got married in October 1966.

Back stateside, the unsung farmhand continued his steady progression in the minors, hitting .300 with 9 home runs, 50 RBI, and 17 stolen bases for Double-A Amarillo in 1962. Earning promotion to Triple-A Richmond the next year, his totals dipped to 4-26-.249, with a mere 6 steals. However, he lifted that to 5-44-.299 in 1964, back in Richmond, also rebounding to 20 stolen bases. After starting the year at Toledo (which had replaced Richmond as the Yankees’ Triple-A affiliate) in 1965, he broke in with the Yankees that May as a utility infielder. He singled off Dave Morehead in his debut at Fenway Park on May 13, pinch-hitting for Hal Reniff.

Clarke spent the months of May and June with the Bombers and then returned to Toledo for the next two months before being recalled in September. Overall, he finished 2-32-.301 in 89 games for the Mud Hens and 1-9-.259 in 51 games for the Yankees. A special highlight came at Yankee Stadium on September 21: his first major-league homer, off Cleveland’s Floyd Weaver, was a grand slam.

When the wheels came off in ’66, with the Yankee franchise finishing last for the first time since the 1912 Highlanders, starting in July Clarke got a chance to play every day. “Rubén Amaro had a major injury and they were looking for shortstops within the troops. Ralph Houk said, ‘You’re going to be the shortstop the rest of the year. Bobby Richardson is going to retire in the coming year or so and you’re going to be the second baseman, we hope. So I want to see how you handle the bat.’”

With Richardson’s retirement after the 1966 season, The Major did in fact install Clarke as the regular pivotman in 1967. On March 31 that year, he enjoyed a celebration at Paul Joseph Stadium as the Yankees beat the Red Sox in the first major-league exhibition game ever in the Virgin Islands.6 The man who set up the event was the first big-leaguer from the territory, Valmy Thomas, then a sports consultant with the St. Croix Bureau of Recreation.

Clarke went on to record what would be a pretty typical season for him: 160 hits in 588 at-bats (.272) over 143 games, with 21 steals. A note of interest: his second big-league homer (at Knasas City on July 16) was also a grand slam. However, the winter of 1967-68 would be his last in Puerto Rico — the Yankees asked him to stop playing there for fear of injury or overwork.

“At first I said, ‘Well, wait a minute now. That’s my winter earnings that’s going down the drain there, will you consider subsidizing me for not playing?’ The first year they did, but after that, I guess getting that year off, somehow or the other I might have liked it, because I never went back. And I had lodged a part-time job on St. Croix giving clinics, after-school sessions which I got a couple of bucks for.”

Clarke had been a starter with Ponce for five years, batting .281 overall and leading the league in triples and runs scored as an All-Star in 1965-66. He was an All-Star again the next winter — at shortstop. Over his ten seasons in Puerto Rico (1958-59 through 1967-68), Horace recorded 12 homers, 140 RBIs, and a .270 average in 1,835 at-bats. He added 52 steals and 25 triples.

But perhaps the Yankees were right to save his legs. “Hoss” was a durable fixture for seven years in the majors, averaging 151 games. His fielding was at its best the first two seasons. When Mickey Mantle’s legs forced him to move to first base at the tail end of his career, he told Clarke, “Take anything you can reach!” Yet even arriving on the scene when he did, Clarke said, “You could imagine what Mickey was like when he was able to run full-tilt.”

After an off year in 1968 (.230 with just nine extra-base hits), Clarke’s strongest offensive season came in ’69. He hit a career-high .285 with an on-base percentage (OBP) of .339 and 33 steals. The next year also had some career moments. On April 19, 1970, Clarke enjoyed a five-hit day in the nightcap of a doubleheader at Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium. In the span of a month, he also broke up three possible no-hitters in the ninth inning, foiling Jim Rooker on June 4, Sonny Siebert on June 19, and Joe Niekro on July 2.

It’s worth noting that the Yankees of this era were not always bad. The 1970 Yankees won a very healthy 93 ballgames, but they were simply outclassed by the Orioles, who finished 15 games ahead. In addition, the ’72 club was one of four AL East contenders into mid-September before falling out of the race.

But in 1974 — the second year of George Steinbrenner’s ownership — Yankees general manager Gabe Paul continued to clean house. Clarke was dealt to San Diego in May for $25,000 in cash. As it turned out, the bridge to Willie Randolph at second base was a former double-play partner in Ponce, Sandy Alomar Sr. — who would later do the Clarke family a good turn. Horace played in 42 games for the Padres and retired after that season. His final major-league totals were 27 homers, 304 RBIs, and a .256 batting average, plus 151 stolen bases.

In summary, Clarke’s career may not have been stellar, but it was quite admirable. He appeared in the most major-league games (1,272) of any player from the Virgin Islands, though his career on-base percentage of .308 was less than ideal in the leadoff slot. As a contact hitter and deft bunter, perhaps he would have been best off hitting second.

A sounder choice at the top of the lineup would have been Roy White — .360 career OBP, consistently ranging from .380-.400 from 1969-72, and also a good base stealer (though Clarke’s 72% lifetime success rate was better than the left fielder’s 67%). Ralph Houk recognized this, but argued, “I can’t spare [White] up there because he’s my big RBI man.”7

Years later, The Major remarked, “I know I got a lot of criticism for playing Horace Clarke as much as I did, but he was a lot better ballplayer than anyone gave him credit for. He did a lot of things good but nothing great, and that was his problem. . .besides, I didn’t have anyone else.”8

Clarke made a similar comment in 1999. “I was just one little infielder, one of 25 guys, not any Superman.” But he added, “After all the negative ink, after I got out of the game, I said, ‘Let me see what my accomplishments were.’” In retrospect, he regarded himself as an underrated defensive player.

There was one big knock on him in the field, though. It wasn’t so much that he wore his helmet — he would not turn the double play with runners barreling in. Nobody ever took out Clarke with a slide, but he held the ball after leaping. Several members of the sinkerballing Yankees staff, “who lived and died on ground balls. . .confronted their teammate. ‘It was a sore subject with him,’ says [reliever Jack] Aker, ‘and he became upset.’”9 The late New York sportswriter Dick Young, curmudgeon par excellence, also took Clarke to task for this shortcoming in his usual brusque manner.

But another NYC columnist, Phil Pepe, was a more generous sportsman. When Clarke left the Bronx, Pepe wrote, “You know what, there are a lot of good things to say about Horace Clarke. And the more I poked around, the more good things I found to say about him. If you went to him with a fair question, he’d give you an honest answer, and if you met him in a hotel lobby, he’d nod or say hello even if you’ve been knocking his brains out for years. It takes a man to do that.”10 Thirty years later, Pepe again rose in support of Horace in a piece called “Enough of the Clarke bashing”.11

Cecil Harris, who became the first Black beat writer to cover the Yankees in the 1990s, sounded the same theme. Harris, whose parents came from Barbados, grew attached to the Virgin Islander as a young fan. He chose as his hero “a guy in whom I saw a semblance of myself.” Over several pages in his book on the Bombers, he too made a spirited defense of his boyhood favorite. Harris even argued that the gulf between Clarke and Willie Randolph was not so great, and that the 1977-78 champions could just as well have won with Hoss.12

Perhaps even more noteworthy was how Horace’s conduct under the critics’ barrage formed future Yankee captain Thurman Munson’s avoidance of the press. Munson added a curious footnote on team history. “Polite and humble Clarke was a hard-working family man. . . the last club member, according to Thurman, to make his residence in the direct vicinity of Yankee Stadium.”13

Horace Clarke’s two sons each played in the minors. Jeff Clarke (2B/SS) signed as a free agent with the Royals in 1991. After two years of A ball, he was derailed by injuries, though he was considered as a replacement player by Kansas City in 1995. Jason (J.D.) Clarke, also a middle infielder, enjoyed a successful college career at St. Thomas University in Miami, Florida. He was named Florida Sun Conference Player of the Year in 1998. The Cubs signed him as a free agent on the recommendation of scout Sandy Alomar, Sr., and J.D. played 1999 and part of 2000 in Single-A.

After his playing career was over, Clarke returned to St. Croix, teaming with Elmo Plaskett as a government-paid instructor in the local baseball programs. They reported to Valmy Thomas, who’d risen to Deputy Commissioner in the Recreation department. Another colleague was Alfonso Gerard, St. Croix’s pioneer in the PRWL and Negro Leagues. “Piggy” — who was Horace and Elmo’s sporting hero and Valmy’s longtime teammate — was in charge of field development and maintenance. It was hard, hot work, but they did it for love of the sport and their desire to see young people do well. Their star pupils were Jerry Browne, who went on to play from 1986 through 1995 in the majors, and Midre Cummings (1993-2001; 2004-05).

For several years in the early ’80s, Clarke was an associate scout with the Kansas City Royals after meeting one of their people at a tournament in Panama for the 13-15 age group. “It’s now a fancy name for a bird dog,” he said. “You can make a reference or recommend, but you’re very limited in signing a player.” Clarke had entertained the idea of getting back into the majors as a coach, but found that attending minor-league camp with the Royals was quite satisfying because the young players were keen to hear his advice. He was also interested to see how much training methods had changed since his time.

Clarke took an early retirement package in 1997. The Virgin Islands haven’t been producing as many major-leaguers as they used to, and while there are many reasons — basketball, immigration, politics, television — the absence of Clarke and Plaskett (who passed away in 1998) made a difference at the grassroots.

The key issue — anywhere, not just the V.I. — is what happens to players once they hit their teens. Clarke called it “the real test, the real keeping of the nose to the grindstone. There’s practice, there’s regimentation. When that kid gets about 13 or 14 years, he says, ‘Man, I’m tired of this crap. I could go to the beach, I could go fishing, and have more fun than to have somebody bawling down my ears.’ And let’s face it, baseball is supposed to be a game and to be fun. It doesn’t come to be fun when you got a manager saying, ‘You gotta do this, you gotta do that’ — but you gotta do it!”

Yet still, Clarke believed there will always be a select few from the Virgin Islands who are willing to work and do what it takes. He took a quiet pride in his homeland and its baseball tradition.

In his late sixties, Horace underwent several operations (heart, hip, knee), but it helped that there still wasn’t one excess pound on his frame. He enjoyed the quiet life in Frederiksted — unlike chatty Al McBean, he didn’t even have a phone. He liked to rise early and practice his music, playing vibes in a local jazz combo. He also went back to Yankee Stadium for quite a few Old Timers’ Games over the years, most recently in 2013. When asked after the 2002 edition why he didn’t play, the old second baseman replied, tongue firmly in cheek, “It’s time to give way to another generation!”14

On September 5, 2007, the Yankees invited Horace up once more for a special on-field appearance as part of a co-promotion with the Virgin Islands government to boost tourism in the islands. Many fans and writers would do well to emulate the organization’s quiet and enduring loyalty to this player. Indeed, there was a shift in the tone of stories about Clarke from the new millennium onward, especially toward the end of his life.

Owing to complications from Alzheimer’s disease, Clarke died on August 5, 2020, at the home of his son Jeff in Laurel, Maryland.15 His passing prompted an outpouring of warm memories in the media and from many friends.

Acknowledgments

This biography originally appeared on the now-defunct website Baseball in the Virgin Islands, from which it was adapted. Grateful acknowledgment to Horace Clarke for providing his memories (personal interview on St. Croix, 1999), to his late wife Hilda, and to his son J.D.

All Clarke quotes come from the 1999 interview, unless otherwise indicated.

Sources

www.retrosheet.org

Professional Baseball Players Database

Private database of José Crescioni (Puerto Rican statistics)

Notes

1 Jim Ogle, “Musician Clarke Playing Hot Yank Tune With Glove, Bat,” The Sporting News, July 19, 1969.

2 Philip Bashe, Dog Days: The New York Yankees’ Fall from Grace and Return to Glory, 1964-76, New York: Random House, 1994: 106-107.

3 E-mail from J.D. Clarke to Rory Costello, June 2, 2020.

4 Thomas E. Van Hyning, Puerto Rico’s Winter League, Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Co., 1995: 105.

5 Ogle, “Musician Clarke Playing Hot Yank Tune With Glove, Bat/”

6 Dave Anderson, “Yankees Top Red Sox, 3-1; Clarke Is Hailed in Virgin Islands,” New York Times, April 1, 1967: 22.

7 Phil Pepe, “Houk Man of Letters, Mostly Clarke Critics,” New York Daily News, September 1, 1970: C22.

8 Bill Madden, Pride of October, New York: Warner Books, 2004: 187.

9 Bashe, Dog Days,: 202-203.

10 Phil Pepe, “Is Obit Needed as Clarke Goes?” New York Daily News, June 3, 1974.

11 Phil Pepe, “Enough of the Clarke bashing,” Special to YES Network Online, August 31, 2004.

12 Cecil Harris, Call the Yankees My Daddy, West Conshohocken, Pennsylvania: Infinity Publishing, 2005: 14-17.

13 Christopher Devine, Thurman Munson: A Baseball Biography. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Co., 2001: 37.

14 Phone call, Rory Costello with Horace Clarke.

15 E-mail from J.D. Clarke to Rory Costello, August 5, 2020.

On February 27, 1952, Enrique Cruz and Francisca Acosta welcomed their newest child (they eventually had four boys and a girl). Henry already had an older brother named Enrique, so the parents gave him the English version of the name. Enrique Sr., an agricultural worker, had moved to St. Croix in the late 1940s seeking employment. Francisca had been living there for many years with her family, who originally came from the island of Vieques, east of Puerto Rico.

Like most local youths in his day, Henry grew up playing baseball. He graduated from the Fajardo high school, Dr. Santiago Véve Calzada, in 1969. He then attended La Universidad Interamericana de Puerto Rico, which also has a campus in his hometown. The Los Angeles Dodgers signed the outfielder in 1970, but it was in the local amateur league where Cuban scout Corito Varona spotted the prospect.

“A lot of scouts saw me and invited me to workouts. But Corito was the one who said, ‘I’ll sign you.’ I said, ‘OK, if you’ve got the money!’ It was $15,000. I reported in 1971, but I didn’t get to play in the minors that year. I was hurt and went on the DL. I blew out a knee when I went for a steal and didn’t slide or stop right.”

After he recovered, Henry began his minor-league career in 1972. He notes that he actually started at Double-A, with El Paso of the Texas League, where he hit no homers and drove in 2 runs with a .265 average in limited action. Moving to Bakersfield of the Class A California League, he went 8-56-.281. The next year, he began at Double-A with Waterbury of the Eastern League (2-20-.262), then rose to Albuquerque in the Class AAA Pacific Coast League (2-16-.262).

Cruz got another year of seasoning at Triple-A, hitting .304 with 6 homers and 50 RBI in 1974. He contended strongly for a job with the big club in spring training 1975 but was one of the last cuts in early April. A couple of weeks later, though, he was called up after Juan Marichal retired. (Few remember that the high-kicking Dominican Dandy finished his career in Dodger blue.) The need arose as Bill Buckner, playing outfield at that point in his career, and Tom Paciorek got hurt. [1] Buckner had a severely sprained ankle — the first of many such injuries that left him notoriously immobile.

In his debut on April 18, Henry pinch-hit for light-hitting shortstop Rick Auerbach. He flied out to center field against John “The Count” Montefusco of the Giants. Cruz played two innings in center the next day and then made his first start on April 20. He delivered two singles in six at-bats and made the game’s best fielding play — a running, shoestring catch of Chris Speier‘s sinking liner in the 12th inning. [2] Then on April 21, the lefty pulled a double down the right-field line off Atlanta’s Buzz Capra with two out in the 9th inning, making his first major-league RBI a game-winner. [3]

Although Cruz generally performed well in backup duty, the Dodgers were desperate for more power. In late June, they called up another rookie, John Hale — who did hit a career-high six homers. [4] Henry returned as rosters expanded in September and finished his first big-league season with no homers, 5 RBI, and a .266 average. At Albuquerque, he went 7-41-.310.

In 1976, Cruz made the Opening Day roster. On April 25, he belted his first big-league homer, a three-run shot off Chicago’s Ken Crosby at Dodger Stadium. The game was much better known for an incident in that same fourth inning: Henry’s opposite number in center field, Rick Monday, saved the American flag. Unemployed Missouri man William Errol Thomas and his son sprinkled lighter fluid on the Stars and Stripes and sought to set it ablaze before Monday’s patriotic charge to the rescue. [5] Oddly enough, though, Cruz does not have a clear memory of the day.

