THOUSANDS OF MEN have carved out careers as major-league baseball players in the nearly 150 years that the game has been played professionally. More than 200 have achieved the ultimate recognition—enshrinement in the Baseball Hall of Fame.
Those honored players earned their place in Cooperstown, New York, by virtue of their playing prowess, compiling statistics that vaulted them to the top of their respective eras. One of them, however, not only managed to amass numbers that placed him among the elite offensive players of all time, but created a magical mystique that prevailed both inside and outside the clubhouse, on and off the field.
Willie Stargell was that player, a one-of-a-kind spiritual leader whose impact left a lasting impression on teammates and rivals alike, not to mention a city that embraced him like virtually no other athlete before him.
Stargell’s legacy goes far beyond the 20 seasons he played in Pittsburgh, the 475 home runs he hit, the 1,540 RBIs he collected, the 2,232 career hits he compiled and his seven All-Star game appearances. His legacy is that of a man to whom family meant everything—his actual family as well as his baseball family. He was a man who liked fine things and his talents afforded him the opportunity to experience expensive wines, fur coats and even a Rolls Royce. Yet he could be just as happy cooking up a storm for his family on the grill and mixing up a concoction he called “Purple Passion” for his teammates and friends.
He grew up in an era when racial issues were fracturing the nation. But despite experiencing the horrifying conditions that prevailed in the segregated South during his early days as a professional—even being threatened with a shotgun before a minor-league game during his first season in the minor leagues—he maintained an upbeat attitude and stressed the importance of keeping an even keel. Never get too high or too low in the game, he would caution teammates. But never forget that baseball is a game. One of his favorite sayings was that the umpire says “Play ball”—not “Work ball”—at the start of a game.
He came from humble beginnings and he was proud of his heritage, which included African American and American Indian blood. He experienced a bewildering early childhood stretch that saw him living in Florida with an aunt for several years before he returned to his mother and stepfather in the San Francisco Bay Area, where he came of age in a melting pot community called Alameda. He would play on a high school team that featured two other players who would go on to carve out major league careers and while he was not a high-profile prospect, he had something special that caught the eye of an inexperienced Pittsburgh Pirate scout named Bob Zuk.
Stargell made his way through the Pirates’ farm system, methodically climbing the ladder and growing into his large frame and finally exhibiting the power that Zuk envisioned when he first saw Stargell as a 5-11, 170-pound amateur. And after two fairly nondescript seasons to start his big-league career, he began to establish himself as one of the game’s great sluggers, both in terms of frequency and distance. He would go on to crush some of the longest home runs ever hit in more than a half-dozen ballparks; he personally accounted for seven of the 16 balls to clear the right-field roof at Pittsburgh’s Forbes Field and hit the first two balls—and two of only four total—to leave Dodger Stadium. He hit the longest home runs at Montreal’s Olympic Stadium and Philadelphia’s Veterans Stadium, sent one into the swimming pool outside Montreal’s Jarry Park and deposited four into the upper deck at Three Rivers Stadium. His career total of 475 home runs is somewhat misleading, as he played the first half of his career in mammoth Forbes Field, which some say could have deprived him of another 100 or so round-trippers.
For such a huge and powerful man, one known for feats of heroic strength on the baseball field, Willie’s gentle, caring nature seemed to best define him. That, and his interest in the causes that affected those close to him—sickle cell anemia, for one, and an organization created to increase opportunities for African Americans in baseball leadership positions, both on the field and in the front office. Stargell seemed to be decades ahead of his time in seeing the “big picture”—that one could use athletic accomplishments and celebrity as a way to bring about meaningful change in the world. And even though he died in 2001, his name lives on in a foundation that raises money to fund kidney disease research and to support those suffering from the disease.
Those who knew Stargell talked freely about his leadership qualities, and the fact that he never sought to be a leader, but rather the role just seemed to come naturally to him. And he embraced it, setting the tone as a youngster in Alameda and then later in the raucous clubhouse in Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers Stadium through the magical decade of the 1970s. It wasn’t only teammates who admired his leadership qualities; word spread of his special gifts around the major leagues until it was understood that Stargell was one of the finest teammates a big-league player could have. One of fellow Hall of Famer Joe Morgan’s few regrets in baseball was that he never had a chance to play on a team with Stargell.
He would star for the better part of two decades for the Pirates, evolving into one of the most iconic sports figures in a city blessed with numerous sports heroes. When his playing career ended, he remained tethered to the game, hovering in the broadcast booth for a year, before eventually agreeing to work as a special assistant in the Pirates’ front office. He was elevated to a coach under Chuck Tanner, and then when new Pirates ownership came in and dismissed Tanner, Stargell followed his old manager to Atlanta, where he started a new chapter in his life. Although things didn’t work out as planned—Tanner wanted to groom Stargell to take over as field manager when Tanner himself moved up to become general manager—Stargell earned a position in the Braves’ front office and spent most of a decade helping to teach the club’s prospects about hitting. And winning. Those who worked with him in the front office acknowledged his influence over an organization that went from being one of the worst in baseball to a team with an unprecedented run of 14 straight division titles.
That wasn’t all he did. In 1988, he became the 17th player to be elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility. He remained active, taking on speaking engagements at colleges and universities. He found time to indulge in several hobbies—computers, photography, deep sea fishing for blue marlin and using his compound bow. He also spent time shortly after retiring from the game touring with the Eastman Philharmonia and starring in a production known as New Morning for the World—Daybreak of Freedom, written by Pulitzer Prize–winning composer Joseph Schwantner and featuring the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. He received rave reviews and would go on to narrate other musical works in the years to come.
After a decade-long hiatus with the Braves in Atlanta, Stargell was asked to return to Pittsburgh and work with the Pirates in 1997. Overjoyed, he jumped at the chance and became one of the club’s trusted advisers. His failing health curtailed his activities but he managed to be on hand in the fall of 2000 when the Pirates announced that a 12-foot statue would be built to honor Stargell at the new PNC Park, set to open for business the following spring. He was moved to tears by the gesture. He stayed in town to see the club drop the curtain on his own personal power playground, Three Rivers Stadium, as the 2000 season wound to a close. By then, appearing gaunt due to his health issues, he received one final salute from the fans while surrounded by teammates and his old field boss, Tanner.
Then in early April, word filtered into the city that the mighty Stargell had passed—on the very day that the Pirates were prepared to make their debut in sparkling new PNC Park. If ever there was a day of mixed emotions, April 9, 2001, was it for Pirates fans young and old alike.
Willie Stargell has been gone for more than a decade now, but his story resonates with as much life today as it ever did. His on-field exploits guaranteed him immortality in the game of baseball; his numbers and upper-deck bombs ensure that he will remain front and center in any conversation pertaining to the game’s elite power hitters. His ability to lead, to steady and to inspire guarantees that any discussion of baseball’s most beloved and effective leaders will include mention of his name—and prominent mention at that.
His legacy will live on forever not just with teammates, opponents and fans of the game he so dearly loved—playing baseball was all he ever wanted to do for a living—but those who lived with him and loved him. The same inspiration and even keel that he offered his clubhouse mates, he provided for his five children and his grandchildren, and no doubt would have been a constant flowing source of love had he remained alive today.
Willie Stargell was not perfect, as his story will make clear. He was, however, perfectly human.