A TALE OF THREE CITIES: NEW YORK, L.A. AND SAN FRANCISCO IN OCTOBER OF ‘62 (22 page)

Cepeda's father was a legend, considered the greatest
player in the history of Puerto Rico. The elder Cepeda played with
such Negro League stars as Josh Gibson, Satchel Paige, and "Cool
Papa" Bell. When aspiring young Negro Leaguers, about to break into
the big leagues, would come to Puerto Rico to play in the Winter
League, they would pay homage to the Cepeda household. He was known
as the "Babe Ruth of the Caribbean."

The elder Cepeda was "a great player, a very intense
player," said Cepeda. At the age of 44 he went four-for-four
against Allie Reynolds, Vic Raschi and Eddie Lopat when the New
York Yankees toured Puerto Rico in 1946. He never played organized
baseball in the U.S. ostensibly due to the racial barriers, and for
the most part was a weekend semi-pro in his home country before the
advent of strong Winter Leagues.

Orlando's older brother Pedro gave up
baseball but his younger brother Jose played in the Detroit and
Cincinnati organizations. Orlando came along just as Pompez and the
New York Giants were establishing a strong Caribbean presence,
signing with the Giants at the age of 17 for a $500 bonus in 1955.
Pedro Zorilla, who owned the Santurce club, was credited with the
signing. He had brought the likes of Mays, Josh Gibson, Satchel
Paige and Monte Irvin to the island for exhibition tours, and had a
close relationship with Stoneham as well as Walter O'Malley.

Giants farm director Jack Schwartz did not think much
of Cepeda at first, but Pompez fought for him. Instead of releasing
him, the Giants sent him to an independent club in the lowly
Appalachian League. Cepeda faced difficulties in the South, but on
a plane flight to Miami sat next to Roberto Clemente, who spelled
out the "rules" of conduct for Latino players in the States. Cepeda
in turn helped his friend, Felipe Alou, who faced similar
problems.

Cepeda's father passed away while he was in the minor
leagues and it hit him hard. He slumped and was actually released,
but an injury to another player opened a roster spot up at the last
minute. Cepeda came under the wing of a "father figure" named Walt
Dixon, who "really opened his arms for me." Under Dixon in Kokoma,
his 10-day fill-in assignment turned into a 21-homer, 91-RBI, .393
season. He was on his way.

Cepeda saw prejudice, or at least what he perceived
to be prejudice. At St. Cloud in 1956 he won the Northern League
triple crown, but was not even voted his
team's
MVP. Cepeda
blamed manager Charlie Fox (later the manager in San Francisco).
For every slight, however, he found "love." In the Puerto Rican
Winter League, Cepeda hit .311 and lobbied the big club for a
contract to play at triple-A Minneapolis in 1957. The Giants
laughed at him, but Orlando was persistent and got his shot. When
the regular first baseman was called up for Army Reserve duty,
Cepeda found himself playing regularly, just one level below the
Major Leagues.

He found Minnesota to be hospitable, with
restaurants open to him as opposed to the segregated South. After a
terrific season in triple-A, Cepeda was ticketed for the big
leagues in 1958. The Giants had just moved to San Francisco and
there was a distinct feeling within the organization that change
was in the air; that young up-and-comers now had their shot. The
new San Francisco franchise had a wealth of riches in the minor
leagues, especially at first base, where Cepeda, Willie McCovey and
Bill White were competing for the position. Cepeda had the inside
track. In 1958 Bill Rigney asked coach Whitey Lockman how Cepeda
was doing. "He's three years away," said Lockman.

"Three years away?" asked Rig.

"Yeah, three years away from the Hall of Fame."

At Spring Training Willie Mays told him he
would "love San Francisco." Cepeda had spoken to Puerto Ricans in
the Winter League who played in the Pacific Coast League. They told
him the same thing. Indeed, The City opened itself up to the young
star, an immediate sensation from Opening Day on. But road trips
were still perilous, with "difficulties in St. Louis, Cincinnati,
Pittsburgh and Chicago," he recalled. Cepeda was not allowed to eat
in the hotel restaurants. He had "great white teammates then, like
Johnny Antonelli, Hank Sauer and Jimmy Davenport Alabama>, but nobody spoke on our behalf in those
restaurants."

