A TALE OF THREE CITIES: NEW YORK, L.A. AND SAN FRANCISCO IN OCTOBER OF ‘62 (23 page)

Cepeda 's numbers dropped off from his 1961 season.
Stoneham made a big point of talking about his salary. He was paid
$47,000 but had asked for 60. The owner made it clear he had not
earned what he received.

"If a guy hits .300 and knocks in a hundred, how can
he be hurting the ballclub?" asked Mays in his defense.

"I think Orlando had more problems with
than the rest of us because he was more vocal,"
said Felipe Alou. "He was a better player and kind of the leader of
the Latins, so the confrontation was there."

Art Rosenbaum of the
San Francisco Chronicle
speculated that Cepeda could be the "Stan Musial" of the Latino
players. By 1962, Cepeda was a super hero in Puerto Rico. Despite
the vagaries of a long Major League season, it was demanded of him
that he play a full Winter League schedule, which he did. Cepeda
arrived at Spring Training in 1962 haggard, mentally and
physically. He had had no off-season and was tired. His problems
with Dark, who criticized him for not taking time off, and his
public commentary, led to his being booed for the first time by San
Francisco fans.

The story of Mobile, Alabama is in many ways the
story of America. It was a typical antebellum Southern town, run by
a white establishment. A coastal city, it did not have the black
population of other Alabama towns that made up the "cotton kingdom"
of its agrarian heartland.

When World War II broke out, however, Mobile became a
shipbuilding center. Blacks arrived to work in the yards. There was
grumbling and segregation, to be sure, but the war effort
superseded it. It was one of the first concentrated efforts
undertaken by both whites and blacks in the South.

After the war, jobs dried up, but a substantial black
population still existed on the town's fringes. Whites complained,
but it was the new order of things. The black families began to
grow and raise kids. Great athletes came of age in Mobile. Among
cities of comparable size, there are few if any that have produced
as many great athletes.

Alabama quarterback Scott Hunter came from Mobile. He
replaced Bart Starr with the Green Bay Packers. John Mitchell of
Mobile was ticketed for USC, but when the Trojans beat Alabama in
1970 in the seminal game opening the door to widespread
integration, he switched from the Trojans, playing instead for Bear
Bryant and the Crimson Tide.

But baseball was the ticket out of Mobile for Hank
and Tommie Aaron, Tommie Agree, Cleon Jones, and Willie McCovey.
Hank Aaron of course became baseball's all-time home run champion.
Agee and Jones sparked the 1969 "Miracle Mets" to an improbable
World Championship. McCovey would become the city's second Hall of
Famer.

Born on January 10, 1938, McCovey grew up to be tall
and powerful. At 6-4, 225 pounds he was known as "Stretch." Today,
many big men play baseball at all positions. In McCovey's day a man
of his relatively gargantuan proportions was seen exclusively as a
first sacker. At first, people thought Willie was clumsy. He was
criticized as a "bull in a China shop," a buffoon of sorts, and to
add racial insult to injury, called a
baboon
because of his
long face and ultra-black skin.

McCovey would be saddled with the reputation of a bad
defensive first baseman who could not hit left-handers. It was long
after he had proved his critics wrong when it was generally
accepted that not only was he not bad in the field, he was
excellent
. His troubles against southpaws, seen as a reason
to platoon him and to favor Cepeda, dissipated quickly. McCovey's
fielding prowess was exhibited early on when he led Georgia State
League first basemen in double plays with 73 in 1955.

McCovey's travels through Southern minor league life
were difficult, as they were for all black and Latino players, but
unlike Cepeda or West Coast blacks like Frank Robinson and Curt
Flood, it was his "neck of the woods." He was used to it. The
17-year old tore up the Georgia State League when he hit .305 with
19 homers and 113 runs batted at Sandersville.

The next year at Danville he hit 29 homers with 89
RBIs and a .310 average. He also led the league with 38 doubles.
Here was a huge left-handed hitter with an enormous, loping swing.
His slow approach and all-out stroke lulled people into thinking
that he was a Goliath with a hole in his swing, but he did not
strike out much; he hit for average as well power. He handled
lefties just fine in the minors, and he legged out his share of
extra-base hits, too.

