CONVERSATIONS ABOUT STARGELL’S prodigious home run blasts didn’t end when he slid his 35½-inch, 34-ounce Louisville Slugger into the bat rack for the final time. But the next time he’d be seen performing in front of a packed house, someone else would be swinging the lumber. And it wouldn’t be a bat—it would be a conductor’s baton. Just a couple of months removed from his retirement, he would embark on a limited tour with a group of elite musicians, echoing the words of one of his heroes—Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Although the tour took place in January 1983, the seed for Stargell’s unique opportunity was planted more than three years earlier in the mind of a professional musician living in upstate New York. Robert Freeman, who spent much of his adult life leading some of the nation’s most prestigious music schools, was at the helm of the University of Rochester’s Eastman School of Music during the fall of 1979 when—like millions of baseball fans across the country—he became intrigued by the Pittsburgh Pirates’ “Family” and the team’s charismatic leader. Freeman watched as Stargell virtually willed the Pirates back from a three-games-to-one World Series deficit against Baltimore and helped them defeat the Orioles in the seventh game, hitting a home run to fuel the win. During the post-game interviews, Freeman fell under Stargell’s spell—the earnest appreciation, the heartfelt gratification to be a part of such a wonderful team playing in a sports-crazy community, one that truly cherished its heroes and could see through a phony a mile away. Freeman remembered seeing the media “in Willie’s face”—and was most impressed by the fact that rather than saying how great he felt personally, Stargell emphasized that he was just one player on a team of 25. “He talked about the fact that you can’t play baseball by yourself—that it takes a team and a great owner and a great manager,” Freeman recalled. “It all came forth in the most articulate, heartfelt and meaningful fashion, all representing Pirate baseball. I thought all of that was golden.”1
Stargell’s selfless display made Freeman think of another African American man who had the gift of galvanizing groups with the force of his personality and his ability to speak so eloquently—the late Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. This was 11 years after King’s death, and the idea hit Freeman like bolt from Stargell’s Louisville Slugger—find a musical piece that would feature text culled from the great writings of King and persuade the Pirate slugger to narrate it. He wanted the piece to be “accessible”—it wouldn’t take a classical music aficionado to appreciate it, but rather it would appeal to the virtually anyone. “I remember lying on the floor with my wife and watching the Pirates celebrate—that’s how this all came together,” he said. “That’s what I do—I put together the mustard, the peanut butter and the chocolate syrup and see what happens. I’m always looking for connections between things.”
Freeman called Joseph Schwantner, an Eastman professor who had won the Pulitzer Prize in 1979 for his composition Aftertones of Infinity, and shared his idea over the telephone. Schwantner was not a baseball fan and had never heard of Stargell. But his son, Christopher, who was about 11 at the time and was a big baseball fan, overheard his father mentioning Stargell’s name in connection with Freeman’s idea. “My son said, ‘That’s Mr. Pittsburgh.’ And I said, ‘Mr. Pittsburgh who?’ The name didn’t ring a bell with me. But Freeman said he had heard Stargell on TV and was impressed with how articulate and thoughtful he was and his brainstorm was that Stargell might be the person to narrate this possible work. I said, ‘Maybe—I don’t know.’” Schwantner had good reason to be skeptical; he had no connection with Stargell and although the now-retired slugger enjoyed music and had been an avid dancer since his teenage years back in Alameda, he had never worked with an orchestra. “I thought it was rather bizarre initially because I didn’t know anything about him,” Schwantner said. “But Willie worked hard and did all the required background. In the end, I got to write the work I wanted to write. As a child of the ’60s, King was such an important figure, and this was a way for me to give back.”2
Giving back was what Stargell had in mind as well. Freeman arranged a meeting with Stargell’s representative, attorney David Litman, and pitched the idea over lunch. Litman was intrigued but wasn’t sure Stargell would be up for it, given that he had no formal musical training. Then Freeman had lunch with Stargell. “He told me, ‘Anything that would help the memory of Dr. King, I’m very much in favor of,’” Freeman recalled. Later, during rehearsal prior to his stage debut, Stargell told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, “It’s probably the finest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. Something to commemorate such a great man—what he’s done compared to what I’ve done. [I’ve been] playing baseball, a game, having fun—it’s what kids do.”3 Stargell told Freeman when he first pitched the idea that his only connection with classical music came as a junior high school student back in Alameda and he could recall only “this guy standing on a box waving his hands around,” Freeman said. “He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to follow somebody doing that. But we told him we’d give him lessons and that the conductor would tell him when to start. And once you start, it’s his job to follow you. But it’s your job not to race. One day he said to me, ‘I can’t be Dr. King.’ I said, ‘Of course not, but you’re a black leader of great charisma—people know who you are. All I want you to do is be you. Read Dr. King’s words in your style.’”
Schwantner spent the summer of 1980 researching King, and his text drew from more than a decade of King’s life. The result, titled New Morning for the World—Daybreak of Freedom, would not debut until January 15, 1983—the day that King would have turned 54—at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, D.C. It would be performed more than 200 times and recorded several others. Schwantner said Stargell “brought a kind of dignity and force of will to his performance that was quite captivating.” He said only one narrator had surpassed Stargell in all the times he’s heard it performed—and that was Coretta Scott King, Martin Luther King’s widow, who performed it with the Indianapolis Symphony. Schwantner attended that performance and during a break, he said Coretta King asked him to stand with her while she finished. “My heart was just pounding,” Schwantner said. “After the performance, I thought to myself, ‘I am never going to be closer to the source than I am today.’ But in terms of a musical, force-driven personality, Stargell’s performance was one of the best of that piece I had.”