Cepeda said that of his 17 years in the big leagues,
"1958 is the one I hold dearest to my heart." He chatted with fans
and became a favorite with Latinos who made up a small but lively
minority in the Mission District neighborhood near Seals Stadium.
Mays would strike out or make an error, inducing boos from fans who
had heard him built so high by the press that "the fans figured
that every time he came to the plate he'd hit a home run, or steal
a base, and never make an error," Cepeda recalled.

The handsome young star was immediately installed as
San Francisco's most eligible bachelor, dancing away in The City's
Latin music nightclubs. His relationship with fans in the early
days was similar to the one Dodgers players had with Brooklynites.
Cepeda lived in nearby Daly City, but shopped and partied in the
neighborhood near Seals Stadium. Other Giants tended to live in the
peninsula suburbs, but San Franciscans wanted players who were part
of the community.

Cepeda lived with Felipe Alou and Ruben Gomez. They
would go on Thursday nights to the Copacabana for Latin music, or
to the Blackhawk for jazz. He met the likes John Coltrane, Miles
Davis, Cannonball Adderly and Cal Tjader. He wanted to go to a
place on Broadway called the Jazz Workshop, but was carded and
could not enter because he was not yet 21. When they found out who
he was they let him in and he sat in a dark corner, listening to
Wes Montgomery. Tjader did a bossa nova piece called "Viva Cepeda."
Cepeda was a music junkie.

"Franklin Mieuli, who produced the Giants' radio
broadcasts, also had connections with the local jazz stations, and
he'd get me a lot of records," said Cepeda.

It was a heady, exciting time in San Francisco. Jack
Kerouac's
On the Road
had recently come out. In The City's
North Beach section, a growing Beat movement was underway. The
sidewalk cafes of Columbus Avenue north of Broadway became their
hangout. Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and others held long poetry
sessions, haranguing the "system," questioning everything from
patriotism to the military to Christianity to America itself.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti opened The City Lights Bookstore, making
available all form of "alternative" books, many censored by the
government or schools because of references to drugs, homosexuality
or other "perverted" concepts of the era.

The Beats welcomed all people, regardless of race,
creed or nationality. It was this environment that Cepeda found
himself both attracted to and accepted by. After toiling in small
Southern minor league towns, where he could not eat in the
restaurants, it was a revelation.

The Giants had six Latinos on the 1958 roster.
Manager Bill Rigney, a former middle infielder in New York, handled
the club. Cepeda enjoyed playing for him. He gave him freedom to
swing away, even though this cost Willie Mays a number of stolen
bases. The reputation of Latinos as "bad ball hitters" may have
emanated from Cepeda and Clemente. It drove Rigney crazy, but the
manager backed his young star. Cepeda earned Rookie of the Year
honors, and in 1959 he was batting .359 in June when Rigney brought
him into his office.

"Orlando, we're gonna bring McCovey up from Phoenix,"
Rig told him. "He's hitting .380 or .390." Cepeda had fended off
Bill White, a very talented first baseman whose considerable
defensive skills, power and high batting average were traded to St.
Louis, where he became a mainstay.

But McCovey was a Hall of Fame talent who could not
be denied, and Cepeda knew it. They had grown up in the system
together. Rigney asked Cepeda to try and play third base, or left
field. At first, Cepeda said he would do "anything for the team."
But at age 21 he was too young and immature to handle the position
switch. He was an immediate failure at third base and not much
better in left field, where he chatted in bored manner with
fans.

Divisions were formed. Many got in Orlando's ear,
telling him he should be the first baseman. On top of that, Ruben
Gomez was traded. He and his wife, Maria, had been his close
friends. Many saw Orlando's lack of dedication to defense in left
field, describing him as lazy or insolent. There was a racial edge
to the barbs.

Then, in 1960 the Giants moved to Candlestick Park.
The Seals Stadium neighborhood was like the tropics compared to the
windy, bayside Candlestick. Cepeda hated it immediately. Its
dimensions and wind currents were anathema to right-handed
sluggers,

"Mays never complained," Cepeda said of
Candlestick's conditions. "McCovey never complained. I knew it was
hard to play there but I had to just go ahead and do it. I missed
Seals Stadium very much. Seals was cool, too, but not like
Candlestick."

Despite this, batting in between Mays and McCovey he
got so many pitches to hit that he responded with a huge season in
1961, slamming 46 home runs with 142 RBIs. Cepeda felt that in
another park he may have broken Babe Ruth's home record, which
Roger Maris did that year. He also felt that he deserved the MVP
award, which went to Cincinnati's Frank Robinson. The Giants
contended but fell to the Reds for the National League pennant.