As he moved up the ladder, scouts, coaches and
managers in the Giants' system extolled his virtues. His statistics
went down at Dallas of the double-A Texas League in 1957, but at
Phoenix of the triple-A Pacific Coast League in 1958 McCovey hit
.319 with 89 RBIs. That was the year Cepeda broke in with such
aplomb in San Francisco. The comparison did not favor McCovey.
Cepeda, lithe and handsome, was seen as the typically flashy Latino
first baseman, a positive stereotype that worked to his benefit.
Despite getting the job done, people just
looked
at McCovey,
figuring that he was a defensive liability.

Cepeda's outgoing personality helped him, too. Black
players, while certainly common, had to be handled carefully. In
the first year at San Francisco, there was a perception that The
City was more receptive to a Puerto Rican (Cepeda) than an American
Negro (Mays).

But the biggest problem was that in 1958, while he
hit for average, McCovey only powered 14 home runs. First base was
a
home run
position. It required power production. His 168
hits, 37 doubles and 10 triples in 1958 helped produce 89 runs
batted in and 91 runs scored over 146 games at Phoenix, but the
powers that be wanted homers. Seals Stadium was a bandbox, a home
run hitter's park. Candlestick would favor left-handed sluggers, so
that was what the Giants wanted out of McCovey.

Then, in 1959 he could not be denied. Sent back to
triple-A Phoenix, instead of sulking McCovey put on a legendary
hitting display that may have overshadowed the one Mays
demonstrated at Minneapolis in 1951. In 95 games, McCovey hit 29
home runs, drove in 92 runs and batted .372. He also had 26 doubles
and 11 triples. Rigney and the club's development people could no
longer keep him away from Seals Stadium. His abbreviated homer and
RBI numbers would hold up as Pacific Coast League-leading
totals.

At San Francisco, McCovey broke in with one of the
all-time greatest starts in baseball history, slamming 13 homers
with a .354 average in 52 games down the stretch. The Giants
appeared to be headed to the World Series, but inextricably faded
when the hated - and seemingly less talented - captured the flag
instead.

Now what to do? Cepeda had been moved to the outfield
and McCovey played first base exclusively except when he was
benched and Orlando took over the position. Cepeda was
temperamental and none too happy about being moved out of
his
first sacker's job, but McCovey was too dazzling to
argue against. People were also beginning to notice that McCovey
was no liability at first, and none too slow, either. He hit an
astounding 16 triples between PCL and the big leagues in 1959. At
Spring Training in 1960, McCovey ran a series of races of races
against other Giants farmhands. He beat them all. He was an
athlete!

But everything came crashing down in 1960. It was as
if the league caught up to him, discovering his weaknesses. He
batted a dismal .238, a terrible disappointment, and was even
demoted for 17 games to Tacoma of the PCL. When Candlestick opened,
Cepeda and Mays were shocked to discover that the winds blew their
home runs right back into the outfield, but the stadium favored
McCovey. It did not matter. Worse, it was a year in which San
Francisco appeared to be the class of the league, a sure champion,
but in the end they faltered again as Pittsburgh captured the
title.

Cepeda still played the outfield and first base when
McCovey sat in 1961. He had trouble with southpaws, but Cepeda did
not. McCovey batted .271 with 18 homers and only 50 runs batted in.
Cepeda had a monster year, but it was not enough. Again, San
Francisco lost the National League championship to a team
considered its inferior, this time Frank Robinson's Cincinnati
Reds.

McCovey was a weak left fielder, at least in the
beginning. "Don't give a glove," one player quipped.
"Give him a cigarette and a blindfold." Entering the 1962 campaign,
there was a feeling that it was a make-or-break year for "Willie
Mac." He demonstrated enough potential to warrant extra
consideration. Bill White had been traded away and was a budding
star in St. Louis. Nobody wanted to see McCovey become a hero in
another city. Among the Giants' faithful, Cepeda was still the
apple of their eye, McCovey a suspect. But in 1962 the club tried
to incorporate both of these skillful players in a better blend.
Cepeda would play more at first, and McCovey would play some in the
outfield. Many questioned this plan, but McCovey had demonstrated
speed, agility and genuine defensive prowess at first base. Nobody
expected that he could be a Gold Glove outfielder, but he was
improving and would not be expected to flop, either.

