The Last Hero

For all of his career to that point, Clemente had felt misunderstood and underappreciated. Now he had proven himself, and the network microphones and cameras, and the nation's attention, were focused on him alone. And what did Clemente do? He said that before he answered any questions he wanted to say a few words of thanks in Spanish to his aging parents back in Carolina. The symbolic meaning of that moment reverberated throughout the Spanish-speaking world and down through the years.

That same year, 1971, the Pirates broke another barrier by fielding the first all-black and Latino lineup in major league history: Rennie Stennett at second, Gene Clines in center, Clemente in right, Willie Stargell in left, Manny Sanguillen catching, Dave Cash at third, Al Oliver at first, Jackie Hernandez at short and Dock Ellis on the mound. Nearly a quarter century after Jackie Robinson broke the color line, the racial transformation of baseball was so advanced that the moment went virtually unnoticed. It turned out to be not a sign of things to come, but an unlikely turning point.

Over the next three decades, the number of African Americans in baseball declined steadily, down from more than 23 percent to below 9 percent today. The Houston Astros last year went to the World Series without a single black American on its roster. Basketball, which could be played more easily in urban settings, and football, which offered more speed and action, became more appealing to young black athletes.

The number of Latinos, by contrast, rose dramatically over the same period. Last year there were 204 Latinos in the majors, about one-fourth of all players. Rodriguez, Martinez, Ramirez, Ortiz, Guerrero, Tejada, Rivera -- these are the names of 21st century baseball. And some will end up in Cooperstown, joining the six Latinos already there: Tony Perez of Cuba, Rod Carew of Panama, Luis Aparicio of Venezuela, Juan Marichal of the Dominican Republic, Orlando Cepeda of Puerto Rico and the legend among them, paving the way into the Hall of Fame for others to follow, the only player besides Lou Gehrig enshrined before the normal five-year waiting period -- Roberto Clemente.

Baseball certainly will undergo more transformations this century. The sport is already declining in Clemente's Puerto Rico, overtaken by basketball and faster-paced sports, for the same reasons that led black Americans away from baseball. The Dominican Republic and Venezuela far surpass Puerto Rico now in the number of major leaguers. A new wave is coming from Japan and Korea, and perhaps China after that.

But through it all, Clemente's role cannot diminish. The mythic aspects of baseball usually draw on the cliches of the innocent past, the nostalgia for how things were. Fields of green. Fathers and sons. But Clemente's myth, like Jackie Robinson's, arcs the other way, to the future, not the past, to what people hope they can become.

maranissd@washpost.com

David Maraniss, an associate editor of The Washington Post, is author of "Clemente: The Passion and Grace of Baseball's Last Hero," to be released by Simon & Schuster later this month.