It was the second straight year that a Latino player
complained that the Most Valuable Player award had been denied him,
ostensibly because of his race. In 1960, Pittsburgh's Roberto
Clemente loudly stated that he deserved the trophy instead of white
teammate Dick Groat. A conservative element within the media began
to find fault with Cepeda, who was seen as being too big for his
britches.

When Dark took over, he spent hours working with
Cepeda on his defense, especially his infield throwing. On one
occasion, a brawl broke out but Dark tackled Orlando before he
could get involved, which probably saved him injury, a fine and
suspension. When ex-manager Bill Rigney made unflattering remarks
about Cepeda, Dark soothed the sensitive man's feelings.

"We had a preacher back home when I was growing up
who always said, 'Never back a man into a corner,' " Dark said to
the slugger. " 'Always leave him some room to come out.' After what
you said, it'd be hard for to say he was
. I didn't want to see you worrying about what
somebody said. That's past and done with."

But Dark had his problems with Cepeda. He agreed
with the 1961 MVP vote. Cepeda felt that his dating white women
miffed Dark. "I'm sick and tired of people leading the league in
home runs and runs batted in and not helping us any," said
Dark.

He also prohibited "Cha Cha" from bringing his music
into the clubhouse. Cepeda's Puerto Rican Winter League schedule
also peeved the manager, who said he was exhausted at season's
end..

Prior to a game with Cincinnati, Cepeda was chatting
in Spanish with teammate Jose Pagan. The Reds' ace pitcher, Joey
Jay, overheard them. "Don't you know how to talk English?" Jay
asked caustically.

"Kiss my ass, you (expletive deleted)," Cepeda
replied. "Is that English enough for you?"

The Dark feud reached a simmer on August 19, 1962.
After splitting the first two of a four-game series, the players
woke up on Sunday morning at the Pfister Hotel in Milwaukee. The
club had a double-header against the Braves. At10:30 the team bus
rolled up for an 11:15 departure. Orlando was in the bus by 11.
However, some friends of Orlando appeared. They were a Puerto Rican
family who lived in Minneapolis. They knew him from his minor
league days there. Cepeda had been very close to them. Cepeda was
told they were in the lobby, so he went to look for them. When they
found each other, Cepeda and the family meandered out towards the
bus. The family's daughter had a very light complexion. When they
said good-bye to each other, Cepeda kissed the daughter. Dark saw
it and flipped out, apparently disturbed that the Puerto Rican
player was kissing a "white girl" right in front of him. He ordered
the bus to go. There are varying reports on what happened.
According to one, Cepeda was forced to take a cab to County
Stadium.

However, Mays told the bus driver to stop and,
according to an alternative report, Cepeda got on. Dark says it
never happened. Either way, that afternoon a rift occurred between
player and manager. McCovey started and Cepeda was scratched.
Cepeda felt it was because of the hotel incident, but Dark later
claimed it was because his legs were sore. A 1961 collision with
John Roseboro of Los Angeles had re-injured the knee Orlando hurt
at age 15.

"My knees were in bad shape so many times, but I
didn't tell anybody, and jumped on me for not playing
hard," said Cepeda. "He thought I was faking. I was afraid to say I
was hurt. They always say I did not want to play, so I was
afraid."

Dark never mentioned the knee to the writers that
day. With Milwaukee leading 10-6, Dark passed over Cepeda in a
pinch-hitting capacity. A double play killed the rally, but Dark
called on Cepeda in the ninth inning with the game lost. Cepeda was
peeved. He hit a grounder to second, threw the bat away and walked
off the field. Dark went ape and fined him.

Cepeda called the manager a "son of a bitch." Dark
ignored the preacher's advice about backing men into corners. "I
treated him very badly that day," he admitted. Dark eventually said
he did not know about his knee and later apologized. The next day
Cepeda belted two home runs. He went on a hitting streak, slamming
nine hits, four home runs, and eight RBIs in a three-game set with
Philadelphia. Dark went out of his way to praise him.

The San Francisco press psychoanalyzed him, mainly
favorably. The general consensus was that he was a huge talent with
a bruised ego, and that the Latin players needed special handling.
In that respect, it was a condescending view.