Besides, McCovey like Cepeda was very comfortable in
San Francisco. While Mays dealt with a troubled marriage, Cepeda
and McCovey were swinging bachelors. McCovey enjoyed the club
scene, the myriad jazz places dotting The City. Pretty black girls
- not to mention other kinds of girls - made themselves available
to him. He was loving life. It was certainly a long way from
Mobile, Alabama. He was happy and popular, made easy friendships,
and developed what would be a lifelong love affair with San
Francisco.

As a young boy growing up in the Dominican Republic,
Juan Marichal helped worked the plantations. The tradition was for
families to take turns working the various neighbor farms. The
children were always fed first. They were also allowed to swim in
the irrigation ditches for recreation. One day, after loading up on
rice, Marichal went for a swim. He woke up six days later. He had
gone into a coma. The doctor told his mother on the sixth day that
if he did not wake up by midnight he was "gone." Juan awoke at a
quarter to 12.

For a great athlete, he was still always battling
physical maladies throughout his career. He himself said he had
genetic "weaknesses," and Giants trainer Doc Bowman said that
weakness and injury were related, especially for pitchers.

Marichal lived in Santo Domingo. His neighbors
included the Alou brothers; Felipe, Jesus and Mateo. Marichal's
mother was dismayed when she received reports that her son was
stopping on the way home from school to play ball, but word was
spreading that "ball" was a ticket out of the island's poverty.

The Dominican Republican shares the island of what
used to be called Hispaniola with Haiti. It is said to have been
the place where Christopher Columbus first landed. Naturally,
Christianity became the dominant religion. But the island became
divided. In the early 19
^th
Century, French dictator
Napoleon Bonaparte decided for some reason that Haiti, not
Louisiana, carried more promise as part of the French colonial
empire. He sold Louisiana to U.S. President Thomas Jefferson, but
was immediately met by rebellion in Haiti. According to legend, the
Haitians made a "deal with the devil," promising to practice voodoo
forever if the Dark Prince would help them defeat the French.

Against impossible odds, the rag-tag Haitian rebels
kicked what was at that time the strongest army in the world out of
Haiti. They have practiced voodoo ever since, never took to
baseball, and to this day Haiti is one of the poorest, most hellish
places on the face of the Earth. The people of the Dominican,
however, favored Catholicism. Over time, they replaced the dictator
Rafael Trujillo with a nascent Democracy. While still poor, they
appear blessed. Their multi-million-dollar baseball players
regularly send money earned in the United States to their homeland,
funding schools, hospitals and other largesse.

Trujillo recruited Negro League stars to play Winter
League baseball in the 1930s. According to Buck O'Neil, the players
were told that if they lost any games, it might mean their lives.
How literal Trujillo's threats were was never demonstrated, since
the black Americans went unbeaten. Baseball was on in the
Caribbean, and throughout Latin America.

Nobody has ever really explained why so many
unbelievably talented baseball stars have emerged from the
Dominican since the 1950s. One scout theorized that Arab pirates
had once populated the region, and that their "hot blooded"
competitive juices run through Dominican veins. Great Dominicans
have included blacks and light-skinned Spanish; bulked-up sluggers
and lithe middle infielders; both catchers and pitchers.

San Pedro de Macoris would became the city most
associated with Dominican baseball, but Santo Domingo was where the
action was, especially in Marichal's day. Marichal honed his skills
throwing rocks at oranges and pineapples. He could knock fruit off
the vine with the precision of an Old West gunslinger, or the
legendary bow-and-arrow marksman William Tell.

As a teenager, Marichal began to pitch in the
Dominican leagues. He pitched for United Fruit, beating the
Dominican Air Force team. It was widely assumed that the path to
baseball success came through military induction, and that was
Marichal's story. His mother was afraid that her son would be made
to become an enforcer in Trujillo's hard-line military, but instead
he was cultivated for his pitching skills. The dictator still used
baseball as a diversion from his despotic ways, just as he had done
with the Negro Leaguers two decades earlier.

Marichal pitched for the Air Force team in the Pan
American Games. His teammate was future Giant and Dodger Manny
Mota. It was a wild adventure. At one point the players were jailed
for losing. Marichal never performed real military duties, just as
he never worked actual jobs when he played for company baseball
teams.