Schwantner said after he agreed to write the piece and prior to its opening performance, he had a chance to meet with Stargell, just to see what he would be working with. “He had this naturally wonderful kind of booming voice—I could tell if we could train him to deliver on cue, the voice certainly was going to be a commanding one,” Schwantner said. “No question he pushed that voice across the floodlights in a most convincing way. He was a man of substantial stature. And being in front of a microphone, he was kind of an imposing figure. And he was used to dealing with the public. He could look you right in the eye and you paid attention to him. He must have been incredibly intimidating on the ballfield.” A Hall of Famer on the field, Stargell delivered in the symphony hall as well, at least the way Schwantner heard it. “Looking back, some of the best performances of that piece were his early performances, including the one at the Kennedy Center. As one who lives in the concert hall, that was an extraordinary event. A lot of those people there that night had never been to a symphony hall or a symphony concert. During parts of the text that can be very dramatic, people started to clap and holler and verbally respond to Stargell’s narration. It was really neat.”
After retiring as a player, Willie became involved in a number of endeavors, including one in which he performed a composition titled “New Morning for the World: Daybreak of Freedom” with the Eastman Philharmonia early in 1983 (photograph by Jim Judkis, courtesy Eastman School of Music, University of Rochester).
It didn’t come easily, however. Stargell received voice “coaching” lessons from Ben Shaktman, founder of the Pittsburgh Public Theater. Stargell praised Shaktman’s work, saying that the text director brought out a new side of him. “I surprised myself,” Stargell said. “This big lug can not only swing a bat but can stand up and chime in with beautiful music and say something with a direct meaning.”4
David Effron, the conductor, certainly played a major role in helping Stargell perform. Effron, who left Rochester in 1997 for Indiana University, said he met Stargell for the first time prior to the start of rehearsal and he recalled the former slugger as being quite nervous. “He had no background in classical music—he didn’t read music and didn’t know what to expect out of this,” Effron said. “You could see the fear in his eyes, actually. We told him he didn’t have to worry about a thing because I was very reliable and I would just give him a cue with my left hand when it was time for him to say something, and when he finished that segment, he would stop and wait for the next cue. That went very well.
What I remember was when he came onto the stage and I introduced him to the orchestra, the first thing we played was a very loud note where the whole orchestra was playing. He wasn’t expecting it—he’d certainly never been that close to a classical orchestra. He was standing right in front and when they played this chord, the guy almost jumped out of his skin. From my viewpoint, it was very funny, but I felt empathy because he was completely out of his element.”5
Willie visits with Joseph Schwantner, who composed “New Morning for the World: Daybreak of Freedom” (courtesy Eastman School of Music, University of Rochester).
But just as he did on the field, Stargell worked at his new game, a fact that was apparent to everyone around him. “He was so into it and so believable—you’d have thought he was a trained actor,” Effron said. “He did it with such passion and feeling. After a few rehearsals, he became very comfortable.” Shaktman told the Pittsburgh Press in a January 1983 interview that Stargell worked diligently and that he reacted to direction as well as any actor he’d ever worked with. “The challenge cannot be understated,” Shaktman said. “After all, this is a concerto written for the spoken voice. Stargell is really the solo instrument. This is a task which would really challenge an experienced actor.”6
Students at the Eastman School of Music, University of Rochester, enjoy a light moment with Stargell during rehearsal for “New Morning for the World: Daybreak of Freedom.” Students are (left to right) James Pember Lyon, Kristine Rebecca Fink, Nathan Norman, Christopher Allen Chappell (rear), Bryan James Dumm and Julie Ann Gigante (photograph by Louis Ouzer, courtesy Sibley Music Library, Eastman School of Music, University of Rochester).
Just like he enjoyed the camaraderie of the clubhouse, Stargell enjoyed the feeling of community that evolved during his work with the 110-member orchestra musicians, most of whom were students at the University of Rochester’s Eastman School of Music. “He opened up to them very easily and they really loved him,” Effron said. “You know how the Pirates called him ‘Pops’ because he was a leader and like a father figure? You could see that with the musicians. He was even like a father figure to me, although I was older. I was in my glory being around him.” Schwantner and Freeman remembered the student musicians taking to Stargell once they realized he was in it for the right reasons. “I think a lot of our kids began with the idea that this was some sort of a PR hustle,” Freeman said. “But David Effron did a marvelous job of making the kids take it very seriously. And it turned out to be a very moving experience for us all.” Schwantner said some of the students were baseball fans and they all knew who Stargell was. “And those who didn’t were made aware of who he was,” he said. “I remember him going on the tour with us—we took the train from Kennedy Center to Philadelphia to Pittsburgh to Rochester and he went on that whole trip. The students had just the greatest time. He was handing out ‘Stargell stars’ all over the place. It was really quite something.”
Although Stargell worked hard to improve his part of the performance, Freeman believed it was the fact that Stargell was an amateur that helped attract the crowds that the Eastman Philharmonia pulled in during the five-city tour that also featured stops at New York’s Carnegie Hall, the Academy of Music in Philadelphia, Heinz Hall in Pittsburgh and the Eastman Theatre in Rochester. “Willie was completely unanticipatable, which was the charm of the whole thing,” Freeman said. “Why do people go to NASCAR races? They seem deeply boring to me, but the reason 200,000 people go to watch cars speed around a track is they hope there’ll be a crash. Part of the problem with classical music is that people do it so well. You don’t go expecting to hear Itzhak Perlman play a wrong note. But here you had a major league baseball player—let’s see if he’s going to crash. But not only did he not crash, he performed magnificently. People were moved—there was so much cheering and applause. And he was really pleased by all of this, too. You can imagine, you have a retired baseball player coming into a whole new era of his life, where he’s honoring Dr. King’s memory through music. He enjoyed the whole thing.”