All of Henry’s four homers in ’76 came against the Cubs. On May 4, after a two-run blast off Burt Hooton, he observed, “I have a lot of friends on the Cubs — Manny Trillo, Dave Roselló, and José Cardenal. I like to look good when I play, especially in front of my Chicago friends.” [6]

He topped that the very next afternoon with his only two-homer game in the majors. It was one of those days at Wrigley Field when the wind was blowing out — at 36 miles per hour with gusts up to 46. But his manager, Walter Alston, thought that most of the Dodgers’ seven homers were hit well enough to go out under any conditions. [7] Cruz remembers going deep off Rick Reuschel‘s brother Paul and also that the seven HRs set a new club record (which lasted until 2002).

Overall, though, Henry was still relegated to spot duty and his hitting suffered. He went back to Albuquerque in August after posting a .182 average in just 88 at-bats. He hit .305 with a homer and 12 RBI and was not recalled in September.

Cruz remained in the PCL in 1977, hitting .353 with 18 homers and 88 RBI in Albuquerque, a noted haven for hitters. That September, the Chicago White Sox claimed him on waivers for $20,000 — part of owner Bill Veeck‘s low-budget wheeling and dealing. In 21 at-bats, Henry hit .286 with 2 homers and 5 RBI.

The next spring, Cruz came north with the White Sox. Again in a reserve role, he went 2-10-.221 in just 77 at-bats. In early August, he was outrighted to Triple-A Iowa as Chicago called up 19-year-old Britt Burns. His last major-league appearance came on July 30, leaving him with career totals of 8 homers, 34 RBI, and a .229 average in 280 at-bats over 171 games. He drew 25 walks, lifting his on-base average to .291, and stole just one base while getting caught four times.

“‘I didn’t have the chance I was looking for,’ Cruz said softly as he departed. ‘I had no chance at all with the Dodgers, I thought I’d have one here.’ He was the victim of a numbers game in the outfield. ‘Too many lefthanders here,’ he said. ‘I thought I did my job very well. But I just couldn’t do it enough. I need to work. When you sit on the bench, you get down.'” [8]

Henry felt that being out of options might have been a break for him, since he was eligible for the Rule V draft that winter. “At Iowa, at least I will have a chance to swing the bat.” [9] He did so effectively (5-18-.270), but no other club took a flyer on him. Tony La Russa, Henry’s manager with the Oaks in 1979, said he could definitely help a major-league club. He did perform well that year (17-79-.281), yet it was not enough to warrant a callup. The 1980 season was an injury-marred one (1-11-.197); Cruz recalls, “I blew out my other knee.”

Midway through the season, he went to the Detroit organization in a minor-league deal, playing with their Triple-A Evansville club. “I was going to go to Japan, but they [the Nippon Ham Fighters] took Tommy Cruz [brother of José; no relation] instead.” He remained in Evansville through 1981, making a modest comeback (6-30-.296).

After that, Henry played in the Mexican League from 1982 through 1985. He batted over .300 every year, first with Reynosa, next with León, and then in his last two summer seasons at Saltillo. Never before had the line-drive hitter connected for over 20 homers — but he notched 25 and 27 for the Saraperos. His overall totals were 79 HRs, 307 RBI, and a .310 average in 1,581 at-bats over 447 games.

“Mexico was a good experience. The only thing was that bus riding. It could be six to seven hours up to 21-22 hours. With the peso devaluation, they couldn’t fly us.”

“I had my family with me there. Everywhere I went, that was the first thing I tried to negotiate after the money. But four years, that was enough.” When asked if he attracted any renewed attention from the majors, Cruz notes, “One time Milwaukee was interested and they came. But I never got a call.”

“Papo” (a common Puerto Rican nickname meaning “Junior”) also spent 13 seasons in the Puerto Rican Winter League, 1972-73 through 1985-86. He missed only the winter of 1980-81 as he was recovering from his knee injury. “They let me coach that year because I couldn’t play, which was nice.” Except for 1981-82 with the Bayamón Vaqueros, his only team at home was the Arecibo Lobos, who retired his number 36 in an emotional ceremony in December 2005.

Cruz counts Arecibo’s PRWL championship in 1982-83 as a career peak. It was a hard-won first for the franchise and a great feeling for the city and its people. That club, which finished 28-32 in the regular season, came together in the playoffs and also went on to win the 1983 Caribbean Series in Caracas, Venezuela. Teammate Candy Maldonado, whose number is on the outfield wall next to Henry’s at Estadio Luis Rodríguez Olmo, credited Cruz as a father figure and spiritual leader. [10]

Henry’s Puerto Rican career concluded with 46 homers — including a high of 9 during the 1982-83 title season — and 213 RBI. He posted an average of .249 in 613 games, led by a .306 mark in 1978-79. Of his decision to retire, he observes, “My knees were too sore, they didn’t respond the way I would like. I was afraid to slide. I could have played five more years in Mexico, they wanted me. But besides those rides, if I couldn’t play 100%, I wasn’t going to play.”

Cruz then took a job with Pall Hydraulics in Puerto Rico. “I started on the production line and moved up to front office supervisor over five years. I worked for some different companies after that, but then I had a chance to get back into baseball.” He joined the Indians as a part-time scout covering Puerto Rico in 1997 and was put on the full-time payroll later that year.

Henry has also been batting coach with the Carolina Gigantes of the PRWL since the 2004-05 season. He served as first-base coach for the Puerto Rican team against the Dominicans in the fourth annual Interleague All-Star Game that took place in December 2006. He has rejoined the Dodgers organization and will be the hitting coach in 2007 for their rookie-league team in Ogden, Utah.

“The Dodgers, they teach me how to play this game. The Dodger Way, that’s what I’ve been carrying with me all these years. I can develop the kids this way.”

The soft-spoken six-footer, who weighed 175 pounds in his playing days, has put on only a moderate amount of weight. Featuring a mustache and sideburns in the ’70s, he sported a salt-and-pepper beard for his ceremony in Arecibo. He still wears glasses, as he did while playing. He experimented with contacts as a Dodger, but “I couldn’t stand them, I had to go back.”

Henry has been married to Zulma Díaz since 1973. Her father, José “Pacholo” Díaz, played ball with teams in the city of Humacao. They still live in Fajardo and are the parents of three children: son Henry Jr. and daughters Zuleima and Zurima. Henry Jr. has been a minor-league coach and director of player personnel with the Newark Bears of the Atlantic League; he is now director of the Puerto Rico Baseball Challenge program. Says Henry Sr. today:

“Knowing my family loves baseball the same way that I do, it’s so important to me. Baseball was everything for us. That was the way I fed my family. Everything I own right now, I owe to baseball. And having the opportunity to teach the kids, what else could I ask for?”

Notes

[1] Jeff Prugh, “Dodgers’ Thin Blue Line Falls in 13 to Giants, 6-3”, Los Angeles Times, April 21, 1975, p. C1.

[2] Ibid.

[3] “Rookie’s hit in 9th wins for L.A.,” Chicago Tribune, April 22, 1975, p. C2.

[4] Jeff Prugh, “Dodgers Send Out SOS,” Los Angeles Times, June 30, 1975, p. C1.

[5] “It’s ‘Flag Day’ as Cey Singles to Beat Cubs,” Los Angeles Times, April 26, 1976, p. D1.

[6] “Dodgers Win 10th in Row,” Washington Post, May 5, 1976, p. D1.

[7] Ross Newhan, “Dodger Homers Blow Down Cubs, 14-12,” Los Angeles Times, May 6, 1976, p. D1.

[8] Richard Dozer, “Sox call up 19-year-old pitcher, drop Cruz,” Chicago Tribune, August 3, 1978, p. C1.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Pachy Rodríguez, “Elevan a posteridad el 36 de Henry Cruz,” El Norte (Arecibo, PR), December 27, 2005.

Sources

Telephone interview with Henry Cruz, February 12, 2007.

www.retrosheet.org

www.baseball-reference.com

Professional Baseball Player Database V6.0

Private database of José Crescioni (Puerto Rican statistics)

Enciclopedia del Béisbol Mexicano (Mexican statistics)

Photo Credits

Topps Company

Yet despite the unfulfilled early promise, a counter-sensation persisted: this case was different. It is not easy to sort out perception from reality; many baseball people prefer not to wrestle with such issues. But this man could say — on the field — there was a misunderstanding. Time and again over the years, he battled back from release, signing minor-league deals, bucking the competition in spring training, and keeping a toehold in the majors over 11 seasons. He showed a knack for pinch-hitting; as a pinch-runner, he played a small but exciting role in the 2001 World Series victory of the Arizona Diamondbacks.

Generous and likable, Cummings still polarized opinion in his early years. While attracting many backers, he also caused much frustration. Even close friends said it, such as teammates Scott Bullett and Tony Womack (who had Midre stand godfather to his child). “He doesn’t want to be figured out. . . .You’ll never figure him out.” [1] Joe Mihalek, former baseball coach at the University of the Virgin Islands and a friendly adviser to many local prospects, also insisted Cummings was “a good kid,” but agreed that he could seem introverted and offbeat.

The introvert label did not fit well either, though. Midre always spoke his mind, to beat reporters and also when interviewed for the first version of this biography in 1999. Though his critics had a lot of hard words for him as a young player, back then he stated, “You know what, it doesn’t really bother me. If it did, I wouldn’t be playing right now. Wherever you go, whatever you do, somebody’s not going to like you and is going to say something bad about you. I don’t worry about stuff I can’t control. That’s the way I felt from Day One and that’s the way I feel now. No difference.”

One can see how this might have been perceived as “attitude” by certain narrow baseball minds. One might also argue that maybe Cummings could have played along with superiors a bit more and influenced their opinion. Perhaps there is a strain of stubborn pride among many Virgin Islanders, but they are men enough to live with the consequences. Still, Cummings allowed that he learned how to deal with people better. Once he got married and had two young sons, his focus moved away from himself. He has also stated that his true friends will see through and discount tales that are biased or incorrect.

Midre Almeric Cummings was born in Christiansted, St. Croix’s biggest town, on October 14, 1971. His parents were Neville Cummings, a mechanic, and Carmen Bastian, a police officer. He was the youngest of seven children, following three brothers and three sisters. [2] Young Midre grew up in White Lady Estate, a neighborhood in the island’s western end, near the town of Frederiksted.

For several decades the Virgin Islands were a small but steady wellspring of baseball talent. Two of the former major leaguers from St. Croix, Horace Clarke and Elmo Plaskett, became baseball specialists for the territory’s Department of Housing, Parks, and Recreation after they retired. From the 1970s through the 1990s, the Frederiksted natives trained a good many youths who made it to the minors — as well as two big-leaguers: Jerry Browne (1986-1995) and Midre. Cummings began playing ball in Little League, but said, “I didn’t understand about Horace and Elmo until age 12, 13, 14. After that I heard about Elrod Hendricks and some of the other guys. Jerry Browne was probably the most talked about at that time, because he was active and playing.”

In 1987, Cummings played on a team that upset perennial power Taiwan in the Senior Little League World Series (Elmo Plaskett helped them practice). Afterward, a couple of the St. Croix youngsters moved to Miami, attending Edison High School. One of them, Jackie Ross, played from 1991 through 1993 in the Brewers chain. His father, Randy Ross, had also been a pro. Midre remembers today, “They had a terrible team, 1-15 or something. They called down to St. Croix and said, ‘We need some help!’ So Eddie Williams [a catcher who played in the minors from 1991 to 1995] went up. Then they were like 5-16, and Eddie said, ‘We need some help!'”

So in 1989, Midre too moved to Miami. He displayed his athletic ability in two sports. Not only did he star for the baseball team (he pitched as well as playing outfield), he earned All-Dade County Honors as a sprinter. Cummings said, “I was more into track than baseball. I’d watch Olympic track over the World Series!”

Newspaper stories show that in meets, Midre ran 100 meters as fast as 10.65 seconds. [3] His own recollection was that 10.4 — “without any practice” — was his personal best. While the “sleeper” prospect was trying out for 12 big-league teams, they timed him in the 60-yard dash at 6.2 or 6.3 seconds. [4] “6.1,” said Cummings. “They forgot 6.1.” Joe Mihalek the coach, said Midre was at one time the fastest man in the Virgin Islands.

Cummings made a strong impression on the diamond too. “A few more guys from the islands and I got up there, and we surprised people. We manhandled ’em!” He added, “I didn’t remember him — he was a freshman and I was a senior — but Alex Rodríguez came up to me when I was with Boston and said, ‘Do you remember me?’ Alex González too, he told me, ‘My dad used to love you!'”

The Minnesota Twins drafted Cummings with a supplemental first-round pick in 1990, which they got when the Red Sox signed free agent Jeff Reardon. Cummings said he did not think he would have been noticed if he had stayed in St. Croix, because scouts come down at irregular intervals. “It’s not always the best guy who gets signed,” he said. “It’s who’s available and playing well that weekend.”

At Class A Kenosha in 1991, Midre had the pleasure of facing his childhood friend Jeff Clarke, older son of Horace, who was then playing with the Appleton Foxes. He won the Midwest League batting title that year. A theme in the press first cropped up then; he was said to have an on-off switch. He was not in the race at all until he hit .478 in August. He went 5-for-5 on the last day of the season to win the crown by one point.

On March 16, 1992, the Minneapolis Star-Tribune raved, “Not since Kirby Puckett came into the Twins organization have club officials been as excited about a young prospect.” [5] The next day he was traded along with Denny Neagle to the Pittsburgh Pirates for John Smiley. Pittsburgh had begun to cut payroll in 1992, and this was the first step down a long and sad path. At the time, the Bucs regarded Cummings rather than Neagle as the key to the deal. Indeed, USA Today baseball writer Rod Beaton called him “a possible 30/30 player in a few years.”

Opinion was already split, though. Shortly after the trade, the St. Paul Pioneer Press wrote, “The Twins won’t say it publicly, but not all of their front office shares the same high opinion of Midre Cummings.” [6] He was called a gamble on the part of Pirates general manager Ted Simmons. He seldom stole bases after his first two pro seasons, and his speed did not translate into good outfield play.

While viewed as a long-range prospect, Cummings still climbed rapidly through the minors. He made his debut with the Pirates when the rosters expanded in September 1993. Pittsburgh hoped he could emerge as a starter and star after some more grooming. (Though he almost went to Venezuela in ’97, for many years he never played winter ball because he wished to rest the summer’s aches.) But at Triple-A Buffalo in 1994, things did not go well at all. Midre missed 44 games early with a cracked tailbone, an injury that may not appear serious but can be nagging. When he came back, his numbers were good on the surface, but the Buffalo press was absolutely scathing in its criticism of his work habits and attitude.

The rookie spent almost a month with the Pirates from mid-July onward. A quote from that time captured his situation: “For a long time, they said I was going to be the next Barry Bonds. Now, I’m hearing I’m going to be the next Andy Van Slyke. I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to be.” [7]

Cummings actually began the season as the starting right fielder for the Pirates in 1995, but in early May he was sent down to their new Triple A club, Calgary, after seven games. Manager Jim Leyland lectured him about nonchalance and told him to “bust his butt.” As portrayed by the Pittsburgh papers, Leyland and coach Bill Virdon found Cummings to be their most baffling task ever in motivation. Perhaps unjustly, Pirates farm director Chet Montgomery said that “being from a laid-back culture, he may be a little too laid-back.” [8]

However, Trent Jewett, who managed Cummings at Calgary in 1996, saw things in a more positive light. He commented that “Midre may not do everything by the book, but he’s a wise young man. He’s one of those guys who seems to get everything done easier than everybody else, so at times it may not appear things are going full tilt with him.” [9]

The Pirates called up Cummings on various occasions, but he never put it together for them. After giving José Guillén the right-field job, Pittsburgh finally waived Cummings in July 1997, but Phillies general manager Lee Thomas thought he deserved a chance. He was given the starting job in center field for the second half of the season and responded with a .303 average in 63 games. He hit .442 with runners in scoring position and made only one error as the Phillies went 44-33 with him in the lineup. [10]

Yet despite this encouraging performance, the Phillies released Cummings during spring training in 1998. New general manager Ed Wade and batting coach Hal McRae (another well-known hard-nose) voiced the same old concerns about motivation, while manager Terry Francona called for defense and steals. Then the Reds had him in their camp for a couple of weeks. Jim Bowden, another GM intrigued by Midre’s ability, hoped that coach Ken Griffey Sr. could get the best out of him. Cummings didn’t catch on with Cincinnati, but Lee Thomas rescued him again. Thomas had become a special assistant to Dan Duquette, then the Red Sox GM. The Boston Globe reported, “‘Midre Cummings will be a good addition to our ballclub,’ said Duquette, who prides himself on being a salvage specialist.” [11]

As a fifth outfielder and DH for the Red Sox, Cummings was a helpful role player in 1998, going .283-5-15 in 120 at-bats. He was also the AL’s leading pinch-hitter, going 9-for-26 with 2 homers. But a sprained wrist that kept him on the disabled list for six weeks actually turned out to be a torn ligament that required surgery. The operation took place around Thanksgiving, though perhaps it could have been sooner. Midre was stoic for a reason, though it was not sensitivity to past criticism. In 1999 he said:

“At the time we were going for a wild-card spot, and my wrist was swollen, so you couldn’t really get an MRI. You have to wait until the swelling goes down, and it took a while. I played hurt and I still produced — I had something to play for. In last place, it doesn’t make sense to push yourself, but last year I was part of something, so I really pushed myself to the limit of pain.”

