El Profe: A “Welcome” sign that never comes

Some stories stick with you.

The tone of voice as someone recounts an experience lingers in one’s mind. The facial expression while someone searches for the right word, trying to strike a balanced emotional posture in the midst of sharing an unpleasant experience.

Such interviews are haunting. They leave a lasting impression, these conversations with baseball pioneers, in which encounters with hostile fans, indifferent teammates and segregated restaurants and hotels are shared. Yes, there are moments of triumph, but there are also moments that leave a mark, even emotional scars.

Que Viva Navarro

Learning of the death of Puerto Rican pitcher Julio Navarro in January prompted me to reflect on my first interview with him and his wife, Ana Haydee. The two could not have been kinder, offering  Cafecito and sharing memories of their years in the States pursuing their baseball dream, of llegando a las grandes ligas.

As I visited with them in their apartment in Bayamón, Puerto Rico, in June 1995, Navarro recounted his days not only in the major leagues but also his numerous seasons in the minors. Of his signing with the Giants organization in 1955, yet not making his debut until seven years later, in 1962, with the Los Angeles Angels. His career in organized baseball was not one of all-star appearances, 20-win seasons or World Series rings. He, nonetheless, did do something significant. The native of Vieques, a tiny isle off the northeast coast of Puerto Rico, was a pioneering player, part of the first generation of black players in the minor and major leagues.

Lessons Learned

Signed by the New York Giants, Navarro arrived at minor league camp in Melbourne, Fla., along with fellow Puerto Ricans Orlando Cepeda and José Pagán. Navarro possessed an advantage over his fellow boricuas — because of his Catholic school education in Frederiksted, St. Croix, he could speak English. Therefore, he was able to speak up for himself and his Latino teammates.

What was not as easy was dealing with the racist attitudes that sustained Jim Crow segregation in the South.

And Navarro’s experiences as he traveled on the buses that carried young players from one minor league town to another repeatedly reminded him that the South did not possess a monopoly on segregation or discrimination.

During the 1950s and into the early 1960s, African-American and Afro-Latino players were barrier-breakers in minor league towns and teams across the South, the Midwest, the Southwest, and even the West. The reality that the South did not hold an exclusive claim on segregation or racial prejudice was at the core of the story Navarro shared during our interview.

A Shock in Detroit

Traded from the Angels to the Detroit Tigers early in the 1964 season, Julio and Ana were forced to quickly find housing in a whole new town with a toddler in tow—Julio Jr. was about two years old at the time.

One afternoon, the Puerto Rican couple found a rental unit that seemed just what they were looking for. But when the landlord saw what she viewed as a black couple, she immediately decided she wouldn’t rent the unit to them, Navarro recounted.

Julio and Ana knew what was going on. They began conversing in Spanish, upset with having driven out of Detroit to this ‘nicer’ neighborhood, only to be rejected by the landlord.

Upon hearing the couple speak Spanish, the landlord did a quick about-face. She informed them she would, in fact, rent the unit to them.

But that was where the pride and strength of Julio Navarro made its appearance.

He recalled telling her something along the lines of, “If you didn’t want to rent to us when you thought we were black, then you don’t deserve our money just because we speak Spanish.”

Pioneros of All Kinds

Jackie Robinson was the first black player to openly take on the challenge of pioneering integration. We rightly celebrate his courage — and that of his wife, Rachel Robinson — for their willingness to face the racial slights and indignities of Jim Crow and racial segregation.

Pioneers were not all all-stars, nor did they have to be. Theirs was a larger charge—that of transforming organized baseball. The Robinsons showed others that it can be done.  However, that did not eliminate the work of integration elsewhere. Julio Navarro and the generation of players that followed also had to engage in the work of integration.

The sound of his voice, the righteous anger and dignified stance — these details remain seared in my memory. It was his strength of character that gave Julio Navarro the courage to persevere as part of that pioneering generation. It made us proud of him for not only becoming a Puerto Rican big leaguer, but to remain a man who stood his ground in the face of discrimination and did what was right.

Etched on his face, laced in his voice, his story is similar to others who persevere: Don’t let bitterness reign; tell your story.

Featured Image: Topps