Effron would not argue that point. “I think he felt so much for this subject,” he said, referring to Stargell’s feelings for King. “He didn’t talk about it, but obviously he had a special connection with it because he could really reach the audience. He was a huge hit—and not just because he was Willie Stargell, but because he delivered his words with such great expression and sensitivity.”
Schwantner said he puts New Morning for the World very close to the top of his accomplishments. The piece has now entered the standard repertoire; it’s a well-known work and is performed numerous times during the year, particularly during the month of January to commemorate King’s birthday. “Sometimes orchestra pieces take time to catch fire,” Schwantner said. “Some are performed once and never again. This one is extraordinarily successful. I have to thank Stargell and his luminous career and this quirky connection between baseball and music that led to the initial interest in the piece. If Freeman had selected a prominent black minister from Rochester to narrate it, that would not have done it. It was Freeman’s extraordinary genius at promoting the school, which he was extremely good at ... this was maybe his greatest stroke of media madness. And in the end, good things came out of this for many, including Stargell.”
Stargell would go on to perform Schwantner’s tribute to King a number of other times over the next several years, including once in 1990 in Syracuse. There, he told a local reporter that he was in awe at his first rehearsal seven years earlier. He felt he was in over his head and nearly gave up. “I’d look over and see how the students at the Eastman School were playing their hearts out,” he said. “I’d make a mistake and look out of the corner of my eye and I’d see them cringe.”7 Stargell even tried his hand at other pieces, narrating Copland’s “Lincoln Portrait” with several symphonies, including the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra in late September of 2000—less than five months before his death. Although by that time suffering from serious health issues, Stargell delivered a game performance at Heinz Hall that night, periodically staring “out into the audience with the same intense eyes that once terrorized countless pitchers.”8
Freeman and the others weren’t surprised that Stargell could adapt to other works of music. Years earlier, after the initial tour of the King tribute, Freeman envisioned Stargell fashioning a second career built around performing on stage—and doing the necessary work to promote those performances. That’s how easy the big man was to work with. “Gracious and hard-working and honest and undemanding—that’s how I would describe him,” Freeman said. “Willie was superb, not only on the stage but also in all of the public relations activities that surrounded the event.” When Schwantner’s tribute to King opened in Washington in 1983, the Reagan White House held a reception that included the most elite power brokers in Washington—including the President himself. “He never said anything but the most appropriate things in a social situation,” Freeman said of Stargell. “He was like a gold mine.”
When he saw what Stargell was capable of doing, Freeman came up with yet another idea—this one involved sending Stargell to tour around the country with the New York Philharmonic, serving as an ambassador of classic music. He would perform in the morning for inner-city teenagers with major orchestras of National League cities, then accompany his audience to a ballgame in that city’s National League park. Freeman had been moved to think about this project by something inspiring Stargell had said over dinner to Freeman’s then 18-year-old son, John, a catcher who had been invited to attend Major League tryouts. When John demurred, saying he was not a fast enough runner, Stargell told him that the only National League record he held was for striking out. “Stargell told him, ‘You see, John, you can’t hit home runs if you can’t learn how to strike out. And what is true in sports is also true in politics, in business and in the arts,’” Freeman recalled. Freeman said Stargell’s remarks immediately made him think how powerful that kind of a message would be for inner-city youth in a program that included elements of baseball and music, and he developed a proposal for the Ford Motor Company. But the financing fell through and Stargell got interested in other projects.
Those who collaborated on New Morning for the World would cross paths periodically later on. Effron, who grew up in Cincinnati, once attended a Reds game there when Stargell was coaching first base for the Pirates. “I was with some people and they didn’t know that I knew him,” he said. “I told them I was going to walk down between innings and talk to Stargell. They told me he wasn’t going to talk to me. But he came running over and gave me a big hug. They all said, ‘God, he knows Stargell.’ It was the highlight of my life.”
Although Stargell had no fulltime “next career” lined up yet, he strode into retirement confidently following his foray into the world of symphony music, “ready for tomorrow,” as he wrote in an article that appeared in Parade magazine in April 1983. He was no longer driven to play the game that had brought him fame and a healthy paycheck. He talked about his work with the Willie Stargell Foundation and its focus on sickle cell anemia. “For each dollar I raise to aid in the cure of this disease, I think of a kid lying in a hospital bed who will never be able to live his or her dream,” he said.9 He’d first gotten involved in the fight against sickle cell more than a decade earlier, when he learned his oldest daughter, Wendy, was diagnosed as a carrier of sickle cell anemia, an inherited disorder that decreases the blood’s ability to deliver oxygen to the body. Several noteworthy professional athletes, including Stargell and Atlanta Braves slugger Henry Aaron, got involved, lending their names to various fundraising efforts. But Stargell did more than generate money. Even during his playing days—first with the Black Athletes Foundation, which organized in 1963 before morphing into the Willie Stargell Foundation in 1979—he sought out those in positions of power, hoping to open the nation’s eyes to the little-known disease. In the winter of 1971, for example, he met with Pennsylvania Senator Richard S. Schweiker to discuss a pilot program designed to open the door to more screening opportunities. Schweiker even co-authored a senate bill that would authorize federal grants for voluntary screening and counseling, educational materials and research for the prevention, treatment and cure of the disease.10