Though he felt he would be rewarded for his effort, Cummings lost his arbitration case in February 1999 (the first to be decided by a female arbitrator, Elizabeth Neumeier). Worse, though, the wrist was still very bothersome during spring training, and he wound up as odd man out in Boston. In May, however, he accepted a minor-league deal with the Minnesota Twins organization, which no doubt sought a bargain. Midre tattooed Eastern League pitching at Double A New Britain (.376, 2 home runs, 15 RBIs), winning promotion to Triple A Salt Lake City.

He also posted outstanding numbers with the Buzz (.322, 13 home runs, 68 RBIs), earning his way back to the majors in September. Although he had to wait until the PCL playoffs were finished, he said, “I wasn’t even worried about getting called up, that was the furthest thing from my mind.” In fact, unbeknownst to the fans in Salt Lake, he took a leave of absence in midseason to be with his wife and young sons when a flu outbreak struck Florida.

Midre’s love of the game enabled him to persevere. At the age of 28 heading into the 2000 season, he was young enough to re-establish his big-league career — and did so. While the Twins shuffled assorted outfielders around, Cummings stayed on the roster, spot-starting in the outfield and at DH and again showing a knack coming off the bench in the late innings. He racked up 11 pinch-hits through early June, threatening the mark of 25 set by fellow Frederiksted ballplayer José “Shady” Morales in 1976.

That torrid pace cooled as Midre got more starts. But at the deadline on August 31, he was dealt back to the Bosox, who sought a veteran bat for the playoff chase. Adding four more pinch-hits, he again topped the AL — and tied for the major-league lead — with his 15-for-47 (.319) total.

In 1999 Cummings observed, “If you’re playing every day, and you don’t have nothing to worry about, you’re going to put up numbers. But if you have to play like you’re on an eggshell field, you don’t want to make any mistakes, or if you’re playing for somebody who doesn’t like you, it makes it that much tougher.”

Midre was adaptable, though, showing the mindset to flourish in a role that many players can’t handle. Teammates came to respect his professionalism. It would have been interesting to see what kind of totals he could post given 400 or 500 at-bats in a season, but he became labeled as a “Quadruple-A” player — a standout minor leaguer who can’t cut it in the majors.

The 2001 season — often frustrating but ultimately rewarding — was the most remarkable chapter in Cummings’ sojourn. In December 2000, he signed with the Arizona Diamondbacks. He made the club in spring training but shortly thereafter got caught up in the numbers game. Midre passed through waivers and accepted an assignment to Triple A Tucson. He batted over .400 for a spell, finishing at .331 with 5 home runs and 38 RBIs. He might have led the PCL in triples had minor injuries not kept him out of the lineup late in the season. But the struggle to stay in the majors was wearing him down mentally — retirement was under consideration.

Yet when the rosters expanded in September, Cummings surfaced again. And despite batting only 20 times during the regular season, he was named to the postseason roster. Each time the D’backs advanced, they could have bumped him with personnel moves, but manager Bob Brenly liked having a veteran lefty with speed on his bench. When Cummings pinch-ran in Game Four of the World Series against the Yankees, he became the first Virgin Islander to appear in the fall classic in 25 years, since Ellie Hendricks pinch-hit for the Yanks in 1976.

Then in Game Seven, Cummings was part of the stunning two-run rally in the bottom of the ninth against normally airtight closer Mariano Rivera. Again he pinch-ran, and former Pirates roommate Tony Womack drove him in with a clutch double. There was an odd parallel with fellow St. Croix native Joe Christopher. In 1960, Joe also came around to score in both his pinch-running appearances for Pittsburgh.

One thing that stands out about this man is his sense of honor. Before Game Four, Cummings joined this author for lunch. He stated that unless he felt he really contributed to the team’s success, he wouldn’t believe he earned his ring if the Diamondbacks won. The response here was that Brenly and the club wanted him for a reason. A later quote from teammate Craig Counsell confirmed the need for the whole bench: “[Bob] made us a 25-man team. It didn’t matter who you were. He played whoever he thought could help us win that day.” [12]

That November, the Virgin Islands Legislature honored the local hero by renaming a park in Frederiksted the Midre Almeric Cummings Recreational & Youth Facility. The following March, he rejoined the Diamondbacks for the special World Series ring dinner. By that time, though, he had signed a minor-league contract with the Milwaukee Brewers. Once more he wound up in Triple A, with Indianapolis, but a shoulder injury cut his 2002 season short after 11 games.

After patiently rehabbing the shoulder, Cummings agreed to yet another free-agent deal, this time with the Chicago Cubs. It was another verse of the same song: Too many bodies in camp meant an assignment to the minors. The 2003 season was up and down. Although Midre established a professional career high in home runs with 19, two protracted slumps in the second half left his average at just .255 — well below his Triple A norm of .300-plus. The upshot was that he did not get a September call-up, missing a chance to help the Cubs in their playoff drive.

Following a two-year gap, Cummings made his return to the majors in 2004 with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. He surfaced briefly in May and then again in September. He spent the bulk of the year at Triple A again, once more setting personal pro highs with 27 home runs and 89 RBIs for Durham. In the Triple-A All-Star Game that July, he homered and made the play of the game with a leaping catch at the wall. But even though Cummings showed that he could still handle pitching at the top level, the Rays released him at the end of the season.

In January 2005, Cummings signed a minor-league deal with the Baltimore Orioles. Late in spring training, however, he fractured his ring finger as he slammed his hand against the outfield fence trying to make a play. He missed several weeks at the beginning of the season and then began play with the Triple A Ottawa Lynx. The revelation that Rafael Palmeiro had tested positive for steroids opened the door for Cummings’ last action in the majors. He filled in for the length of Palmeiro’s 10-day suspension but came to the plate just twice. He then returned to Ottawa (.284, 12 homers, 40 RBIs for the season).

In November 2005, at the age of 34, Midre at last played winter ball. Though he had mulled it over in past seasons, previously he had always stayed home. In retrospect, he said, “I just wish I’d done it before.” The Aguilas Cibaeñas of the Dominican League (for whom his mentor Elmo Plaskett played in 1963-64) added Cummings to the roster as a replacement for Nate McLouth.

“It was good baseball, and I made a lot of good friends,” Cummings said later. “But I left after Christmas, I decided not to come back. They have a first half and a second half to the season, and in the second half, established guys, the local guys like [Miguel] Tejada, come in. I didn’t have a problem with that, but there was another thing. I was getting used to that nightlife, just partying and partying! There was a lot of drinking there, even during the games.”

Midre didn’t get any offers before spring training of 2006 rolled around. Finally, in May, he gave it one last shot with the Chinese Professional Baseball League (CPBL) in Taiwan. He played in six games for the La New Bears, going 3 for 14 (.214) with one solo homer. Cummings went back home, though, because “I got to the point where it really wasn’t there for me. It wasn’t fun. I just didn’t want to do it any more. I had talked to a lot of older players, and they told me, ‘You gonna know when the fire is out.’

“I hit that home run, and as I rounded second, I felt, ‘I don’t even feel like I just hit a homer.’ I sat down, I was just like, ‘I don’t want to play no more. Just send me back, I don’t feel it.'”

After retiring, Cummings remained at home in the Tampa suburb of Tarpon Springs with his wife, Annette (née Lewis). Annette is also a Virgin Islander but she comes from the neighboring island of St. Thomas. The couple was married on Midre’s birthday, October 14, 1996. They have two sons named Mikel and Mijon.

Cummings, who has always related well to young people, is now coaching baseball for boys 12 and under. In 2006, he noted, “It’s a little different working with kids now. You have to be very patient with them. Some of them respond well, some of them don’t. I just have to take the time to know the kids.” His patience paid off, as the 12U Florida Hit & Run baseball team from Tarpon Springs won the 2008 AAU state championship.

“I like what I’m doing,” said Cummings. “I’m getting results. I say, ‘We’re winning not because of me, but because of you getting better.’ “

He offers individual instruction too, but said, “The sad thing is, most of these kids have been taught the wrong thing for so long. They’ve been brainwashed. These wealthy parents, they’ve tried four different instructors. I call it ‘climbing a greasy pole’ — I can help maybe 40 percent of the kids. I try to keep it very simple.”

When asked if he would like to offer clinics back in the Virgin Islands, Cummings responded, “That’s not a bad idea, but they’ve got to do it right — not just 8 to 12 kids. I’d like to do it, I have a lot to offer, and it’s a lot easier for me now. But you’d be surprised how much the airfare costs!”

Cummings remains in touch with Calvin Pickering, the tenth major leaguer from the Virgin Islands, who was still hanging on in the independent leagues as of 2008. “I try to keep him positive,” Cummings said. “Whatever decision he makes, I got his back. He knows that I’m in his corner.” Pickering’s experience echoes Midre’s in many ways; a statement Cummings made in 1999 still summarizes his career best:

“I’m very happy with who I am. I think I’ve been very, very lucky and blessed to play in the major leagues coming from a place like Frederiksted, the Virgin Islands. A lot of people have goals and dreams, and I have known people in their 40s, 50s, 60s can’t even come close. I set my dream at about 17 or 18, and I reached it at 21. So I couldn’t ask for anything better.

“Baseball is basically like school. If you get good grades, you deserve a promotion. You can’t stop me, you can never keep a good man down. No matter what obstacle you put down, the goat is going to find a way to get around it.”

This biography has been adapted from the now-defunct website “Baseball in the Virgin Islands,” where it originally appeared.

Grateful acknowledgment to Midre Cummings for his memories (various interviews from 1999 on, including most recently on October 20, 2008).

Notes

[1] Meyer, Paul. “Cummings Can Dazzle, When He’s In Mood.” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, March 17, 1994: C1.

[2] “Prospect Bright in Smiley Trade — Cummings Was the Key to Deal.” Daily News of Los Angeles, March 29, 1992.

[3] Phillips, Mike. “Edison’s Boys Win Jackson Relays.” Miami Herald, April 6, 1990: 5D.

[4] Phillips, Mike. “Cummings Speeds to Top.” Miami Herald, June 2, 1990: 3D.

[5] “Twins Might Trade for Another Pitcher.” Minneapolis Star-Tribune, March 16, 1992.

[6] Walters, Charley. “Deal Could Send West to Jays as Twins Work to Retain Cross.” St. Paul Pioneer Press, March 21, 1992: 2C.

[7] Cook, Ron. “Pirates’ Brightest Prospect Soon to Ease Out Van Slyke”. Rocky Mountain News, Denver, July 26, 1994:

[8] Konotopetz, Gyle. “The Insiders: A Laid-Back Star”. Calgary Herald, May 13, 1995: E6.

[9] Meyer, Paul. “New Start for Cummings.” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, February 24, 1997: C1.

[10] Hagen, Paul. “Midre Fails to Live Up to Expectations.” Philadelphia Daily News, February 25, 1998: 82.

[11] Edes, Gordon. “Sox Try Cummings for Center and Leadoff.” Boston Globe, March 20, 1998.

[12] Johnson, Chuck. “Colangelo committed to Arizona excellence.” USA Today, November 5, 2001.

Sources

Meyer, Paul. “The Right Man? Midre Cummings Is Talented, but His Desire Seems to Come, Go.” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, April 20, 1995: C1.

Roberts, Kevin. “Cummings of Age”. North Hills News Record, Warrendale, Pennsylvania, April 24, 1995: B1.

Robinson, Alan. “Cummings is unsure of his fate.” Indiana Gazette, Indiana, Pennsylvania, March 26, 1997: 23.

“Simmons Keeping Eye On ‘Gamble.'” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, July 3, 1992: A6.

www.thebaseballcube.com

Statistics in Taiwan: http://twbsball.dils.tku.edu.tw/wiki/index.php/???M.C

Photo Credit

The Topps Company

The outfielder also played during 14 seasons in Puerto Rico, where a very young Roberto Clemente broke in alongside the veteran. His travels also took him to Canada, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic, and he was one of the men whom Branch Rickey considered to break the color barrier before deciding on Jackie Robinson.

Gerard was the sporting hero of a generation of players who grew up on St. Croix, including big-leaguers Valmy Thomas, Horace Clarke, and Elmo Plaskett. As a “bird dog” scout, he started Julio Navarro and José Morales on their path to the majors. This trailblazer shaped the history of baseball in the Virgin Islands.

***

Alphonso Gerard was born in Christiansted, St. Croix, on June 26, 1917, to Benjamin and Louisa Gerard. Like many ballplayers, he shaved several years off his age. Thomas Van Hyning, a historian of Puerto Rican baseball, notes that a recap of the 1953-54 Winter League season says Gerard’s age was 32. However, Osee Edwards of St. Croix, a great fan of Piggy’s as a boy and later a friend and neighbor in Puerto Rico, has helped set the record straight. “Ozzie” was born in 1930, and he reckoned Gerard was about 13 years older. The baptismal records of Christiansted’s Holy Cross Catholic Church confirm it, though Negro League historian Larry Lester’s data show a birthdate of January 22, 1916. (For many other details of this account, thanks also go to Ozzie, who played some ball himself.)

Young Alfonso received instruction in baseball from a Holy Cross priest. Valmy Thomas, Gerard’s teammate for eight years with the Santurce Cangrejeros, remembered Father Meehan. “Though he could not play that well, he taught us well,” Thomas said. “We slept, ate and talked baseball.” Gerard was mainly a pitcher on St. Croix growing up. He admired Dizzy Dean and especially fellow lefty Carl Hubbell. “I was a little boy watching him,” Thomas, 12 years his junior, said. “We used to play on a makeshift field right in Basin.” Their local neighborhood was called Water Gut, for the stream that ran right through their outfield. [1]

As a young adult, Piggy played ball with the local branch of the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). His good friend Alfred Thomas, Valmy’s older brother, was a supervisor there. This semi-military organization, which came to the Virgin Islands in 1935 and disbanded in 1941, was enacted with Federal funds during the New Deal. It was designed to train young men and help the community. In Valmy’s words, it “was a place where your parents sent you when you needed some structuring.” [2] Members lived in a camp for two years, learned a trade (for example, carpentry), and earned a salary of $12-$45 a month. The CCC made new roads, planted trees, maintained parks, and so forth. It is easy to see how baseball fit in with its mission.

In 1938, when he was about 21 years old, Gerard moved to Puerto Rico, where he adopted the Spanish spelling of his given name. He represented the island in international competition, but the Cubans got wind of Gerard’s Crucian birth, and he had to come up with a false Spanish-language birth certificate to fend off the challenge. Gerard played amateur ball in the country towns of Manatí and Utuado. Manatí was the hometown of his future boss with the Santurce Cangrejeros, Pedrín Zorrilla. Zorrilla, who was also an executive with Shell Oil, gave Alfonso an extra job as a meter reader.

Piggy graduated to the top local amateur level, AA, where he became the star player/manager for the San Juan Pirates. He broke into the professional winter league with Santurce in 1944. That Crabbers team also included Roy Campanella, but Gerard was co-winner of the Rookie of the Year award with Luis “Canena” Márquez, one of the all-time idols in Puerto Rico. He batted .348 in 141 at-bats and led the league with 12 stolen bases.

