Lupe Throws Like A Girl

“Okay, if you’ve got to talk about him, tell me about Roberto Clemente. Maybe I can get a paper out of this for school. I’m trying to improve my grade point average to get that scholarship.” How many more visits to the Villa can I stand? she thought.

That evening, Lupe’s education about the history of baseball and Latino players began. Mr. Ramirez showed her his press clippings, old letters, and photos. It turned out to be true. He actually did recruit Roberto Clemente and other players into the National League.

“It was the best—and worst—job I ever had. The League managers pressured me to find the best talent and the whitest-looking players, then we offered the players the lowest-paying contracts. The kids like Roberto desperately wanted to come to the US and play in the big leagues. When they got here, they learned that it was not easy for them to be away from their families or face the prejudices in this country.”

Besides Roberto Clemente, who played for Pittsburgh, Mr. Ramirez told Lupe about Manny Mota, who mainly played for the San Francisco Giants, and Fernando Valenzuela, who was a famous Dodgers player. She shuffled through all his old papers and found a player named Juan Marichal from the Dominican Republic. She also saw news clippings for players named Carew and Rivera from Panama, and more.

“But this was so long ago, in the 1960s and ’70s.” Lupe dug into boxes of baseball memorabilia. “What’s this story about an all-star team of Dominicans playing in the major leagues?” Lupe sorted the clippings and began to think about her assignments in her history class. Mr. Robinson, her history teacher, kept telling her to find something she was interested in and write about it. She told him she was only interested in softball, but maybe this stuff would come in handy.

“I have hundreds of stories I could tell you if you really want to know. I even ran a baseball camp in the Dominican Republic to get the kids ready to get started in the minor leagues. Look here.” Mr. Ramirez held up a photo of a young player hitting an old tire hanging from a tree. “That was our homemade batting practice. We used what we had and the brains God gave us.” For a moment Lupe thought she was listening to her own papa. Then Ramirez took a golden plaque out of a tattered old suitcase.

“After a lot of work for the league, this was presented to me at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York.”

“Aren’t you rich after all this? How did you end up here?” She looked around at his small room. He had a few shirts in the closet, but above those shirts was a row of baseball caps, each from a different team and each with at least one player’s signature.

“Rich with memories and some old friends, like Roberto,” Mr. Ramirez said.

“But your room is like a little museum. Haven’t you ever thought of selling this stuff? These hats and shirts are probably worth some money.” Mr. Ramirez’s altar to Roberto Clemente took up most of the space on one wall, and now he had pinned Lupe’s press clippings and photo right next to Roberto’s. “Looks like you decided girls can play ball.” She gazed at her team photo with pride. “Tell me the truth: Did you really light a candle for David? He loved to play ball. He taught me.”

“Yes, we did. I only wish I had met David earlier. He could have been a major league player.” Mr. Ramirez hung his head.

From that day on Lupe returned to see Mr. Ramirez daily and took notes for her history papers from his clippings. When she explained her project to her teacher, Mr. Robinson, he could not have been more excited. At the end of the school year she would earn her first A in history.