Over the years, the Willie Stargell Foundation raised thousands of dollars, much of it used to buy laboratory equipment designed to diagnose the disease, although funding was spent in other areas. One of them was a 1980 seminar geared toward the world of academia and aimed at bringing sickle cell anemia into the classroom as a discussion topic.11 Neddie Hollis, executive director of the Sickle Cell Society, Inc.—one of the nation’s first community-funded sickle cell disease centers—said the Willie Stargell Foundation was not tied structurally to the society. “We were separate entities and had totally separate goals,” Hollis said. “But Willie was very supportive of the society’s efforts and accomplishments.” Hollis’s predecessor, Ruth White, was the society’s executive director from the early 1970s until 1989, and during that time, Hollis said, Stargell was a major helper with fundraising activities, including bowling and golf tournaments. Hollis said, that Stargell “seemed to have had the presence to command respect among the most powerful people in the city.” Hollis said Stargell and White had an excellent relationship. “To hear her tell it, Willie was genuinely concerned about the disease. He was sincere about helping in any way he could.”12
Stargell’s foundation had its share of success in terms of generating money for the sickle cell cause. In 1980-81 alone, the year after the Pirates’ feel-good world championship of 1979, the foundation raised $159,805. But the next year, that number dropped to $50,000—and much of that was used to run the organization. As a result, less than $10,000 was made available in direct grants to those suffering from sickle cell anemia, Stargell told the Greensburg Tribune Review in June of 1982. “We haven’t been able to give anybody the funds that we have in the past,” Stargell said. “It doesn’t make us feel very good.”13
That’s the year when the Pennsylvania Commission on Charitable Organizations ordered the organization to undergo an independent audit. According to a published report that cited state officials, the foundation started the 1980-81 fiscal year with $23,286. But by April of 1982, the commission ordered the organization to cease operations, claiming it had failed to submit to the audit and had spent too much on administrative costs.14
A key financial failing was linked to the foundation’s 1980 decision to sell the 300 Neiman prints that Stargell discussed during the first of his “days” honoring him at Three Rivers Stadium. The goal was to raise $600,000 but over a two-year period, only 20 of the prints were sold. In the meantime, the foundation moved into new offices and hired several employees, figuring that the Neiman prints would bring in sufficient funding to operate at that level. Without revenue from the print sales, the foundation was unable to pay its bills.15 Even though the foundation that bore Stargell’s name had its problems, Stargell remained committed to the cause. In April 1983, a malt liquor company known as Champale initiated its second annual fundraising campaign to help the National Association for Sickle Cell Disease and named Stargell as its national spokesman. The firm also launched a major public service publicity effort to call attention to the NASCD programs.
The Commission on Charitable Organizations later reinstated Stargell’s foundation fundraising rights, but by that time the damage had been done and in the first few days of 1984, the foundation was on its last legs. In January, the foundation’s office equipment and sports memorabilia were put up for auction at its East Liberty headquarters after the foundation was unable to attract sufficient donors to keep its operation afloat. The storefront building was sold for $22,000 and the proceeds were to be distributed to several charities.16 Stargell told the Pittsburgh Press that his foundation had “suffered from the economics of the times” and could not operate the way he wanted it to operate. “The corporations were unable to help us as they had before,” he added.17 Stargell’s foundation was just one of the areas into which he had delved following his retirement from the game. By the middle of 1983, he had been promoting such disparate products as poetry, fur coats, sandwiches and politicians, and the local media speculated that his endorsements were earning him at least twice as much as the estimated $700,000 he had made during his final season as a player.18 Stargell was broadcasting Pirate games for Home Sports Entertainment, a regional cable sports channel; earning $2,500 to $5,000 for motivational speaking engagements; operating a Pittsburgh-based construction firm; and endorsing various food products. He was even contacted about a possible role in a television show to be created by the producers of Hill Street Blues, a popular police drama at the time. Steven Bochco, creator and executive producer of the show, to be called Bay City Blues, said, “We’re all big Willie Stargell fans here and we’re in the process of casting and Willie’s name just came up. We thought it would be an interesting avenue to explore.” Stargell, though, couldn’t find time to do a screen test. “I’m locked in with a lot of other things right now,” he said. “As it is, I have about 30 seconds left for myself.” Stargell said the multiple offers did not result from any sort of marketing strategy on his or his attorney’s part. His lawyer, Litman, said Stargell’s attractiveness stemmed from the way he comported himself. “He has the closest thing to a perfect personality,” Litman said. “He’s a beautiful man and it emanates from him.” William Stankey, an agent at Greater Talent Network—the New York–based management firm that handled Stargell’s lecture schedule—called Stargell a “bona fide national hero. Because of that, people see him in a different light. He cares about people, and it shows.”19
Just as Stargell was able to bring all races and creeds together in a clubhouse to create a family atmosphere, he seemed able to transcend boundaries in the area of product promotion and endorsements—lending his name to everything from low-income natural gas grants to plush coats for a downtown furrier. Stargell said the key was to reach people on the most basic level. “You take away a title or a position and the person underneath is still important,” he said. “It doesn’t matter who or what he is.” It wasn’t as if Stargell was accepting every deal pitched his way, though. He told the Pittsburgh Press he rejected a $225,000 annual fee to serve as spokesman for the American Pork Association because he had concerns about potential links between the product and high blood pressure.20
Stargell kept busy in other ways. He was nominated to serve on the Pennsylvania Council of the Arts in early 1984—the agency responsible for encouraging and developing the arts in Pennsylvania through a grant program. A few years later, he would become involved in something of a different nature—serving as honorary chairman of the “Share the Joy” program, designed to educate new parents about the dangers of child abuse.21