This showing impressed Jesús T. Piñero, the first native to be appointed governor of Puerto Rico. During his first season, Alfonso played as an import, though he got only the $25 per week wages of a native rather than the $125 he might have earned. Thanks to Governor Piñero, the league granted Gerard native status. Thus the exemption that would help the next wave of V.I. players was born.

Alfonso’s rookie year also gave him his entrée to the mainland. The Negro Leagues and the Puerto Rican League had virtually shared their blood supply since the latter’s foundation in 1938. George Scales, one of the smartest, toughest men in black baseball history, had been managing the Ponce Leones since 1940. When Piggy went 3-for-4 in his debut against Ponce’s Tomás “Planchardón” Quiñones, the league’s top pitcher and MVP that year, Scales took notice. He brought Gerard up to play with his New York Black Yankees in 1945.

Segregation was then still in force in what were then known as the major leagues. “Blacks had no opportunity, and worse West Indians,” said Valmy Thomas, who reached the majors in 1957. “Anyone who stayed in the oven too long had trouble.” [3] Yet around this time Gerard was apparently an early candidate to cross the line. In the early 1940s, Branch Rickey had instructed Puerto Rican baseball man José Seda to compile scouting reports on every player of consequence on the island. [4] Gerard came to notice not only for his ability but also for his even temperament and clean-living habits (he neither drank nor smoked). However, in interviews with the St. Croix papers, Gerard stated that he was passed over because Rickey wanted an African-American, not — as he mistakenly thought — a Puerto Rican.

In the Negro Leagues, Alfonso “was projected as a deadly hitter and tabbed as a coming star,” [5] but his numbers with the Black Yankees were unexceptional. He batted .258 in 1945. In 1946, Gerard became one of the many players whom Mexican baseball magnate Jorge Pasquel lured south of the border in his abortive bid to create a major league. Along with several Negro League compadres, he joined the new franchise in San Luis Potosí. With the Tuneros (translation: Prickly Pear Pickers), he hit .261 in 40 games. One of the Pasquel brothers gave him a solid gold watch.

Gerard returned to the Black Yankees in 1947, but after a slow start, he went to the Indianapolis Clowns. There he performed his best as a Negro Leaguer, hitting .340. Moving to the Chicago American Giants in 1948, he posted an average of .262. Piggy had a reputation for handling the best fastball pitchers, such as Satchel Paige. He once tripled off Satch to lead off an inning, but the master told him, “You aren’t going anywhere,” and proceeded to strike out the side.

Alfonso played with the Clowns again in 1949, but as the signing of Jackie Robinson heralded the decline of the Negro Leagues, a good many black ballplayers found work in Canada, which had integrated earlier and was generally a much more receptive environment. Gerard was with two clubs in 1950. He hit .333 for Kingston (Ontario) of the Colonial League, and when that league disbanded in July 1950, he hooked on with Pittsfield (Massachusetts) of the Canadian-American League, where he hit .258. He then spent two seasons in the Canadian Provincial League, batting .337 for Three Rivers and .303 for Granby, both in Québec. If the weather got too cold for his liking, he would wear a catcher’s chest protector as an extra layer!

In 1953, Piggy went to play for the summer in the Dominican Republic. Pro ball had resumed there in 1951 but did not switch over to the winters until 1955. He was with the Escogido club in Santo Domingo that season, facing Valmy Thomas, who was with arch-rival Licey.

All along, Alfonso had been playing for Santurce during the winters. He registered some very fine averages, especially as a regular from 1947-48 through 1951-52, batting in the #3 spot ahead of Willard Brown. His best mark, .342 in 1948-49, was good enough for fourth in the league. Freddie Thon Jr. — the father of future big-leaguer Dickie Thon — called Piggy “a pesky hitter who could hurt you.” Thon told author Tom Van Hyning that Willard “Ese Hombre” Brown and Bob “El Múcaro” Thurman “were the big guns, but that Gerard did a lot of damage to opposing teams throughout his Santurce career.” [6]

Gerard’s lifetime batting average of .303 (with just six homers) stands eighth on the all-time list in Puerto Rico. He played on three champion clubs with the Cangrejeros, all of which also won the Caribbean Series, including the Scales-led 1950-51 group. Another Negro Leaguer, Buster Clarkson, was player-manager of the 1952-53 team. Gerard went 1-for-3 in the 1951 series, as Luis Olmo joined Brown and Thurman as the starting outfielders. In 1953 he was 3-for-5 with a triple; that year Canena Márquez started ahead of him. [7]

Most noteworthy of all, though, was the 1954-55 squad, which Don Zimmer called “the best winter league baseball club ever assembled.” [8] Managed by Herman Franks, the cast again featured Latinos, Negro Leaguers, and both black and white major leaguers. Willie Mays formed an extraordinary outfield with Thurman and Clemente, but reserve Gerard chipped in with 28-for-84 (.333). His big moment in the Caribbean Series came in Game 4, as the Crabbers came back from a 6-0 deficit to beat Almendares of Cuba. Down 6-4 with two out in the 9th, Alfonso singled to left as a pinch-hitter. Zimmer homered to tie the game, and then Clemente walked and came all the way around on a Mays single. [9]

Alfonso Gerard ended his playing career in 1957-58. If there is any apt major-league comparison in more recent times, it might be Greg Gross, another outfielder who hit for high averages with very occasional power. Both also had good batting eyes, striking out about half as much as they walked, although the Puerto Rican statistics from that time are patchy. While Gross drew more walks, Gerard had better speed and range and also served as an infield fill-in in the Negro Leagues.

Before his retirement, Gerard received an offer to return to Canada to teach children to play ball. [10] Instead, he returned to St. Croix, where he managed local teams and was in charge of development and maintenance of fields for the V.I. government’s baseball development program. He was also a bird dog for Santurce owner Pedrín Zorrilla, who himself scouted for the Giants. Zorrilla signed Julio Navarro in 1955 and José Morales in 1963.

Piggy wanted to see more locals succeed. “His son James ‘Tremelle’ Gerard said his father would get disappointed when he heard about young players who forfeited good careers because they lacked the discipline to live out the sport. ‘My father felt there were a lot of guys that left here and could have made it. It would break his heart’ when they ended up coming back home.” [11]

Outside of work, Valmy Thomas remembers that “Gerard had a lot of goats at one time. Goat milk and cognac, that was his concoction. People would flock around his car when he would open his trunk, they would get in line!”

Gerard retired in 1984 and lived for the next 18 years outside of Christiansted. His humble white concrete home in the Estate St. Peter’s neighborhood was just half a mile over the hill from David C. Canegata Ballpark, where he had spent much time at work. For several years during his time in Puerto Rico, Gerard was apparently married, but even his own sister and Valmy know little more.

Gerard suffered a mild stroke in 1998, and his memory loss deprived us of more personal reminiscences. For the next year at least, he still spoke clearly and moved around unaided. He enjoyed sitting peacefully outside with his two dogs, and he remained well enough to cut the ribbon at the ceremony for the Basin Triangle residential community that was named for him in July 2001.

Gerard’s health gradually declined, though, and the old outfielder finally passed away on July 14, 2002. According to his obituary, he had been suffering from Alzheimer’s and prostate cancer. He was survived by his daughter Linda and sons James and Antonio. [12]

Valmy Thomas recalled, “I last saw him two or three months before. After that he went into the hospital. It was too hard for me to see him, who had been such an active man, in such condition. I read the eulogy, I recounted some of the things I knew about the Negro Leagues. He was the quiet one, I was the loud one. Translated: I spoke my mind! The bus life, barnstorming, waiting in back of the restaurants — not for me, no way, José!” But without Alfonso Gerard’s trailblazing, the opportunity for Thomas and all the other Virgin Islands ballplayers might never have arisen.

Sources

José A. Crescioni Benítez, El Béisbol Profesional Boricua (San Juan, PR: Aurora Comunicación Integral, Inc., 1997).

Acknowledgments

This biography originally appeared on the now-defunct website “Baseball in the Virgin Islands,” from which it was adapted. It was most recently updated on June 17, 2025.

Grateful acknowledgment to Osee Edwards and Valmy Thomas for their personal memories of their friend, Alfonso Gerard.

Photo Credits

Baseball card from 1950-51 Toleteros Puerto Rican set.

Gerard in 1999: taken by the author on St. Croix.

Notes

[1] Karen D. Williams, “Memories Are Many of Alphonso ‘Piggy’ Gerard,” St. Croix Source (online newspaper), July 18, 2002.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Jules Tygiel, Baseball’s Great Experiment (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 56.

[5] James A. Riley, The Biographical Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues (New York: Carroll & Graf Publishers), p. 312.

[6] Thomas E. Van Hyning, The Santurce Crabbers (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 1999), p. 28.

[7] Jorge S. Figueredo, Cuban Baseball: A Statistical History, 1878-1961 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 2005), pp. 346, 374.

[8] Thomas E. Van Hyning, Puerto Rico’s Winter League (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 1995), p. 216.

[9] Van Hyning, The Santurce Crabbers, p. 70.

[10] Williams, op. cit.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Ibid.

Govern was a native of St. Croix in the Virgin Islands. Christian and Isabella Govern’s son was born on October 16, 1854.3 At that time, St. Croix was still part of the Danish West Indies. Judging by his appearance, it is fair to guess that he was half European — and that in the U.S., he thus became part of society’s “mulatto elite” stratum. Whereas the Danes were mainly Lutheran, the Govern family was Catholic. Stanislaus Kostka, the source of the boy’s given name, was a 16th century Polish saint. The church would remain important throughout Govern’s life.

The Catholic Church records of that time in both of St. Croix’s main towns, Christiansted and Frederiksted, are lost. However, Danish census records from 1857 and 1860 provide a picture of the Govern family. The ethnic origins of Christian and Bella are not recorded, but Danish governor Peter von Scholten abolished slavery in the Virgin Islands in 1848. We may be reasonably certain that Stanislaus was born in Jolly Hill, a sugar-cane estate northeast of Frederiksted, in the western end of St. Croix. The 1857 census lists Christian as an overseer and Bella as a washer on the estate, which was owned by an Irishman named Major Adam Logan.4 It also shows that Stanislaus had an older sister named Elise and two younger sisters named Constantia and Geraldine.

By 1860, the Governs had moved to Frederiksted, where Christian worked as a saddler. This census does not show Elise or Geraldine; instead there are two older children named Norman and Matilda. Constantia is still listed, along with a new arrival named John.

In 1868, 13-year-old Stanislaus came to the U.S., serving as a cabin boy aboard the training ship Monongahela. As a teenager and young adult, Govern lived in Washington, D.C., where Black baseball players were definitely active. The People’s Advocate, a local African-American newspaper, stated that there was a match between the Philadelphia Pythians and a club from Washington in 1868. Jerry Malloy, a leading authority on 19th century Black baseball, believed that “Siki” may first have become involved in the late 1870s. He added, “I’ve got to believe that at one time or another he played the game.”

The U.S. census of 1880 shows Govern working as a retail cigar dealer in Washington, married to a woman named Lucretia who was born in Pennsylvania. As yet, the couple was childless — but Lucretia must have been expecting their daughter Isabella, who was born in June 1880. The next year shows Govern’s first documented connection to baseball. He was manager of the Washington Manhattans from 1881-84. The Washington Bee provided some brief descriptions of their games, especially in 1883.

As has been well chronicled, the Cuban Giants began life in 1885 as a team that entertained guests at the Argyle Hotel in the resort town of Babylon, Long Island. Frank P. Thompson was the headwaiter at the Argyle, and Govern — for many years a headwaiter in Philadelphia and Atlantic City — was a business associate. Their job was a relatively advantaged one, where the mulatto elite benefited from proximity to moneyed circles. In August 1885, Thompson, Govern, and C.S. Massey forged the Giants from the best of the Argyle Athletics, Washington Manhattans, and Philadelphia Orions. “Cos” Govern — who probably signed the three best Orions5 — retained the role of manager.

The Giants toured the South in the winter of 1885-86, staying active and generating revenue all year. They wound up in St. Augustine, the beachhead of original Florida land baron Henry Morrison Flagler. That very year Flagler had begun construction of the Hotel Ponce de León, the start of Florida’s transformation from pesthole to playground. The “Cubes” — thanks to the Thompson/Govern axis — were featured entertainers in Flagler’s hotels. “The emerging leisure component [of the resort hotel industry] also enabled aspiring entrepreneurs, such as Frank Thompson and S.K. Govern, to seize an opportunity to establish a commercial enterprise.”6

In addition, the tour had a leg in Havana (though the limited evidence is problematic).7 Indeed, though it has not been confirmed, Govern may have taken the Manhattans to Cuba as early as 1881 or 1882. His Caribbean background could well have been the key to recognizing the nexus of commerce and culture in baseball throughout the region.

In 1886 the Cuban Giants established a new home in Trenton, New Jersey. John Lang, the man who first financed the club, did not renew his support. Instead, two new white backers emerged: Walter I. Cook and John M. Bright. In Michael Lomax’s view, Govern helped engineer the deal with Cook and was the driving force behind day-to-day operations of the club. “Much like the modern-day general manager, he signed players to one-year contracts, utilized the press to schedule games, and was even responsible for selling season tickets.” In particular, Govern had a knack for drumming up business at the most fundamental level — scheduling. He attracted major-league clubs with hefty guarantees or percentages, also booking an array of matches with minor-league, college, and local club teams.8

Govern led the best teams assembled during the first brief period when Black pro baseball flowered. In June 1887 the Giants beat big-league teams in Cincinnati and Indianapolis. They were not Colored champs in 1887, as one team photo claims — that year they lost a best-of-three series to the New York Gorhams. In 1888, though, they decisively won a four-team championship tourney.9

Cos must have had an eye for talent; he signed George Stovey, the premier Black pitcher of the 19th century. It seems he was a good field manager too — his teams were called well-balanced and crafty as well as physically gifted. Govern himself was known as a disciplinarian.10

An interesting paradox presents itself here, though. The Giants were praised for their “respectable” conduct on and off the field — an essential for that era in baseball, which would struggle to overcome its ruffian image for years to come. However, the club was also known for its unconventional on-field antics. “No doubt this buffoonery alienated some Afro-American leaders who sought to construct a more positive image of the race. Such were the kinds of compromises Govern and the players were willing to make to advance their economic interests…the Giants symbolized the mulatto elite’s expectation that by creating a successful enterprise, like the Cuban Giants, they would be accepted into the mainstream of American society.”11 Furthermore, Cos was also a showman who was even known to perform as a comedian himself.

In that era, players routinely jumped ship. Govern was the victim when Jersey City raided Stovey after just one game in 1886. More often, though, he was the beneficiary. Notably, he managed the New York “Big Gorhams” of 1891, so called after snapping up the Giants’ best players. And “from 1886 to 1889, Govern was able to keep intact a nucleus that made the Cuban Giants the top independent club in the East.”12

Govern, representing Philadelphia, was a director of the ephemeral but groundbreaking National League of Colored Base Ball Players (1887).13 The Cuban Giants stayed out of the league, citing long traveling distances. However, Cos remained involved in an “unofficial” capacity.14 It was tempting to think that he managed the new Pythians, but in reality, that position went to Robert Still. Quite possibly Govern’s involvement consisted of obtaining equipment at a good price from manufacturer Alfred Reach, then a rival of Albert Spalding.15

Despite whatever financial acumen Govern may have lent, the NCL folded after just 13 games. Meanwhile, Cos had been busy with Giants business. He re-signed the ballplayers and signed leases for ballparks in Brooklyn, Manhattan (the original Polo Grounds, just north of Central Park), and Hoboken (Elysian Field, the site of the historic 1846 organized baseball match). Cook and Bright had leased and expanded a home field in Trenton, and Govern’s promotional efforts in New York bolstered the club’s competitive position.16

Cos broke more new ground as a promoter. Inviting bareknuckles boxing champ “Nonpareil” Jack Dempsey to umpire a Giants game on April 20, 1888 was the first celebrity tie-in for Black baseball.17 However, Walter Cook died on June 25 that year — an important turning point for the Giants. Cook was the wealthy philanthropist behind the venture. His money and civic ties in Trenton enabled Govern and the club to operate most effectively.18 J.M. Bright, although a supporter of the game, had a completely different style. Although Govern was not impeded at first, Bright’s approach led to strains and ultimately a break with his manager.

