But the true patriarch and legendary superman of Cuban baseball, was without a doubt, Adolfo Luque, known in the US as Dolph or Dolf Luque. Much has been written about Luque and his impact on Cuban baseball (none better that Roberto Gonzalez Echavarria's The Pride of Havana).
However, I believe that Luque's contribution to how US owners, fans,
newscasters and players viewed Latin American players, as well as his
outgoing, aggressive personality, and ability to float back and forth
between professional Cuban and American baseball at all levels of
organization, delivered a key ingredient for the eventual breaking of
the race barrier.
Luque was the first true Latin American star of the Major Leagues. He
won nearly 200 games, played in nine World Series, and in 1918 had an
astonishing 27 and 8 record with a 1.93 ERA while playing with the
Cincinnati Reds.
He was also a man who did not take insults from anyone,
and according to Gonzalez Echavarria, he was a "snarling, vulgar, cursing, aggressive pug, who, although small at five-seven, was always ready to fight."
These characteristics served Luque well in the racist environment of
the early 20th century MLB. Although he was very fair and blue-eyed, and
no one could distinguish him from the other white players until he
opened his mouth, Luque was nonetheless the butt of many racial insults,
to which he usually responded with brutal beanballs.
Once, while
pitching for Cincinnati, Luque heard insults coming from the Giants'
dugout. The fiery Cuban charged the dugout and
punched Casey Stengel in the mouth (
Stengel later claimed it wasn't him who had called Luque a "Cuban N-word," but it was the man seated next to him,
Bill Cunningham).
The police sent Luque back to his bench, but his Cincinnati teammates
took over the fighting to restore Luque's honor, and a near riot began.
In the chaos of the fighting, Luque grabbed a bat and headed back to the
Giants dugout.
Order was finally restored and both Luque and Stengel
were ejected.
It was not the first time that the aggressive Luque had taken matters
into his own hands, for earlier in his career he had also
fired a ball into his own dugout and chased one of his own teammates with an ice pick.
Luque died in 1957,
after playing in the Majors from 1914-1935. After his playing career
ended, he returned and began coaching in 1941 in the US Major Leagues
and also managed several teams in the Cuban League (he even pitched in a
game in 1946, when he was pushing 55) as well as many other teams in
Latin America.
Adolfo Luque's overall impact upon the world of professional baseball certainly merits his inclusion in the
Baseball Hall of Fame, where many lesser players of his era are included. As his
New York Times obituary
testifies to, Luque was a respected coach in the Major Leagues, and
like Gonzalez, had a significant part in helping to establish Latin
American players as part of the national game.
Because of his temper,
Luque also commanded a respect, sometimes out of fear, that also played a
key part in the acceptance of Latin American players, and helped
immeasurably in paving the road for Robinson and all the others who
followed in his steps. As Hemingway wrote in
The Old Man and the Sea:
"Who is the greatest manager, really, Luque or Mike Gonzalez? -- I think they are equal."
Between 1911 and 1929,
seventeen Cuban-born Caucasian players played in the Major Leagues and many more, both black and white, in the
Negro Leagues.
Somehow, along the line, and probably helped by the full acceptance by
MLB of players and coaches like Gonzalez and Luque, and clearly assisted
by the exposure of American owners, white players and managers to Cuban
baseball players, the pedigree requirement for obvious "whiteness" was
discarded. As a result, in 1935, a Cuban of clearly defined African
features makes his debut with the Washington Senators.
Those of you who know me well, and those of you who know me through my writing, know that one of my pet peeves is the usage of "labels" to box people and art, or art and people, into easily distinguishable categories.