Although retired as a player, Stargell maintained an affiliation with the Pirates as Peterson’s special assistant. The club’s official news release, sent out on March 18, 1983, stated that Stargell would focus much of his part-time work with the organization’s minor league players and would also handle various duties at the major-league level. He would also devote some time in working with the John W. Galbreath Company, a real estate development corporation owned by Pirates chairman John Galbreath and his son, Dan, the Pirates’ president. “I can’t say how pleased we are to have Willie working with the organization,” Peterson said. “I can envision him doing so many outstanding things for the Pirates. He is a class individual who will be a great addition to the staff.” Stargell said in the club’s press release that the one thing he desired more than anything else was to remain with the Pirates in some capacity. “I wanted the opportunity to give back some of the many things this organization gave me,” he said. “This is an ideal situation for me ... it is very refreshing to know that I’m still going to be around and involved with this group of people.” Stargell told reporters he envisioned helping youngsters who hadn’t yet found their way to Three Rivers Stadium, focusing on the psychological aspects of the game. “I am more interested in the kids in the minor leagues,” Stargell said. “With so many players, it’s not so much the talent, it’s the mental part that allows you to sustain the time you have in baseball.... I want to be the friend of the kids in the minor leagues.”22 Stargell served his first two post-retirement seasons as a minor league adviser for the Pirates, and in October of 1984 the club named him minor league hitting instructor. “Willie has been an integral part of our organization and has had a great influence on our minor leaguers over the last two seasons,” Peterson said. “We are quite pleased that Willie will continue to work in our minor league system.”23
Early in his playing days, Stargell downplayed the idea of sitting in the manager’s seat someday, although he had waffled a bit as he neared the end of his playing career. Indeed, teammates and even opposing managers had speculated about Stargell’s interest and aptitude for managing while he still had some gas in his playing tank. During spring training in 1980, Sparky Anderson, who was then managing the Detroit Tigers but had faced Stargell from the opposite dugout numerous times as skipper of the Cincinnati Reds, said he believed anyone could be a good manager if he could communicate well with his players. “And Willie has never been a two-faced guy,” Anderson said. “All he’d have to do the first few years he manages is go in with four excellent coaches—not friends, coaches—who can help teach fundamentals. Willie has always been able to produce and maintain dignity. If he could take over the Pirates someday, it would be perfect.”24
By spring training in 1985, Stargell had grown comfortable with the idea of managing. “When I retired I did not want to manage,” he said. “I didn’t want to be on the other side of the fence. But now, after being around a while, my mind is changing. I need another year or two, time to observe. But I think I want to manage.” He was getting a taste of it in Florida’s Grapefruit League, managing in “B” games and picking Tanner’s brain. “It is starting to intrigue me,” Stargell said. Tanner said he thought Stargell would be a good manager but that he needed to go down to the minor leagues and manage a while—perhaps as long as four years. Stargell said he would not be averse to managing in the minor leagues but would not make it a lifetime job. He also said he would not have a problem working for another organization—even an expansion club—provided he would have some say in player acquisition. “I would not go into an expansion team with a two-year contract,” he said. “I would have to grow with the organization.” Stargell said he would keep his rules to a minimum if he were to lead a ballclub. “Be on time and play like hell on the field,” he said. “You just have to try to make men be men and athletes be athletes.”25 Less than three months later, it appeared as though he was taking a significant step toward that end when the Pirates named him to serve as first-base coach under Tanner. Joe Brown, brought back as interim GM, said he didn’t expect Stargell to work any miracles with the club, which was in last place in the NL East with an 18–37 mark at the time and averaging a paltry 10,100 fans per game, but was simply trying to make the team more attractive. “Chuck and I are enthusiastic about Willie’s acceptance of our invitation to become a member of our field staff,” Brown said. “He’s a winner and always has been a winner.” Tanner was all for the move. “Without question, he’s a future Hall of Famer and one of the greatest players in Pirates history,” Tanner said. “He always maintained the right attitude even when he was slowed by injuries. Willie has always stressed the mental side of the game and his mental approach was just as great as his physical abilities.” Stargell, who would replace Steve Demeter in the first base coaching box, said he hoped to inject a spark into the moribund club. “It’s just a case of having fun again, and that’s what the game is all about,” Stargell said. “I just want to get down there and see the guys have some fun. I’m glad to have a chance to be part of the atmosphere of the stadium again. I’m willing to help in any capacity. I just hope I don’t miss any signs down at first base.”26
He also reiterated his desire to sit where Tanner was sitting. “The more I’m connected with it, the more I sense the urge to manage,” he said. “To be honest, I’m not ready yet because I haven’t been around it. But this time next year....” Prior to his first game, Stargell told his old Pirate teammate Skinner—now the club’s third-base coach—that he “didn’t know a darn thing about coaching first base.” And no one was about to argue a few hours later when, in the first inning, Pirate base runner Joe Orsulak was picked off first. “I thought to myself, ‘What the heck is going on here?’” Stargell said later with a laugh. “Get me out of here and back to the minor leagues so I can teach these kids how not to get picked off.” Pirate players were happy to see Stargell back on the field, pickoff or no pickoff. “I think a lot of us found ourselves saying, ‘I wish Willie was here,’” outfielder Doug Frobel said. “He was always such a guiding force. He’s still the biggest guiding force for this team.” Added Madlock, who played a key role on the Bucs ’79 title team: “It’s important to have a guy who is familiar with the modern-day ballplayers. The players feel like they can relate to Willie.”27
Perhaps, but Stargell’s presence did little to cure the Pirates’ woes, as the club finished the 1985 season 57–104, a whopping 43½ games behind the division champion Cardinals. That was hardly the worst of it, though. That summer, word surfaced regarding a federal drug probe that focused on activities involving cocaine sales to major league baseball players. At least a dozen players were questioned by a federal grand jury—three of them Pirates: pitchers Rod Scurry and Al Holland and outfielder Lee Mazzilli, and two former Pirates in outfielder Lee Lacy and infielder Dale Berra. Seven men were indicted, six of them from Pittsburgh. It seemed like a million years—and a million miles—from 1979 and “We Are Family,” as Stargell would admit. “We had a feeling in this city back then that we could do anything,” he said. “You know, the city of champions.”28 In September, the federal cocaine trafficking trial of a Philadelphia caterer named Curtis Strong began in Pittsburgh, and on September 10—the fourth day of testimony—Berra dropped a bombshell, testifying that Stargell and Madlock gave him amphetamines, a stimulant that was not uncommon among players before being banned starting in the 2006 season. Berra testified that amphetamines—referred to as “greenies” by many in the game—made players more alert and alleviated aches and pains.