The 1889 season was a tumultuous one for Black baseball in general and the Cuban Giants in particular. The previous November, a new circuit — the Middle States League — had been organized. Govern represented Trenton, and the Giants were admitted to the otherwise all-white league to spur attendance. Govern ran afoul of the MSL administration because he was loath to sacrifice other revenue opportunities. In addition, the struggling league admitted another Black club — the arch-rival Gorhams — in mid-season. This prompted talk that the Giants would be forced out because Govern was violating the MSL’s salary cap — an unfounded allegation.19

Despite the tension between the Gorhams and Giants, the two clubs formed a traveling team, the Colored All Americans. This enabled them to make money barnstorming while fulfilling their league obligations. Yet the ongoing problems of the MSL prompted Govern to declare in late August that he wished the Giants had never entered the league — though he promised his club would play out the rest of the schedule.20

Shortly thereafter, though, J.M. Bright issued a contrary statement: the Giants would play no more games in the MSL. “Undermining Govern’s edict no doubt created a rift between the Cubans’ manager and Bright. Moreover, the players did not respond well to Bright’s intrusiveness, leading to some player unrest.”21

On January 2, 1890, the Trenton True American reported that Govern had been “dropped” — but more likely, he walked away. The MSL’s instability, Bright’s meddlesome and stingy ways, and decaying race relations in baseball were all co-factors.22 As a result, Cos spent 1890 and early 1891 managing the Hotel Ponce de León club. In August 1890, The Sporting Life carried an item noting that this team was touring northern New York and Vermont, with an eye toward adding dates in New Jersey and Pennsylvania before returning south for the winter. Govern’s address was given as the Hotel Champlain, an imposing resort in Plattsburgh, New York.23 Govern himself filed a report with The Sporting Life from St. Augustine in February 1891.24

Shortly thereafter, though, Gorhams owner Ambrose Davis (an African-American) lured Govern to manage his club — and the chance to retaliate against Bright through player raids was another motive.25 Govern also conceived a bold venture, establishing two Gorhams squads and maintaining both minor-league and semi-pro affiliation. However, the expenses of running both traveling and stay-at-home squads proved unsupportable.26

According to Michael Lomax, “neither Ambrose Davis nor the players fully recovered from their disappointing 1891 season.” He labels 1892 to 1895 period as “the lean years…a period of decline and reorganization.”27 S.K. Govern did not return for the 1892 season and was now out of Black baseball.28

James A. Riley says in The Biographical Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues that Govern managed the Cuban X-Giants in 1896. This is also supported by authors Lawrence Hogan and Jules Tygiel. X-Giants owner/business manager Edward B. Lamar, a white man, convinced many players to jump from Bright’s team and made Govern his field manager.29 , However, no supporting evidence from the press of the day has surfaced yet.

Unfortunately, factual gaps in the life of S.K. Govern still remain. Even the spelling of his name was uncertain until his death record was obtained; it was often given as “Governs.” There were many African-American newspapers back then, but they were mostly slim and underfunded vehicles. Those surviving on microfilm contain just a precious few snippets on baseball. And again, if he did ever visit his birthplace, there is no record of it, though he is identified as “S.K. Govern of St. Croix, WI” in an 1887 report on the Cuban Giants.

Outside baseball, Govern was the founder and first president of the Hotel Brotherhood (1884), which survived into the 1940s. Indeed, the formation of the Brotherhood that October was the first encounter between Cos and Frank Thompson. A fellow Crucian, Ludwig Peterson, actually hatched the concept and coaxed Govern into action. Apparently hotel proprietors along the Atlantic Coast had established a two-tier salary structure for waiters and bellhops, penalizing Black workers on racist grounds. Govern obtained a retraction of the proprietors’ statements in the press — though it would be interesting to know how much the salary inequities were redressed.

In 1889, Thompson and Govern also formed an organization called the Progressive Association of the United States of America (PAUSA). While given to lofty rhetoric, this was actually a racially integrated group that “served as a means of eliminating racial barriers that hindered efforts to facilitate entrepreneurship.”30 Again, the agenda was to promote the business of the Cuban Giants, benefiting employees as a result.

Four years later, Govern (representing Pennsylvania) joined other leaders of the Colored Catholic Congress for the World’s Columbian Catholic Congresses of 1893. Held in Chicago, the event took place in conjunction with the city’s vast Columbian Exposition, also known as the Chicago World’s Fair.31

Govern also contributed to the Philadelphia Tribune when that African-American paper, which is still flourishing today, was getting off the ground. Yet another sign of his social consciousness was his marriage in 1888 to Elizabeth B. Myers, the granddaughter of Black abolitionist/publisher Stephen Myers, who was head of the Underground Railroad in Albany, New York. (It is not known when Lucretia Govern passed away; one tends to doubt that a serious Catholic like Govern would have gotten divorced.)

One of the most remarkable facets of Govern’s career, his pursuit of acting, is almost entirely obscured. Although his obituary states that he won prizes for his interpretation of Shakespeare, supporting evidence has not yet surfaced. It is possible that Govern could have crossed paths along the eastern seaboard with J.A. Arneaux, an actor noted for his portrayal of Iago in Othello,32 as well as Richard III and Macbeth. Also noteworthy is that Arneaux too was a journalist. He was editor of the New York Enterprise and wrote for a mainstream big-city paper, the New York Sun.33 He was another member of the mulatto elite — the fair-skinned, straight-nosed, mustachioed New Yorker looked like he could have been Govern’s cousin.

The only definitive reference that has been uncovered is to an 1879 amateur production. The Black Catholic parish of St. Augustine in Washington formed The Ira Aldridge Dramatic Company, one of many named for the great African-American thespian. They staged Sheridan’s Pizarro before a slim audience, though Govern and most of the cast got good reviews.34 Cos and two friends named Chase and Smith may also have staged an unidentified play in Washington in the fall of 1883.35

Govern still performed in public at least once in later years. It came in August 1897, when he was head waiter at the Hotel Majestic in Atlantic City (where many well-heeled Philadelphians summered). He recited “Spartacus” (apparently the rhetorical monologue by Elijah Kellogg) as part of “a grand entertainment and cake walk, given under the auspices of the waiters and cooks of the hotel.”36

As of 1919, Govern was still involved in union affairs. He was listed as a member of the executive board of the Hotel and Restaurant Employees’ International Alliance.37 Govern was one of two African-American delegates at the founding convention in 1890. “In his talk, he made the intelligent proposal that their new union try to establish a central employment bureau to control hiring.”38

S.K. Govern’s life was cut short at the age of 70 when he was struck by a train on November 3, 1924. The accident took place in the resort town of Hot Springs, Virginia, where (according to funeral home records) he had lived for eight years. His occupation was given as laborer, and the likelihood is that he was working at The Homestead, a grand hotel/resort established in 1766. The 1920 census lists Govern, among a myriad of other people with hotel-related occupations, as a news agent.

Elizabeth was not shown next to Govern, and though the census entry on his marital status is not legible, one tends to believe that Cos survived her too. They were certainly living together in Philadelphia as of the 1900 census, which listed her and 20-year-old Isabella Govern as dressmakers. The couple was in New York as of 1909, when Isabella died in Reading, Pennsylvania. Isabella had married a local ballplayer named Edgar Still, who became one of Reading’s most prominent African-American citizens. Her obituary mentioned a brother named Alonzo B.C. Govern, who may well have been the product of S.K. and Elizabeth’s marriage.39

The funeral was held at the Shrine of the Sacred Heart Catholic Church, near the hotel, on November 8. Govern’s body was then brought to Philadelphia, where he lay in state at Brotherhood headquarters. He was interred in Eden Cemetery in Collingdale, Pennsylvania, a historical resting place for African-Americans. The grave was unmarked until May 2021, when a headstone commissioned in 2020 by SABR’s Negro Leagues Baseball Grave Marker project was set in place.

Over a century after his pro sporting career ended, details of this seminal Negro Leaguer’s life continue to emerge from the fog banks of history.

Acknowledgments

This biography was originally published in 2000 on the now-defunct website, “Baseball in the Virgin Islands.” It has been augmented since then as facts have come to light. Acknowledgment to the works of Jerry Malloy (1946-2000) and Michael E. Lomax.

Photo credit: NYPL Digital Gallery (http://digitalgallery.nypl.org/nypldigital/id?1231482). Originally published in Sol White’s Base Ball Guide.

For further information, visit https://www.nycitylib.com/

Sources

www.ancestry.com: census records from 1857 and 1860 (Danish West Indies); 1880, 1900, and 1920 (United States); reference to marriage record for S.K. Govern and Elizabeth B. Myers

www.stcroixlandmarks.com

Malloy, Jerry. “The Birth of the Cuban Giants: The Origins of Black Professional Baseball.” NINE, Spring 1994. pp. 233-247.

Govern’s obituary: Philadelphia Tribune, November 15, 1924, p. 1.

Lewis, Peter. “Hotel Brotherhood Completes Fifty Years of Service.” Philadelphia Tribune, November 1, 1934, p. 27.

Yet one must look beyond the field to get the full measure of this giving man. He was warm-hearted, always beaming, with a rumbling (often colorfully profane) voice and laugh. Ellie made a personal connection with thousands of fans – especially the young.

Elrod Jerome Hendricks was born in Charlotte Amalie on December 22, 1940. His parents were Arthur Hendricks and Berecia Callendar. He had three brothers, Volmie, Arthur, and Morse. A childhood accident slowed the youth’s athletic development – his father’s car rolled over his feet, crushing his insteps, which had to be rebuilt.1 Thus he did not come to baseball until he was 13.

“I was introduced [to the game] by my uncle, Wilburn Smith, who at the time was one of the star players, shortstop, second base. He was well established in the islands.” Ellie played in the local men’s league, thanks to his uncle and a mainstay of St. Thomas baseball, Lealdo Victoria. “Lealdo and I became very, very close friends – he was more of a father figure to me. The Texaco Stars were a club, you had to be a member. They ushered me in and nurtured me. It was probably the best thing that happened, because I matured fast and I learned the game playing with those guys.”

About five years later, on March 1, 1959, the 18-year-old Hendricks signed to play pro ball. No less a figure than Hank Aaron was instrumental.2 “Hank came down on a tour after the 1958 World Series, a hitting exhibition. Bill Steinecke, who was then a scout/manager in the Braves minor-league system, him and Luis Olmo, they all came with Hank. On Friday afternoon, I was asked by my principal, would I be willing to go catch the exhibition? I said, ‘When!?’”

“There was supposed to be a clinic that Saturday, and I didn’t go because I had my chores to do around the house. That Sunday, I knew there were two games, it was in all the papers. But since I did not go to the clinic, I decided I was not going to go to the games. But I went to church that morning, and after church I went out to the ballgame, just to see it, because it was against St. Croix, sort of an all-star thing. And while I was there, Hank saw me sitting in the stands.”

“Everyone in the stands was asking ‘Why aren’t you down there?’ because Hank was a big name. We were not used to seeing major leaguers, professionals for that matter, spending time with us. So he saw me and said ‘Why aren’t you out here?’ and I told him ‘I didn’t go to the workout yesterday, so it’s not fair to the guys who went and were chosen.’ He said ‘Well, I want you. So go and get your uniform. It’s across the street [with Ellie’s grandmother, who lived right by Lionel Roberts Stadium]. I read about that!’”

“So I put on my uniform, and still sat in the stands. In the seventh inning, we had the bases loaded, and Mr. Steinecke called me in to pinch-hit for my cousin, Gene Francis, and he was leading the league in hitting! But as fate would have it, I hit a double and drove in three runs. After the game, they asked me to sign a contract. I said, ‘I couldn’t, my mom’ll kill me,’ but my uncle said, ‘Go ahead, I’ll sign for you.’”

At Class D McCook (Nebraska State League) in 1959, Ellie had a dismaying early experience – his first exposure to the knuckleball, courtesy of 20-year-old Phil Niekro. “Oh God, yes. Poor Knucksie, he held his heart, he was more worried about me than I was about myself. I had a brand-new catcher’s mitt, the first one I ever owned, and I was there trying to break it in. I just tried to keep the ball in front of me, but it was bouncing off every part of my body.” Manager Bill Steinecke had to come for him in the sixth inning.

Also on that squad was future author Pat Jordan (A False Spring). Bonus boy Jordan had a brief punch-up with the “very black, very limber” Elrod, who “spoke a rhythmic calypso English that amused most of the American players.” Still, the smile never left Ellie’s face.

The Braves released Hendricks in December 1960, but the Puerto Rican Winter League became his safety valve during his career’s bleakest period. Ellie did not play summer ball in 1961, working at a car rental in St. Thomas instead. However, help came from Luis Olmo, a teammate of Alfonso Gerard, a St. Croix native who played in the Negro Leagues and with a very young Roberto Clemente for the Santurce Cangrejeros (Crabbers). Olmo, the Crabbers’ manager when Ellie first turned pro, offered an invitation. His successor, Vern Benson, wanted to get a longer look. Benson was also a coach with the Cardinals’ farm club at Tulsa, and the organization needed catchers.

In Santurce Hendricks backed up Valmy Thomas, another St. Croix ballplayer, and then shared the job with him during the next two seasons before the veteran retired. “When I joined Santurce, it was good to see someone from home,” said Ellie. “Valmy may not know how much he helped me as a player. I would ask him certain things about catching, and he would never answer me, but I watched him and I learned from him. At first I thought, maybe it’s that St. Croix-St. Thomas rivalry, maybe you don’t want to talk to me! But invariably, he would do something and he would look over my way, as if to say, ‘I hope you got that.’”

Ellie roomed for a couple of winters with still another Virgin Islands player, Horace Clarke.3 “There was that rivalry with St. Croix, I even had people asking me, ‘How can you room with him, you’re a traitor!’ I said, ‘Hey, he’s a nice guy, I played against him in high school.’” Although they were rarely around at the same time, owing to the schedule, they still became close. Hendricks remembered that musically inclined Horace, “who hardly said anything,” played vibraphone and xylophone.

He also recalled the generosity of Sandy Alomar Sr.’s brother, Tony, and Juan “Terín” Pizarro. “They took me under their wings, drove me anywhere I wanted to go, wouldn’t let me spend my money.” Ellie remained lifelong friends with Pizarro and also learned more craft from catching him and Rubén Gómez. Other cagey vets like Canena Márquez and Ozzie Virgil Sr. taught him a further trick or two. “They would look terrible swinging at a breaking ball early in the game and then look back at me. When I got in a tight situation, I’d call for that breaking ball and they would rifle it to right-center, and when they got to second, they would look back at me again. Pizarro would say, ‘You big dummy, don’t you know they’re good breaking-ball hitters who can’t catch up to the fastball anymore?’ I learned after being burned a couple of times!”

The Crabbers connection again kept Ellie’s career alive at a low point, as the Cardinals cut him in 1963. However, his closest friend with the Crabbers, pitcher William de Jesús, was playing with Jalisco of the Mexican League. De Jesús recommended Hendricks to Jalisco’s manager, major-league and Puerto Rico veteran Jungle Jim Rivera.4 From 1964 through 1967, Ellie put up very potent if not quite Ruthian numbers for the Charros, including 41 home runs, 112 runs batted in, and a .316 batting average his last year.

Hendricks caught the eye of Earl Weaver, who was managing Santurce. When Baltimore prospect Larry Haney got hurt, Ellie also became a regular in Puerto Rico, and Weaver insisted that the Orioles should draft him in 1966. The Angels had a working agreement with Jalisco at that time, so they had his rights. After the extra endorsement of Orioles’ scout Trader Frank Lane, Baltimore selected Hendricks in the Rule 5 draft in 1967. He finally made the majors in 1968.

“Hank Bauer was the manager at that time. And naturally anything that Earl brought to the table he was against, because he knew Earl [then the first-base coach] was there to take his job! No matter what I did, I was wrong; he even changed my stance. Charlie Lau, who was our hitting coach, just closed his eyes. He said, ‘Hank, I saw this kid hit in Puerto Rico that way, and he hit against major-league pitching.’ Earl was cringing, and he finally just said, ‘I know you hate doing it, but just do it for me, please.’ By then I knew exactly what was going on, because I’d heard some stories.” Earl’s epoch began halfway through the 1968 season.

Hendricks – the lefty-swinging half of a catching platoon with Andy Etchebarren – was a lesser but still vital cog in Weaver’s superb Orioles teams of 1969-71. He was involved in some memorable World Series moments, including two in 1969: Tommie Agee robbed him of a likely triple in Game Three, and Pete Richert ran him off J.C. Martin’s bunt in Game Four. Game One in 1970 featured the pileup at home plate with Bernie Carbo and umpire Ken Burkhart; Hendricks also hit a homer to back Brooks Robinson’s fielding.

Ellie’s outstanding attribute as a player was handling the Orioles’ first-rate pitching staffs – especially Jim Palmer, a cerebral power pitcher, and Mike Cuellar, a most crafty junk-baller who had to outthink hitters after hurting his arm.

“They had a mental toughness. Palmer was probably the toughest of all to catch because he knew so much about the game. He knew himself, he knew every hitter, he knew every pitch that he threw. He knew what got hit and what didn’t get hit. Basically he was going to throw 85 to 90 percent fastballs, you knew that as a catcher. But he would battle you the whole game, so that’s why he was tough to catch, because mentally you’d be exhausted when the game was over. But the days that he had great stuff, it was so easy.”

In 2001 Jim Palmer reciprocated: “He was the perfect receiver. If I told him to sit on the corner, he sat on the corner. If I got the ball there on time, he could throw the runner out. And between him and Andy Etchebarren, we’d get 20 homers. He caught my no-hitter [on August 13, 1969 vs. Oakland]. I had the utmost confidence in him.”

“Ellie paid his dues — after nine years in the minors, coming out of the Mexican League, he was in a position to subjugate his ego and do what was good for the club and the staff. He was and is a good communicator. Here he is 33 years later still doing the same thing.”

“Sure, we’d battle mentally. But he would come out there to the mound with that smile on his face, and he’d know where to give. Some catchers would think they know better – and maybe they do – but there was that special knowledge with Ellie. He knows the game of baseball.”

Although Ellie’s arm was not very strong, it was highly accurate. He nailed 38 percent of opposing base stealers during his career – 42 percent if one includes runners he picked off. While Hendricks batted only .220 lifetime in the majors, never climbing above .250, he did have some power. He exemplified the “Oriole Way” of smarts, sound fundamentals, and a roster full of useful role players.

In The Umpire Strikes Back, the late Ron Luciano told how much he liked having Ellie behind the plate. He was a buffer between the perennially feuding Luciano and Weaver, he had “the nicest way of arguing of anyone in baseball,” and was even trusted to call balls and strikes if the ump was “having a bad day.”

Except for the Orioles’ post-season trip to Japan in 1972, Ellie always wintered in Puerto Rico, his secure place.5 There they called him El Madamo, a reference to his African-Caribbean origin. His peak there was 1968-69, when he won the MVP award.

Hendricks spent two stretches away from Baltimore, which he regarded as the low points of his career. In 1972 he suffered partial paralysis in his right hand and arm, owing to a calcium deposit at the base of his neck.6 That August he was traded to the Chicago Cubs while his second wife, Merle, was recovering from childbirth complications. Ellie later said, “It’s a funny thing, not even being able to button your shirt. … I couldn’t even hold my car keys to open the door last summer. I couldn’t hold a cigarette to my mouth. I had numbness in all my fingers. Last year was a complete waste.”7

What was the real cause? In 2001, Hendricks said “there’s some validity” to the belief that his career-threatening injury arose when he got hit by a backswing after defying superstition by knocking a cross made of sticks (or, in the tale’s embroidered version, chicken bones) off second base in a winter-league game against Caguas in 1968-69.8

However, fellow Virgin Islander Joe Christopher (a great believer in numerology) said, “Elrod was born lucky because of his birthdate!” Indeed, things turned up. With the encouragement of Frank Robinson, Ellie decided to keep playing at Santurce. Crabbers trainer Nick Acosta, a masseur “who was a magician with those fingers,” brought back the lost sensation. In 1972-73 he tied his Puerto Rico Winter League personal best with 12 homers and was the All-Star catcher once again.

Even when Ellie left the Orioles he paid dividends. The 1972 waiver deal with the Cubs brought Tommy Davis, who gave Baltimore three productive years as a designated hitter. That October the club got Hendricks back for Francisco Estrada, a one-game major leaguer.

Then in June 1976, Hendricks was part of the big 10-player deal with the Yankees that brought Baltimore Scott McGregor, Rick Dempsey, and Tippy Martínez. Under Billy Martin, he appeared in his fourth World Series but wound up going to Triple-A in 1977. Still, Hendricks thought highly of the other scrappy little bastard ex-second baseman for whom he played.

“Billy was so much like Earl. Anyone that wanted to win, I wanted to play for, because you learn an awful lot. Even though I had been on successful teams in the minors, I didn’t know how to play until I got under Weaver’s tutelage. And then when I left Baltimore to come to New York, it was like looking at the same guy in the mirror. Billy wanted to win more than anything else. You sit and listen to them, they rant and rave, but you pick up an awful lot about the game.”

“They hated each other’s guts, but they were so much alike, and I think that was one of the reasons.” If anything, Ellie thought Billy wanted to beat Earl even more because Earl had the upper hand more often. But he stressed how both were masters of roster management, player positioning, and all forms of in-game strategy. “Their teams were built around pitching and defense. That’s the one thing they did not tolerate, not being able to do the little things. Bunt the guy over, make the routine play, don’t beat yourself, let the other team beat themselves. That’s the way they played the game and that’s the way they managed the game.”

In November 1977 “big-league daddy”9 Weaver rescued Hendricks again; Ellie succeeded Cal Ripken, Sr. as bullpen coach. The winter of 1977-78 was also his last with the Crabbers. His 105 career homers in Puerto Rico rank third on the all-time list, and he played on five league champions.

Hendricks, Baltimore’s most loyal lieutenant, endured 11 manager changes as a coach. He appeared in 13 games as a player-coach during 1978, including one as a pitcher during a 24–10 blowout.10 When the rosters expanded in September 1979, he was activated for one last go behind the plate.

Although there was talk that Ellie might become a manager at some point, especially in the 1980s, he put those ambitions on the back burner. He remained a popular institution as bullpen coach. He had no retirement date in mind, but after he survived testicular cancer in 2003 and a mild stroke in April 2005, the Orioles did not allow him to exit on his own terms. He was “reassigned” after the 2005 season. Ellie’s position with the organization was still “under review” when he succumbed to a sudden fatal heart attack a day short of his 65th birthday. Only two days before, he had played Santa to 100 underprivileged children.

Elrod Hendricks was survived by Merle, their sons, Ryan and Ian (who both played in the minor leagues), and two sons and two daughters from his first marriage (Elrod, Jr. also played briefly in the minors). Yet his legacy has endured in other ways – his magic lay in how he reached out to fans and brought them inside the game.

Sources

This biography originally appeared on the now-defunct website “Baseball in the Virgin Islands,” from which it was adapted.

Grateful acknowledgment to Ellie Hendricks for providing his memories (personal interviews in the clubhouse at Yankee Stadium, home of his childhood favorites, July 1999 and May 2001) and to Jim Palmer (personal interview at Yankee Stadium, May 2001).

Notes

“My thing was fun,” McBean observed in 1999. “I liked to do little crazy things, something different for the fans, they see the same thing over and over and over. Like crawling over the foul line and not touching it. Throwing the first pitch underhand, pulling on a big red bandana and wiping my face with it. Something the fan can feel a part of.”

“Pete Rose used to do a few little things like that, people like Pete Rose and myself, we were called hotdogs and showoffs – which I think was wrong.” He pointed out, “I guess they would call it clowning around, but the day I couldn’t do my job because clowning was getting in the way, it was a different story.”2

McBean had a name as a flashy, “mod” dresser too. “Whatever style came out, I bought it. Nehru jackets, all that stuff. Willie Stargell and I would look at GQ, we’d dress up Rose, [Roberto] Clemente. He didn’t want to wear it at first, but then he said what the heck, and we got him to jazz it up. I would change three suits a day. As soon as I saw a little spot, I’d go upstairs. No wrinkles – my clothes had to be immaculate. What people in Pittsburgh most know me for is my white double-breasted suit, my white tie, and white shoes. Again, not for me, but for the fans. Identification: Al McBean, Gay Blade. Although after a while that word didn’t work anymore!”3

Alvin O’Neal McBean – sportswriters and Pirates broadcaster Bob Prince loved to refer to him by his full name – was born in Charlotte Amalie on May 15, 1938. His father, O’Neal Alfredo McBean, was a laborer in road building when Alvin was a small child; later he was a carpenter.4 His mother, Inger Emanuel, later married a man named Raymond, so young Alvin was part of a blended family.

McBean’s father, a pitcher himself, was part of a flourishing adult recreational baseball scene in the Virgin Islands.5 The children of the islands also enjoyed the game. As McBean reminisced, “Growing up, we played every day, like the kids in Santo Domingo. In front of a house or in a little lot, pickup, there was no Little League back then. If you didn’t have a ball, you’d get a couple of stockings, roll them up together, tear them at the top, and when that was messed up, you’d use mango seeds. We’d use anything we could throw or hit with a stick.”6

McBean first played organized hardball in high school, but it was with the local Catholic school, because Charlotte Amalie High no longer had a team. He also played with assorted local clubs, including the Texaco Stars (with Elrod Hendricks at catcher), the Braves, and the Falcons. He did not do much pitching back then; rather, he played all positions. “We always had chores to do, and your mom would call you away. When you went back, you’d play wherever you could.”7

Pittsburgh Pirates superscout Howie Haak was responsible for discovering McBean, as he did several other Virgin Islands prospects. In 1957, Haak held a tryout camp on St. Thomas. As McBean related it, “I was a press photographer with the Home Journal, and I was told to cover the tryout camp. I went up there with all my equipment, I had a bellows, I set up my tripod. I was not really interested in baseball, I was interested in taking pictures.”

“And when I was there, I was told by one of my friends, Lealdo Victoria, one of my ex-managers, ‘Man, look, why don’t you try out? What have you got to lose?’ And I said I have no spikes, I have nothing to wear. He lived around Lionel Roberts Stadium, he brought me some old baggy uniform, a pair of spikes, a glove. And that was it. I was told ‘Let’s see you run,’ so we ran a couple races. I came in second in the first race and first in the second race. At the same time I was still taking pictures.”

“Then we went to the outfield and had to throw in from center field. Of course my arm was so live, the ball was whoosh, going all over the place. And we went into the infield, to shortstop. And then they decided, ‘Get on the mound, I hear you can pitch, let’s see what you can do.’ So I got on the mound and started throwing.”

“After everything was finished, I took all my pictures, did my story. And we sat in the first-base dugout, Howie Haak was there. He took the names of all the people and he said, ‘You’ll hear from us.’ A couple months after, I got a letter from Pittsburgh saying ‘You are invited to spring training.’ And the rest is history.”8

The Pirates got a tremendous return on their minuscule $100 signing bonus. McBean moved up rapidly in the minors, jumping past both Class C and Class AA. He pitched mostly out of the bullpen, starting 38 times in 103 total appearances from 1958 through mid-1961. Coverage of him in The Sporting News focused mainly on his exploits in the Puerto Rican Winter League, where he first went to play ball in the winter of 1958-59. He won Rookie of the Year honors with the Ponce Leones. Among his teammates there were fellow Virgin Islanders Elmo Plaskett, for whom McBean would later be best man, and later Horace Clarke. The islanders benefited from being considered as native Puerto Ricans rather than imports.

The Pirates first called McBean up in July 1961, and he made two starts in 27 appearances. Returning to Puerto Rico for his fourth straight winter, he met his future wife, Olga María Santos Negrón.9 She was working in a Ponce drugstore, and as the only person there who understood a little English, she was asked to help him. She recalled that when she first met McBean, he said he was going to marry her. It was months before they actually dated, but Al was very persistent, going to the store every day to buy soap and see her.10

With Pittsburgh in 1962, McBean posted career highs in starts (29) and wins (15), second on the staff in both categories. He had a typically flavorful memory of the 1962 season.

“I’m a very strange person when it comes to getting in shape. I don’t like the drudgery and the boredom of running laps. So I would take ground balls in the infield, and as Clemente moved from right field, I would shag flies in his position. As [Bill] Virdon moved from center field, I would do the same. I considered that as getting in shape. But some of the coaches were rigid, they’d say ‘You can’t be no different to the rest of the pitchers.’”

“But Danny Murtaugh said one day, ‘Listen, I have 10 baseballs in this box. If you can promise to win me 10 ballgames, the coaches will leave you alone. I’ll say let McBean get in shape the way he wants.’ I could have won 20 games that year, but Bob Veale told me, ‘McBean, if you win 20, then you’ll have to do it again.’ If you had a good year, they’d expect you to be better the following year or they’d cut your salary. So you had to get in a nice little groove. Which is crazy, but you live and learn.”11 In fact, McBean finished 15-10 in 29 starts and four relief appearances.

The 1962 season also featured the wedding of McBean and Olga Santos. The ceremony took place on August 27, at St. Brigid Catholic Church in the Hill District, one of America’s most notable African-American neighborhoods. The best man was Roberto Clemente. Giving away the bride was another Pirates teammate, Diómedes Olivo. Olivo, then aged 43, was in fact old enough to be Olga’s father (she was 19).12 McBean was so excited that he forgot to bring the rings and wedding license.13

Another funny McBean anecdote concerns his encounter with segregation in the southern United States. It reportedly took place at some point during spring training (though it might also have been previously, when he was playing in either the Carolina League or the Sally League). He grabbed a drink from a whites-only fountain, exclaiming, “I just took a drink of that white water and it didn’t taste no damned different than ours!”14

In 1963, McBean shifted to the bullpen, going 13-3, 2.57 while complementing Elroy Face and spot-starting. Of Face, McBean said, “I used to go to his house, barbecue a lot, pal around with his family. And he would tell me intricacies of the game. You could get a guy on, walk a few guys once in a while, based on how you felt that particular day. Learn how to pitch in those situations.”15

Even without his gags, McBean drew special attention when he came out of the pen. “Whatever those walks mirrored: concentration, determination, or intoxication, nobody walked into a game the way Alvin O’Neal McBean walks into a game…’You’d have to say McBean saunters in,’ Murtaugh said.”16

This player was ahead of his time. Relieving then was still seen as a comedown if you couldn’t cut it as a starter, but the “man of 10,000 words and 1,000 dispositions”17 realized he was physically and temperamentally better suited to the pen. “Starting made him nervous and discombobulated his system…and he was upset because he didn’t make the All-Star team. He had a point. ‘So be the case: the relief pitcher who is best should make it.’”18

Though McBean never made it to the Midsummer Classic, he did make it to a unique event – the first and only Latin American players’ game. It was also the last baseball game ever held at Manhattan’s old Polo Grounds. On October 12, 1963, the NL Latin stars, led by Juan Marichal, Orlando Cepeda, Felipe Alou, and Tony Taylor, defeated their AL counterparts 5-2 before an announced throng of 14,235. Marichal threw four scoreless innings, and McBean matched that accomplishment. He also provided the game’s most exciting play in the sixth when he drove in Tony González with a triple but was thrown out at home by a Minnie Miñoso–Luis Aparicio–José Azcué relay. “There was a Listerine sign in left field [right of the 422-foot marker],” McBean recalled in 2014, “and that’s where I hit the ball. It was a lot of fun.”19

Elroy Face suffered one of the only poor years of his long and reliable career in ’64. McBean’s response – 8-3, 1.91 ERA, 22 saves. Though only 18 saves were recognized under the unofficial rule of the time, they earned him Fireman of the Year. There was much humorous wrangling over obtaining a trophy as well as a plaque, in order to make a bigger impression on the governor and the people of the Virgin Islands. Four were broken in shipment in 10 months. When the specially ordered prize arrived at last, Al erupted in mock outrage, “There’s no fireman’s hat on top…I want a fireman’s hat!”20

McBean, who had missed a couple of winter seasons because the Pirates wished it, returned to Puerto Rico for the 1964-65 season. By one account, the Pirates wanted him to pitch winter ball because of some arm trouble in 1964.21 McBean said himself, however, “I went back because I felt I owed the people of Puerto Rico. And I didn’t like that Pittsburgh told me not to play but didn’t compensate me for it. The most I ever made in a season was $32,000 – that’s meal money today.”22

However, that season ended on uneasy terms. There was a contingent of heavy bettors among the Ponce fans, and when they suffered losses in games that McBean pitched, they were heard threatening to shoot him. He also pitched through some more arm trouble and didn’t want to endanger his earning power in the majors.23 In the end, though, he laughed it off and it became just another colorful anecdote.24

With Pittsburgh, McBean continued his excellence in 1965 while Face was sidelined much of the year with a knee injury. When the little forkballer returned to form in 1966, McBean lost save opportunities. Yet at his peak, as the relief role took another quantum leap in importance, he was as effective as any of the new and varied breed of bullpen aces.