“It just makes your body feel stronger,” Berra testified. Berra, under questioning from Strong’s attorney, Adam Renfroe Jr., said he used greenies in Pittsburgh as well as Portland, Oregon, a minor-league affiliate of the Pirates at the time. When asked who had given him amphetamines in Pittsburgh, he told Renfroe it was Madlock and Stargell.
“Willie Stargell gave you amphetamines?” Renfroe asked.
“Yes, when he played for us,” Berra responded.
Stargell told the Washington Post, “It’s not true. That’s about all I can say about it.” Madlock refused to respond, saying, “I don’t have anything to say about anything like that.” But he added, “A lot of those guys up there are trying to get some people mentioned to take the monkey off their back.”29 Two days later, Dave Parker—Stargell’s former long-ball protégé—also testified that Stargell and Madlock provided him with amphetamines. Stargell referred to the allegations as a “dead issue.”30
On September 20, the jury of nine women and three men found Strong guilty of selling cocaine three times each to three players—including Parker, who was then with the Cincinnati Reds—and twice to former Pirate John Milner. The jury acquitted Strong on one count each of selling to three players, and two other counts were dropped at the request of U.S. Attorney J. Alan Johnson. In October, another defendant, Shelby Greer, pleaded guilty to seven drug trafficking charges. All told, seven men either were convicted of or pleaded guilty to selling cocaine to players.
The hits kept coming that fall for Stargell. On October 2, a public-private partnership assembled by then–Mayor Richard Caliguiri announced it had reached a deal with the Galbreath family and Warner Communications to buy the Pirates for $22 million, assuring that the club would remain in Pittsburgh for the near future. The partnership announced that Malcolm “Mac” Prine, president and board chairman of home-building giant Ryan Homes Inc., would serve as the team’s president and chief executive officer. Ryan Homes was one of a dozen or so groups involved in the partnership, which outbid a group that included Tanner. The Pirates skipper expressed disappointment at the time but said, “The final thing is the team is staying here.” Tanner said he would talk to the new owner and that his future with the club would be “dictated by what the new owner says to me.”31 Within a week, Tanner was gone—a decision he described as mutual. “They didn’t want me, I didn’t want them,” Tanner said. “I didn’t want to come back. We’ve resolved the issue and I’m happy for that. They could have kept me on hold and I appreciate that he (Prine) didn’t do that.”32 Stargell publicly expressed an interest in Tanner’s old job as manager, but within two days of Tanner’s departure, the Pirates announced that they had ruled out Stargell as a possible new skipper after the former slugger met with interim GM Brown. “He told me that he hoped someday to be ready but that, at present, he was not ready to manage,” Brown said of Stargell. “He has not applied for the job and I would be amazed if he did.”33
Within a week, Stargell had himself a new job—serving as first-base coach and specialized hitting instructor under Tanner, who agreed to a five-year contract to manage the Atlanta Braves. The first time Stargell would pull on a Braves jersey would be the first time he donned the uniform of another organization besides the Pirates. That fact was not lost on Stargell after the announcement became public. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have mixed emotions, because I’ve been here for so many years,” he told the Atlanta Constitution in an interview from his Pittsburgh home. “But I have the chance to be with someone I admire and respect, Chuck Tanner. I want to do everything I can to help him with a new organization. I had some other calls, but I wanted to stay with Chuck.”34 He told John Clayton of the Pittsburgh Press that leaving the Pirates was “like going through another divorce. The city and the people here mean a lot to me. It’s a real love affair. It is something a grown man has to deal with. As I’m departing, I will take a towel with me and be loyal to Chuck Tanner, just like I was loyal to the Pirates.”35
While Stargell was getting used to the idea of being something other than a Pirate, he received some good news—in late February 1986, Commissioner Peter Ueberroth meted out punishment to those involved in the previous year’s Pittsburgh drug trial, suspending seven players, including Parker and Berra for a year, but allowing them to play if they donated 10 percent of their salaries to drug-prevention programs. Four other players were suspended for 60 days, but their suspensions would be held in abeyance if they followed specific guidelines issued by the commissioner.36 At the same time, Ueberroth exonerated Stargell of any wrongdoing, saying that he was “wrongly accused” of giving amphetamines to players. In a written statement, Ueberroth said “there is no wrongdoing on his [Stargell’s] part.” When asked if that meant criminal wrongdoing, Ueberroth responded, “I mean any wrongdoing. Willie Stargell had no wrongdoing. I looked at it eight ways from Sunday and somebody was out of line.”37
The next month, during spring training in Florida, Stargell was busy trying to get comfortable wearing that new jersey and working with his old boss, Tanner, who defended his decision to bring Stargell south. “They didn’t want Willie in Pittsburgh,” Tanner said. “On the last day of the season, I told him that he’d be with me. The new people there complained later that I took him. And I said I took Willie Stargell when he was unemployed in Pittsburgh. Now, he’s my first-base coach.”38 Stargell told the media during spring training that even though he had expressed an interest in the Pirates’ managing vacancy after Tanner left, deep down he knew he wasn’t ready, based on his half-season experience as a base coach under Tanner in Pittsburgh. “I’m dumb enough to know you have to be qualified and need to spend time doing these things,” he said. “I learned a lot last year.” He said he got a different view of the game from the dugout and from watching Tanner manage. “It was like falling in love again,” Stargell said. “I saw a part of the game that really intrigued me, got my curiosity going.” Media members brought up the Pittsburgh drug trials and in particular Berra’s claims that Stargell had provided him with amphetamines. “It was a tough year, and everybody tried to deal with it and go on with their lives,” Stargell said. “The only thing that really hurt me [about Berra] was that here was a guy I had gone to war with, accomplished so much with. For him to say that was mind-boggling. I’ll never understand that.”39
The 1986 campaign was a season of firsts for Stargell and one of the more surreal ones took place on May 26, when he trotted from the Atlanta dugout to the first base coach’s box at Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers Stadium, wearing the Braves’ uniform. His presence elicited a standing ovation from the crowd of 14,102. “I was absolutely moved,” Stargell said later. “Embarrassed again. When you have a day like that, it’s just tough to talk about. There isn’t a word to describe that particular moment. I didn’t know how to act. If I could have hugged every one of those fine people, I would have.” Seeing as how that would have been impossible, Stargell instead tipped his cap and took a bow. He admitted it wasn’t easy to go from the Pirates’ black and gold to the Braves’ red, white and blue color scheme. “I had to think about it a lot,” he said. “I’ll never forget what happened here. I’ll never forget the Pirates or the people here. But life is all about growing, and experiencing new things, and that’s what I’m doing.”40 Stargell said he would continue to root for the Pirates. “I enjoy those kids. That’s what I enjoyed most about last season, working with those young guys. That, to me, is what coaching is all about. If you want to give something back to the game, you go to the young players and say, ‘Here I am. I have a world of knowledge and I want to share it with you. Maybe I can help you enjoy your career as much or more than I did mine.’ That’s what I’ve tried to do.”41
A little less than halfway through the season, Stargell talked once again about his managerial aspirations, saying that he had been getting exposure as a coach to several key facets of the game that would come into play as manager—personnel meetings, contract meetings, etc. “It is like getting the necessary education before you graduate from college, before going on about your career,” he said. He addressed the idea that the upper levels of baseball management might not want a black manager and said he would be sad if that were indeed true. However, Stargell said he didn’t believe that was the case because of the quality of people in baseball. “Once I get the qualifications for being a manager, should somebody tell me that because of the color of my skin they don’t feel they should hire me ... I’m going to be real disappointed with the game because of the commitment I have made to it,” he said. “I’ve studied the game from a player’s standpoint long enough to know, though, that you really have to be color blind.”42
Despite the optimistic start, all did not go well for the Braves in 1986, as they finished last in Tanner’s first year as manager with a 72–89 record. The next year was even worse, as Atlanta fashioned a 69–92 mark, including an abysmal 27–53 road record. The 1987 season also was marked at the outset by inflammatory comments made by Al Campanis, vice president of player personnel for the Los Angeles Dodgers, who on April 6 appeared on ABC TV’s Nightline to help observe the 40th anniversary of Jackie Robinson breaking baseball’s color barrier. The visit ignited a firestorm, as Campanis essentially told a national audience that blacks might not be qualified to serve in high-level baseball positions. “I don’t believe it’s prejudice,” Campanis said. “I truly believe that they may not have some of the necessities to be, let’s say, a field manager, or perhaps a general manager.” Campanis apologized for his remarks, but the Dodgers wasted little time in asking for—and receiving—Campanis’s resignation. The episode also served as a launching point for scores of people to weigh in on whether blacks were receiving a fair shake when it came to being considered—let alone being hired—for high-level positions in baseball such as field manager and general manager. Ueberroth said he believed strongly in bringing more blacks to front office positions and that he would put his job on the line if necessary to improve the situation. “We have blatantly said baseball needs to improve [on blacks holding front-office jobs],” Ueberroth said on ABC’s Nightline just two days after Campanis had appeared on the same show. “If we didn’t intend to do something about it we would have ignored it. We’re going to do something about it.”43
Frank Robinson, the former Orioles Hall of Famer who became baseball’s first black manager in 1975 with Cleveland, said Campanis merely “was saying what a lot of baseball people think, and I’m glad it’s finally out in the open. Black people have to take hold and keep it out in the open. They have to make sure it just doesn’t get swept under the rug. This is something I’ve felt for years and haven’t been able to say because I had no proof. But now that’s been said, it’s out in the open.” Madlock—Stargell’s former Pirate teammate who by then had moved on to the Dodgers—said periodically people would talk about the lack of blacks in coaching and managing positions in football and baseball, but then the talk would go away. “I hope this time it can take it a little further and really get down to why there are not blacks in higher echelon jobs in professional sports,” Madlock said.44
Two managerial vacancies occurred during the 1987 season, but Stargell—and every other potential black candidate—was bypassed for the jobs. Joe Morgan, Stargell’s old acquaintance from the Bay Area, was upset that his pal was overlooked. Morgan said Stargell would be more effective than the vast majority of managers. “I know how good he is, how deserving he is, but ... maybe baseball doesn’t deserve Willie Stargell,” Morgan said of Stargell. “When he was playing, Willie Stargell was respected by every player. Every one.... All 599 other guys had respect for Willie Stargell, and there have been a lot of managers who’ve been hired the last couple of years you can’t say the same thing about.” Morgan expressed frustration at the pace at which baseball was moving to bring blacks into more meaningful positions—Campanis’s statements notwithstanding. “When did Campanis make those remarks—April?” Morgan asked at the end of June. “Everybody’s been saying, ‘We’re going to see change, we’re going to change.’ Well, I don’t see any changes.”45 Stargell would not bring race into the issue, though. “Clubs have different needs at different times,” he said. “Some are looking for a fiery manager at a given time. Others may be looking for a pitching-oriented manager. When the time comes that you fit the needs of a club, you’ll get a fair appraisal.”46
Campanis’s remarks and the subsequent outcry prompted Stargell and several other minority players, former players, coaches and managers to band together and discuss the current state of affairs with regard to underrepresentation of minorities in baseball. During the next two years, the group—which became known as the Baseball Network and also featured the likes of Frank Robinson, Ralph Garr, Dusty Baker and Billy Williams—began meeting with the representatives of Major League Baseball to try to expedite the process of getting more blacks and minorities into meaningful positions both in the dugout and in front offices.