When asked in 1999 what his preferred role would be, McBean said, “I would try to be the closer or the setup guy. I’d rack up a lot of saves. I could pitch every day. We had to pitch two or three innings then. We didn’t have no one to come in and soften up the team for the closer to pitch to one or two batters. None of these lefty specialists. We called it effective or ineffective.”25

In 1968, McBean showed his ability to suit the team’s needs by returning to the rotation. Although his overall record was so-so, he enjoyed perhaps his most memorable performance on July 28. In a 7-1 victory, McBean hit a grand slam, and in the ninth, he threw at least a half-dozen blooper pitches and earned his complete game when Orlando Cepeda bounced a blooper to shortstop José Pagán for the final out.26

The Pirates exposed McBean to the expansion draft after that season, and he was selected by the San Diego Padres. Turning up in Yuma for spring training, he immediately displayed his free spirit by asking where the nearest spa was and working out in a leotard. The Padres traded him to the Dodgers after just one start; oddly, that was the only deal between the clubs for nearly 30 years. The Pirates reacquired him in 1970, but at that point his major-league career wound down. His lifetime record over 10 seasons was a very respectable 67-50, with a 3.13 ERA and 63 saves. He was also a fairly good-hitting pitcher – .197 with three homers.

It was McBean’s tough luck that Pittsburgh won the World Series both the year before he started and the year after he left. “I have never seen myself pitch,” he said.27 A postseason appearance would have made video readily available.

During the winter of 1970-71, McBean returned to Puerto Rico after four years away. About that experience in Ponce, he noted, “You try to find out if you can still do something. You want to see where you are relative to the other hitters and pitchers.”28 He was effective there, and again with Triple-A Eugene in the Phillies organization in 1971. “I was throwing little balls,” he said, but there was more to the story. “I wore white spikes, and I did a lot of things they didn’t see in that part of the country. To the point where when they came for a relief pitcher, and they said I was going back to the big leagues, they decided they weren’t going to take me, because I was bringing fans to the park.”

“I was hurt, because I was supposed to be a groundball pitcher, and my strikeout ratio was high. I knew I was going to go back.”29 Instead, the Phillies called up Wayne Twitchell, a promising hurler who happened to be ten years younger. McBean refused to take a pay cut of $500 per month to return to Ponce. This left his lifetime mark in six Puerto Rican Winter League seasons at 33 won and 41 lost, with an ERA of 3.16. “That winter, I got a letter in the mail assigning my contract to Double-A. I wrote Dallas Green [then the Phillies’ assistant farm director] a little note, put it in the post office, and that was it. I never played again.”30

Ellie Hendricks, a catcher, pitched in one game for the Baltimore Orioles during a blowout in June 1978. It was not until June 2015, though, that a true pitcher from the Virgin Islands followed McBean to the majors.31 Akeel Morris, a young righty from St. Thomas, was called up all the way from Class A by the New York Mets and got a “cup of coffee.” When asked for his view, McBean’s response was, “It’s all right – as long as he sticks with it.”32 Morris made it back to the top level in 2017. He was preceded by another St. Thomian pitcher, Jharel Cotton, in 2016.

Upon retirement, McBean joined the Housing, Parks and Recreation Department on St. Thomas. He chartered the Little League program with old friend Lealdo Victoria, among others, and thought about returning to coach in the minors – but didn’t have the same love of teaching as Elmo Plaskett. Instead, he rose to deputy commissioner, supervising crews in charge of maintenance, construction, and beautification projects. On the side was a landscaping business. The Al McBean Center, right by his brightly gardened home in the hills, includes a baseball diamond.

As a personality, this man showed a lot in common with Muhammad Ali. Leafing through his scrapbook confirmed the impression; sportswriters were drawing Cassius Clay comparisons back in the early 1960s.33 But in his sixties and beyond, McBean’s loquacity was undimmed.

When setting up an interview in June 1999, McBean said, “You’re going to have to call me on my cell phone, buddy. I’m always moving. Oh, you’ve got a whole week? OK, we can deal.” Five days later: “Understand: I am the man. I just finished with Sinbad [the breezy comedian had recently headlined a festival at Lionel Roberts]. I’ve got baseball programs. I’ve got a lot of things to do. So take this number too. Whoever answers, tell them ‘I want to talk to Al McBean – period.’ Radio, radio, radio!”34

At least compared to pastoral St. Croix, St. Thomas has a go-go pace, but McBean seemed like he’d fit in on the most un-laid-back island of all – Manhattan. “You might be right,” he said with a chuckle. “But I don’t like the cold weather.”35 On the field, his movements and reactions were often described as catlike. Horace Clarke recalled him as “such a fidgety pitcher on the mound.”36 The man remained preternaturally restless, always on the prowl.

McBean also remained a purist. For example, though he acknowledged that his teammates Willie Stargell and Bill Mazeroski were very fine players, he did not regard them as Hall of Famers. He rated Clemente a notch above Willie Mays and then Hank Aaron (“suspect defensively”) in his all-time ranking.37 And when the subject of more recent baseball came up, he revealed a combative streak. In 1999, he scoffed openly at general trends and some of the biggest names.

Players overall: “They don’t have the hunger. The hunger! It’s these guaranteed contracts. Pitchers, after five innings, they’re saying ‘Ooh, come get me!’ They don’t care if they give up a homer.”

The Atlanta Braves starters: “I never liked that [Tom] Glavine, with the s**t he throws, or the other guy either [Greg Maddux]. Where would they be if they hadn’t got those calls 12 to 14 inches off the plate? The only one on that staff I like is [John] Smoltz. At least he comes after you.”

Frank Thomas: “The Big Hurt, my ass. I would eat him up – eat his ass up!”

Tony Gwynn: “F***in’ banjo hitter.”

Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire: “These guys swing the same way at every ball. They don’t adjust. Clemente knew how to adjust. I see Sosa looking back at the umpire and I think, ‘Jesus’. And this big guy missing games with corns cut out of his feet.”38

It’s not surprising that McBean respected Pedro Martínez (then a hard-throwing complete-gamer) and Curt Schilling. Before the latter’s trade to Arizona, McBean remarked, “He’s got to get out of Philadelphia – but the Braves’ll probably buy him.” Among hitters, he liked Ken Griffey, Jr. and John Olerud.39

Yes, a pinch of Ty Cobb went into this complex man’s makeup. Opponents remembered his flashing spikes in local games. He himself admitted, “A lot of people here don’t like me. It’s because I challenge them to get off their lazy asses.”40 Overall, though, without doubt the guy’s heart remained in the right place. Family – wife Olga, daughter Sarina, three grandsons – and friends were always important. Al McBean’s refrain still sounds clearly:

“What I enjoyed most from baseball was the camaraderie that I had with the fans in Pittsburgh. The signing of autographs, then going to people’s homes for dinner. Mt. Lebanon was one of my areas, real nice – I used to wear the little black thing on my head, I didn’t know what it was for, but I wore it anyway! Up at St. Brigid’s Parish, I knew most of the nuns there, they’d come to Forbes Field, they’d come down to the bullpen and we’d talk. I’d go to church up in the Hill District. I would drink dago red. I had fun basically with everybody.”41

Postscript

Alvin O’Neal McBean died at his home in Charlotte Amalie on January 31, 2024. He was 85 and had been in ill health and out of the public eye for the previous two years.

Acknowledgments

Grateful acknowledgment to Al McBean for providing his memories. Continued thanks to Eric Costello for additional research. Additional thanks to Rico Corneiro in St. Thomas. Updated in July 2015 and February 2024.

Notes

José Manuel Morales was a master pinch-hitter. In 1976 he made his big-league reputation with 25 base hits in this role. This single-season record stood until Colorado’s John Vander Wal stroked 28 in 1995; it remained the third best one-year total as the 2013 season ended. Morales — the seventh of 11 men from the US Virgin Islands to make the majors — still ranked eighth on the career list too, with 123.

In 1984, José’s last year as a player, AP sportswriter Charles Cooper asked the veteran specialist — who had rarely started a game in the field since 1977 — how he adapted to coming off the bench. Cooper observed, “The lack of playing time forces him to concentrate on the game on a much higher level.”1

This cerebral approach to the demands of pinch-hitting was forged over 21 years as a pro. Playing every one of those winters in Puerto Rico was invaluable — though José had to tough it out for ten summers in the minors before he got his first call-up to “The Show” in 1973. But all of his experience led to a productive second career as a batting coach in the majors during the 1980s and ’90s.

Morales was born on December 30, 1944, in Frederiksted, St. Croix. This small island is closely linked to its larger neighbor, Puerto Rico. The list of fellow big-league Virgin Islanders includes Valmy Thomas, whose mother bore him in a Puerto Rican hospital but immediately came home. It excludes Henry Cruz, who was born on St. Croix but returned to his family’s roots in the city of Fajardo when he was an infant. Another special Puerto Rican case was José’s good friend Julio Navarro, who was born on the island of Vieques, east of Puerto Rico, but grew up on St. Croix.

José’s mother, Francesca Hernández, also came from Vieques. So did Angel Morales, the man who recognized him with the family name. Unlike the Navarros, however, Francesca left her birthplace at age 7, around 1930, well before the US Navy started taking over most of the island. For a long time, the children of viequenses and other immigrants were never really accepted as Virgin Islanders even if they were born there — but José’s case is different. His natural father was a Crucian named Stanley Latimer, whose father and mother came from Maryland and Barbados, respectively.

This Latimer was quite the macho. “My father has been married three times and he was a shoemaker going from door to door. So I have something like 18 half-brothers and half-sisters.”2 One of them turned up in 1979, when José got a letter that said, “If you have a brother named Ivan in the Virgin Islands and a father by the name of Stanley, then we have something in common. You and I are brothers.” And so Morales found he had a brother, Larry, living in St. Paul, Minnesota.3

In 1999 Morales recalled learning about baseball in the sleepy countryside near Frederiksted. “In them days, we used to just pick up the ball and play, nobody taught you anything like Horace Clarke and Elmo Plaskett [two other major leaguers from St. Croix who became government-paid baseball instructors when their playing days were over]. In Wheel of Fortune [a local neighborhood], Charlie Clarke, Horace’s uncle, had a big cattle field that actually turned out to be my grandfather’s property, and he cut out a field in the middle of the yard. And he brought the first balls and stuff and we all used to play there.”

“From there I moved into town, and then I started playing Little League, and one thing led to another. I kept practicing, I used to go to the ballpark and throw a ball into a garbage can at second base, play by myself, run — you do that today, you’re crazy.”

While in the majors, José also offered some other glimpses of his shoestring baseball budget as a youth. “We didn’t have enough money for weights. We would fill biscuit pans with concrete, and put them on each end of a bar. It weighed maybe 50 pounds and then we would pump those homemade weights. Then we would run two or three miles on the beach. Then we would hit.”4

“I am right-handed and the only glove I had was left-handed. So I turned it inside out. One day my mother was angry and she threw it in the fire. I got it out but there was a big hole in it. So I cut a piece of sole from the bottom of my shoe and plugged the hole.”5

José readily admitted that there were more naturally gifted players among his peers on St. Croix. Pitcher Norbert Rodgers played nine summers in the minors, including four in Mexico, and was on the staff of the Mayagüez Indios when they won the Puerto Rican championship in 1965-66. Infielder Miguel “Redhead” Santos was a fine hitter and glove man who opted for family life after a brief taste of Class D ball with Elmo Plaskett in 1957. DeGold Francis, a slugging catcher-first baseman, led the Puerto Rican Winter League in home runs during the 1967-68 season. Why did Morales think he made it while they didn’t? “I had a little thing different, I had determination.”

The only place José played was in the sandlots. Elmo, Julio Navarro, and original Met Joe Christopher, all several years older, played ball for St. Patrick’s Catholic School in Frederiksted. But Morales went to the public high school, which did not have a team. “Myself, I was introduced to a higher class by my brother Ivan Latimer. He had a team named the Giants. Then I started to develop a pretty strong arm, and I found out that Pedrín Zorrilla was coming to look for pitchers and catchers.” Zorrilla was the owner of the Santurce Cangrejeros, Puerto Rico’s most storied franchise. He was also a friend of New York Giants owner Horace Stoneham and served that organization as a scout.

Alfonso Gerard, the pioneer pro from the Virgin Islands, played many years for Zorrilla in Santurce. He then became a bird dog for his old boss on St. Croix and encouraged him to scout there. As it had several years before with Julio Navarro, this connection clicked again — the Giants signed Morales on September 13, 1963. However, the Pirates were also on the scent. José turned down Pittsburgh scout Chick Genovese’s $500 offer (he wanted $1,000). Years later, Bucs’ superscout Howie Haak — who made the V.I. part of his Caribbean beat — would say, “I just missed you.”

José’s arm also got him tagged “Shady” as a teenager. “I made a throw that went all the way into the outfield, under the shady tree, and from that time on … the guys are kidding around and you get pissed, and right away, that’s it.” (Joe Christopher suggested an alternate story — a lusty al fresco interlude; like father, like son!)

Morales noted, “I used to catch, I used to play all over, but I really didn’t know that much about the game until I signed professional and went to play in Puerto Rico.” When he first went to play in Caguas in late 1963, he was afraid to take the bus because he didn’t know much Spanish. Over time, as Puerto Rican baseball man Luis Mayoral observed, José would become eloquent in his second language. But as a brand-new rookie, he walked to the town line, well beyond Yldefonso Solá Morales Stadium. He had not recognized the ballpark because he didn’t realize it had lights.

Over his two decades-plus in Puerto Rico, José rose to third on the league’s all-time RBI list with 467, behind Bob Thurman and Luis “Canena” Márquez. He also had 84 homers and a career average of .290 in 2,901 at-bats. He led the league three times in doubles, in 1974-75, 1975-76, and 1977-78. In the latter two seasons, he was the leader in base hits as well. Also among his notable feats: batting .402 for the San Juan Senadores in 1968-69, one of 19 men to break .400 in the PRWL. However, his 112 at-bats didn’t qualify for the batting title — unsurprising, as he was backing up Johnny Bench.

In the 1978 Caribbean Series in Mazatlán, Mexico, Morales hit .421 and led Mayagüez (29-31 in the regular season!) to the title. René Lachemann, a teammate in the Oakland Athletics system along with Tony La Russa and Joe Rudi, was the manager, thanks to José’s recommendation. “The fact I wasn’t named MVP didn’t bother me that much — we won.”6

José did not rise to prominence quickly in Puerto Rico. But he had to claw even harder for every rung of the ladder stateside. He spent two summers in Class A ball (1964-65) and three more at Double-A (1966-68). The A’s obtained him from the Giants via the minor-league draft in December 1968, and though Morales finally advanced to Triple-A in 1969, he remained with Iowa of the American Association for that season and the next two. Then he played on loan to Tidewater, the Mets’ Triple-A affiliate, in 1972.

One main problem held up José’s advance: He was a defensive liability, leading four different minor leagues in errors.7 Indeed, during his major-league career, he appeared in the field in only 104 of his 733 total games, and he never had more than 242 at-bats in a season. Broadcasters often referred to him as “a catcher by trade,” though he played first most often in the majors.

José simply commented, “Once you have a bad reputation as a receiver, that’s it. Nobody ever taught me how to catch, I just had a strong arm.” He suffered occupational hazards such as a broken jaw and (before the flexible mitt) dislocated fingers and a broken thumb. “I concentrated on my batting and became known as an offensive player.”

Finally, the A’s summoned the 28-year-old in August 1973. Jim “Catfish” Hunter had suffered a hairline fracture of his right thumb in the All-Star Game on July 24. Oakland called Shady up once, sent him back down after a failed bid to put Hunter on the disabled list, and finally shipped out pitcher Dave Hamilton instead.8 Morales had hit over .300 once before in the minors, posting a .306 mark in 1970. But he was hitting just too well to ignore — .355 for Tucson in the Pacific Coast League. Said Toros teammate Jack Heidemann, “José Morales hits the ball so well and so hard that I can’t understand why he isn’t hitting .400.”9

Shady made his debut in Boston’s Fenway Park on August 13, 1973. As the designated hitter, he went 1-for-4, reaching on a Danny Cater error in his first at-bat and doubling off Luis Tiant for his first hit in the ninth inning. José had 14 at-bats in six scattered games with the A’s before they sold him to the Montreal Expos on September 18. This deal had repercussions in the World Series, but it is little remembered that Morales figured. After second baseman Mike Andrews committed two costly errors in Game Two, Oakland owner Charles Finley sought to replace him with Manny Trillo, but the Mets (as was their right) blocked the maneuver.