Ray Burris, who won more than 100 games in the big leagues as a pitcher during his 15-year career, was among those involved in the Baseball Network. Burris said the group’s purpose was to make Major League Baseball aware of individuals who were interested in becoming a part of the game’s decision-making process. Burris said Ueberroth showed a genuine interest in instigating some changes, and as a sort of pioneer in the area of improving minorities’ chances of gaining a foothold in baseball outside the lines, Burris was pleased to be a part of the process. That’s because, down the road, he hoped to work his way into a decision-making position within Major League Baseball. “With all the years I had played, I felt I had a lot to offer with regard to my knowledge of the game and the business side of the game,” he said. Burris said the group went in with realistic expectations and so while the Baseball Network’s efforts did not trigger a tidal wave of minority hiring, the group did make a difference—at least in Burris’s estimation. “We had a lot of common ground, but we also had some disagreements and different beliefs and thought processes and we had to work through that,” he said of those who participated. “It all started with a sharing of ideas and then we had to fine-tune things. We needed to determine exactly what we wanted to accomplish and that was how to get blacks in baseball positions. We knew we weren’t going to start at the general manager position or start as an owner. Let’s be real. But we knew we could start at some point in an organization and hopefully have the ability to elevate ourselves as time went on. That was our goal.”47
Looking back some 25 years later, Burris said he believed the Baseball Network did make a difference. He pointed out successful managerial runs turned in by minorities such as Jerry Manuel, who piloted the Chicago White Sox to a division crown and four second-place finishes in a six-year stretch, and Dusty Baker—who led the Giants to the National League pennant in 2002—as evidence that men of color have made their mark in high places. In the front office, Kenny Williams has had a solid run as the White Sox general manager, and Tony Regins enjoyed his share of success as the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim’s general manager from 2007 until he resigned in 2011. “When you look at baseball and the sporting world in general, there’s been a lot of overall improvement, from managers to general managers to coaches to farm directors,” Burris said. “You’ve had a lot of growth in these areas. But I would be a fool to think every club in major league baseball is going to hire a black to be a general manager. That isn’t going to happen. So what is the percentage that is going to satisfy me? Or would satisfy a Willie Stargell? I don’t know. But if there’s one or two, that’s better than none.”
In addition to working with Ueberroth, the Baseball Network also met with Dr. Harry Edwards, a professor of sociology at the University of California, Berkeley, who was working with the commissioner’s office. While Burris believed Ueberroth was sincere in his efforts to help increase minority representation in Major League Baseball, he wasn’t as impressed with Edwards, perhaps best known for helping to organize a black boycott of the 1968 Olympics. “To me, he was very vague in his presentation to us,” Burris said. “He never said point blank, ‘Guys, this is where it’s at.’ It was all of the rhetoric of what he was about and what baseball was about. We didn’t want a history of baseball. We had a history of baseball—we were part of that history. We didn’t need history—we needed to know what we could do at that point to make things better and what his position was with the commissioner. I didn’t feel comfortable with what he was saying. It’s not that we were trying to discredit him, but we felt he was trying to discredit us.” Edwards told the Chicago Tribune after a meeting in December 1987 that both sides were moving forward “with some urgency and dispatch. People will look back on this year as the beginning of something significant and important. Not just for baseball, but for American society.” Edwards noted that minority hires in Major League Baseball had increased from 17 to 86 between April 17 and December 8 of that year. “But it’s another thing to be able to look at this process down the line—three years, five years, eight years and see 300 jobs and the situation still going strong because there is a solid base and a solid structure for progress there.”48
Burris said Stargell’s role with the Baseball Network was a critical one, as he served on the group’s executive board. “The thing I remember about Willie was his clear view on the mindset of baseball at that time,” he said. “I think we all had an idea but he had a better idea from the things he’d had a chance to witness—the things he’d seen going through the Pirates organization.” Burris said the Baseball Network was unable to remain intact because of scheduling and funding difficulties. “But for that short time, we were given the opportunity to have our voices be heard by the baseball establishment and the people we thought to be very important. We got a lot of press and a lot of awareness out of it. That awareness, I think, fueled over the long haul the opportunities for things to happen. I just wished we would have been able to stay in contact. But maybe that effort brought enough awareness at the time when things needed to be made aware of, so that people would start thinking about these things. If that’s what happened, then we served our purpose in that particular arena.”
Nine months after Campanis’s bombshell statement, the topic of race in professional sport again seized the spotlight. This time, a television personality named Jimmy “The Greek” Snyder, a veteran oddsmaker who had worked for 12 years as a pro football analyst for CBS, said during a TV interview that blacks “got everything. If they take over coaching jobs like everybody wants them to, there’s not going to be anything left for white people.” CBS Sports fired Snyder the following day. Snyder’s comments again raised the question as to whether professional sports was doing enough to further the cause of minorities. Stargell and his former teammate Bill Robinson told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette that they didn’t believe enough progress had been made since the Campanis incident and they doubted whether Snyder’s comments would speed up the process of getting minorities involved in a more meaningful way in professional sports. “We’re not the people doing the hiring and firing,” Stargell said. “All you and I are doing is guessing. Every time a remark is made, they come to a minority and ask them what they think about it. I’d like to hear what some non-minorities have to say.” Stargell likened Snyder’s remarks to the ones Campanis made the previous April. “It’s very difficult to understand people in the kind of position they’re in saying what they’re saying.”49