According to a story by Ron Bergman in The Sporting News, “The A’s worked themselves into the predicament by selling Morales … to make room for pinch-runner Allan Lewis, a Finley favorite, on the 25-man roster. Two days later, Bill North sprained his ankle. The Baltimore Orioles allowed Trillo to replace North for the American League playoffs. When the A’s found out the Mets wouldn’t agree to the same switch, an attempt was made to get Morales back from Montreal. He didn’t clear National League waivers because some team claimed him. Ironically, the Mets allowed the A’s to replace North with Lewis.”10

The further irony: While Allan “The Panamanian Express” Lewis pinch-ran in three Series games and was voted a one-tenth World Series share, José — who did not receive even a token share from the winners — was unaware of all the wrangling.

Morales played just 25 games for Montreal in 1974. He was back at Triple-A Memphis until July, and though he finished the year with the Expos, he missed by one day a signing bonus for spending 90 consecutive days in the majors.11 On September 15, pinch-hitting for Larry Lintz in the seventh inning, José smacked his first major-league homer, off Pittsburgh’s Ken Brett. The three-run blow gave the Expos a 5-4 win.

The next year, 1975, was Shady’s breakthrough. He appeared in 93 games, batting .301. For the first of four times, he led his league in pinch hits, recording 15 in 51 at-bats (.294). José then went on to set his pinch-hit record of 25 in 1976, breaking the single-season mark of 24 established by Dave Philley in 1961 and tied by Vic Davalillo in 1970. Two years later, likely tongue-in-cheek, Davalillo remarked, “I played one year with Morales [with the ’73 A’s]. I taught him everything. And look what he does. He breaks my record.”12

José posted a .316 average in ’76, his major-league high, with 37 RBIs in just 158 at-bats. He hit 321 with 3 homers and 24 RBIs in his 78 pinch at-bats. As of 2014, the only man besides John Vander Wal who has had more pinch hits in one year since then was lifetime leader Lenny Harris (26 in 1999).  

After the Minnesota Twins purchased Morales on waivers in March 1978, he became a very effective part-time DH. This had already been a frequent role for Shady in Puerto Rico too. Manager Gene Mauch, who was also his skipper in Montreal, said, “José’s position is ‘bat.’” Indeed, his weapon was almost part of him. “While with the Twins in the late 1970s, Morales insisted on taking his bat with him everywhere. At his hotel, he would stand in front of a mirror and practice his swing. Morales liked his bat so much he would sometimes kiss it.”13

Pinch-hitting still remained his prominent raison d’être. In a feature article on Morales by Bob Fowler of The Sporting News that year, Mauch said, “We can use him as the DH often enough to keep him sharp.”14 Gene was as good as his word; it was in ’78 that Morales recorded his single-season high of 242 at-bats, with a .314 average. He posted an AL-leading 15 pinch hits.

José’s performance was not up to his standards in 1979 (.267, 2 homers, 27 RBIs), but he rebounded the next year, hitting eight homers (his most ever in the majors) and batting .303. His 13 pinch hits again led the AL. Even so, the Twins granted him free agency that October. In December he signed with the Baltimore Orioles, where he spent one season plus a month. General manager Hank Peters admired José’s hitting ability, while manager Earl Weaver (always known for deep and flexible benches) liked the idea of having an emergency catcher/first baseman.15

Said, José, “I really liked that organization, it was the best one I played for.” He drew an interesting comparison between Weaver and Mauch. “Mr. Weaver always really wanted to win, but in spring training, he focused on getting all the guys enough at-bats, getting them ready for the season. But with Gene Mauch, even if it was sandlot ball, he still wanted to win!”

However, after giving Shady just three at-bats in April 1982, the O’s traded him to Los Angeles on April 28 for Leo Hernández.  Morales hit .300 in 30 pinch at-bats — but did not play an inning in the field the whole year. Perhaps because carrying such a specialist was a luxury, Dodgers general manager Al Campanis wanted José to retire in 1983, but he said, “Nobody could get me out that spring training.” Plus, he still had desire. “I was shooting for that Manny Mota record [150 career pinch hits, which Lenny Harris surpassed in 2001],” and manager Tommy Lasorda continued to spot him the same way. “But I got at least three hits thanks to Dusty Baker — he’d say, ‘Hey, give José a chance!’”

In another Sporting News feature on his pinch-hitting prowess, Morales cited the helpful presence of Mota, who had become the Dodgers’ first-base coach. “‘We sit down and discuss a lot of things. We talk about hitters and situations. … I admire him as a good pinch-hitter who’s done a lot to help me. I do pattern myself after his style. I feel if I do my job, the way I’m expected to, nature will take its course.”16

Morales saw his only postseason action in 1983, going hitless in two pinch at-bats as LA lost the NL Championship Series to Philadelphia. The Dodgers brought José back again the next spring, but after he went just 3-for-19 off the bench, they released him on June 7, 1984, at age 39. He said, “That’s the only thing I feel I didn’t get a right break on.”

Twelve days later, he signed again with the Expos as a free agent. He was offered jobs as a minor-league hitting instructor with Oakland, Toronto, and Los Angeles,17 but accepted an assignment to Triple-A Indianapolis — his first time back in the minors in ten years, and almost unheard of for a player at that age. But after going .188 in 31 games, he retired. “I got a game-winning hit in the playoffs [for Indianapolis] that year. But they [the Expos] didn’t give me a chance to come back. If I’d went back to Baltimore, maybe I’d have gotten a chance.”

Morales finished his major-league career with a very respectable .287 batting average, including 26 homers and 207 RBIs. He struck out in only 13 percent of his plate appearances, a testament to his skill as a contact hitter. Like many batters of this type, though, he did not draw a great number of walks — 89 overall, bringing his lifetime on-base percentage to .332. José never stole a base in the majors, though he did swipe eight in Puerto Rico.

When asked about his toughest opponent on the mound in the late innings, José came up with a somewhat surprising choice. “Who was that black lefty pitcher, played with the Phillies and Pirates? Al Holland! He had that sneaky curve. I would say, ‘Why I keep missing this guy?’ By the time I got to see some video on him, it was too late.” Indeed, the record shows that Morales handled some great lefties well and good ones even better. He went 9-for-24 against Ron Guidry, 4-for-10 against Steve Carlton, and 13-for-22 against Larry Gura. Yet he was 0-6 lifetime against Holland.

Shady returned to the Orioles as a minor-league instructor in 1985. “Hank Peters said the day that I retired, he would like me to be with his organization.” At the winter meetings that year, Roger Craig, the new manager of the San Francisco Giants, was looking for a hitting coach and found his man in Morales. “My ‘godfather,’ Gene Mauch, recommended me.”

José also started coaching in the Puerto Rican Winter League during the 1985-86 season. Back with Mayagüez again, his star pupil was Wally Joyner, just before Wally’s outstanding rookie year with the California Angels. That winter Joyner became just the third man to win the Triple Crown in the PRWL — the last, 35 years before, had been Elmo Plaskett. During spring training in March 1986, Joyner showed what he had learned in a lefty-lefty matchup against Giants reliever Mike Jeffcoat, singling with a shortened swing after falling behind in the count 0-and-2. “Morales, sitting on the San Francisco bench, gave himself away with a grin — a proud teacher’s grin.”18

Along with his intense observation and teaching, José had also come up with an innovative batting exercise: Players swung one-handed using a special short, heavy bat in order to hit more line drives.

“I invented that little bat when I was in the minor leagues with Baltimore because they were breaking so many bats. I could see that the kids didn’t know how to use the regular wood bat, didn’t know how to use their hands. I was playing pepper one day, and I said wait a minute, this s**t is different. I noticed how quick my hands reacted, and I came up with the little bat.”

“But the only mistake, I didn’t patent it. When I was with the Giants, a guy that made those aluminum bats, I can’t remember his name, said, ‘José, can I have a bat?’ So I gave it to him, and the following year, he’d made a small bat, same size. He called me in spring training with the Giants, and I said, ‘Hey, are you the sonuvabitch that used my bat?’ and he hung up on me and I never heard from him again. That little bat made a lot of money for people, and now everyone’s using it.”

Morales spent three years in San Francisco, instructing Will Clark and Kevin Mitchell, among others. He then worked in the Indians minor-league system in 1989 — Hank Peters had become Cleveland’s GM the previous year — and was hitting coach with the big club from 1990 to 1993. Kenny Lofton, for one, swore by him. “And look at Candy Maldonado. He went down the drain in San Francisco after I left. Then we got him in Cleveland [in 1990] and I helped him make the adjustments.” Indeed, Maldonado enjoyed a rousing comeback; his two other best years (1986-87) were also under José’s watch.

Another memorable anecdote from 1993 featured José’s godson Jaime Navarro, son of Julio. The Indians in particular were feasting on Jaime during one of his slumps, and the reason? “Uncle José” could tell that Jaime was tipping his pitches. Since he worked for Cleveland, he kept his mouth shut and watched his godson get pounded. Only after Morales left the club did he tell the secret.”19

However, Mike Hargrove wanted another man after that year, so Shady was out of baseball in 1994. He joined the Florida Marlins in ’95, thanks to manager René Lachemann, “like a brother to me, he’s good people.” On the Florida roster was Jerry Browne, the man who picked up the baton for Virgin Islanders in the majors after Morales retired. They had fun bantering in the local patois, which nobody else could understand.

During the All-Star break in 1996, though, José lost his job along with Lachemann. The Marlins offense had been lagging, and Morales has a personal theory that Lach may have taken the fall out of loyalty because he did not want to see his coach made the scapegoat.

At every stop along his route, José used the original little bat. And he always took care of his team. “It’s all about making the adjustments. If you don’t see, you can’t hit. Your swing becomes too long. The players become like your kids — you gotta watch ’em.”

Morales settled in the Orlando, Florida, area. On his property he set up a professional batting cage. He remained a keen observer of the game, willing to lend a hand when asked. Julio Navarro said, “But you gotta be serious! Shady will get you up at 8 in the morning. And he’ll ask after that session, ‘What are you doing in the afternoon?’ He says, ‘If you want me to teach, I’ll teach. But if you don’t, then don’t come here.’”

In the winter of 1998-99, Carlos Baerga, another devoted former pupil from the Cleveland days, enlisted Shady’s help. When St. Louis invited the second baseman to spring training, José came along. A roving minor-league post with the Cards was discussed but did not pan out. Another big Puerto Rican star who sought out Morales on the comeback trail was Juan González. “Igor really respects José,” noted Navarro.

“Big-league hitters, they think you want something if you offer to help,” Morales said. “But agents call me. Yorvit Torrealba’s agent, he asked me to work with him.” It is interesting to note that the Rockies catcher notched career highs in at-bats, home runs, and slugging percentage in 2006. “Yadier Molina — I worked with him on the side last year too.”

Rockies general manager Dan O’Dowd, who worked with José in Cleveland as director of player development, interviewed him for the Rockies’ vacant hitting instructor position in October 2006. He was also offered jobs at Triple-A, but turned them down. If Morales ever joins a team again, it will be on his terms. “Too much politics in the game — you gotta kiss ass. And I ain’t gonna kiss no one’s behind,” he observed bluntly. “I got my pension, I don’t need nothing.”

José married his wife, Lyduvina (née Nieves), on January 21, 1968. Lyduvina’s nephew, Melvin Nieves, was a big-league outfielder from 1992-98 and another godson of José’s. They had three children, Patricia, José Miguel, and Eliut, and two grandsons.

Shady remained highly attentive to the needs of his ailing mother, whose home was close by. He occasionally visited family and friends in the Virgin Islands. In 2002 he remarked, “You get more recognition away from St. Croix than you do there. You’re more of a king out of your kingdom. I’m always happy to see my friends, but they’re always saying, ‘I remember you when you were wearing no shoes!’”

This biography originally appeared on the website Baseball in the Virgin Islands (home.nyc.rr.com/vibaseball), from which it has been adapted. Grateful acknowledgment to José Morales for his personal memories (additional telephone interviews on December 13, 2002, and April 22, 2007). Continued thanks also to Julio Navarro.

José Morales on the art of pinch-hitting

“I’ve done it so often and for such a long time, I don’t consider it a pressure job.”

“I’ve always had success at coming off the bench to hit but I don’t really know why. I think you’ve got to love to hit, and I do. And I believe you must always be ready, and I always am. For instance, when you pinch-hit, you may only see one fastball. Well, when it comes, you better be ready to hit it. You can’t let that pitch get past you.”

“If you go to the plate thinking the pitcher is good, there is no way you’re going to get a hit. You have to have a positive attitude. So I bat thinking I’m going to get a hit every time. No one can bat 1.000. But I try. Then, if the pitcher does get me out, I have to admit he was the better man that time. But he doesn’t destroy my confidence. I still feel I’ll get him the next time.”20

“You have to be thinking something when you go up there. You have to have a plan. You can’t go up there cold.”21

“There aren’t many players that take the game home with them, but I do. Even the night before, I’ll be thinking about what the pitcher is probably going to throw in different situations. You have to do a lot of mental preparation. That’s the key. I always have my mind on the game.”

“In this job you can’t afford to miss…that’s what they’re paying you for. For me a slump is every time I don’t get on base. Look, if I don’t get a hit, that’s my incentive to go out there the next time and bang one. I say to myself, ‘Tough luck, José,’ and try to do better the next time.”

“The only difference between us is that he [a relief pitcher] comes in to close the line, and I go in there to open it up. We have pride in what we do.”22

Sources

José A. Crescioni Benítez, El Béisbol Profesional Boricua (San Juan, Puerto Rico: Aurora Comunicación Integral, Inc., 1997), 275.

baseball-reference.com

retrosheet.org

Professional Baseball Players Database V6.0

Notes

1 Charles Cooper, “Braun, Morales, Staub Come Through in a Pinch,” Associated Press, June 24, 1984.

2 Augie Borgi, “Just for the Record: José Is OK in a Pinch,” New York Daily News, September 28, 1976.

3 The Sporting News, May 12, 1979.

4 Patrick Reusse, “Morales’ Tall Talk Tickles Twins,” The Sporting News, August 2, 1980.

5 Borgi.

6 Thomas E. Van Hyning, Puerto Rico’s Winter League (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 1995), 130.

7 Mike Shatzkin, ed., The Ballplayers (New York: Arbor House/William Morrow, 1990), 759.

8 Ron Bergman, “Hunter Gets OK to Pitch This Week,” Oakland Tribune, August 13, 1973, E31.

9 Regis McAuley, “Depression Catching,” Mansfield (Ohio) News Journal, July 8, 1973, 8F.

10 Ron Bergman, “Finley Reprimand by Commissioner,” Oakland Tribune, October 15, 1973, E35.

11 Bob Dunn, “Expos Could Present Ideal DH: Morales,” The Sporting News, January 24, 1976,  45.

12 Gordon Verrell, “Dodgers Turning Huge Profits in Spanish Antiques,” The Sporting News, June 24, 1978, 3. Davalillo’s 1970 pinch-hit total was later corrected to 23.

13 Floyd Conner, Baseball’s Most Wanted II (Dulles, Virginia: Brassey’s, 2003), 122-23.

14 Bob Fowler, “Morales Is Mighty Tough as Twins’ Pinch-Swinger,” The Sporting News, June 24, 1978,  35.

15 Ken Nigro, “Two Big Bats Buttress O’s,” The Sporting News, January 10, 1981,  35.

16 Gordon Verrell, “Dodgers’ Morales a Pinch-Hit Expert,” The Sporting News, May 9, 1983,  18.

17 “Implausible Chiefs Pitching,” The Sporting News, July 9, 1984,  35.

18 Tom Singer, “Joy Over Joyner in Angels Camp,” The Sporting News, April 7, 1986,  41.

19 Mel Antonen, “Navarro’s Godfather Doesn’t Pitch Advice,” USA Today, March 11, 1994, 4C.

20 Fowler.

21 Verrell, “Dodgers’ Morales a Pinch-Hit Expert.”

22 Cooper.