Race Aside, Cepeda Still Finds Himself on the Outside

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded shocked.

“That’s a blow,” said Orlando Cepeda, speaking from his Burbank home after being informed that Dodger General Manager Al Campanis had been fired the day before because of racial remarks he had made earlier in the week in a nationally televised interview.

Cepeda is not simply an interested fan. As a former major-league ballplayer, he had observed Campanis closely.

“A lot of people are not going to remember this,” Cepeda said, “but it was Al Campanis who first signed Roberto Clemente for the Dodgers.”

Clemente, an eventual Hall of Famer with the Pittsburgh Pirates, was one of the first and, perhaps, the best of the Latin American ballplayers. That part of the world became a favorite hunting ground for Campanis.

“I remember he would always come to Puerto Rico, every year,” said Cepeda, a native of that U.S. territory. “I’ve known Al for many, many years. He spoke Spanish very well. He was crazy about Latin ballplayers. I know he loved Pedro Guerrero. He signed so many black players who, in turn, helped to promote him so much.

“It’s all very confusing. I don’t know what to say. It’s very sad. I’m surprised at what happened. If he meant what he said on the show, he kept it hidden for years.”

Campanis’ interview, on ABC’s Nightline, had been arranged to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the breaking of the color barrier in major-league baseball. In the course of the interview, Campanis, asked why more blacks had not found employment in baseball above the playing level, said they did not have the “necessities” to be a field manager or a general manager. Campanis pointed out other so-called limitations caused by race and even questioned the ability of blacks to swim.

Cepeda sees no difference between American blacks and Latins in terms of job opportunities. There has been no opportunity for Cepeda himself to get a job in baseball although he would dearly love one.

While the color of his skin is dark, his dark past probably has as much or more to do with his failure to land a job as his ancestry. A former National League Rookie of the Year, Most Valuable Player and 17-year, major-league veteran, Cepeda’s life hit the skids eight years ago when he spent nine months in prison for drug smuggling.

He has spent the past three years living in Burbank, working with kids in baseball programs and hoping to land a spot back in the big leagues.

“It’s been very hard for me to get a job in baseball, very hard,” he said. “I can’t seem to do it. No way. I look at the San Francisco Giants. I helped that franchise to get started. I approached them. They didn’t want to give me a job. I’ve approached the Dodgers. They didn’t have anything. I don’t know if it’s because I’m black or Latin or because of what happened to me.”

In a weird sort of way, Cepeda and Campanis are partners in misery. Both had long and distinguished careers destroyed by a damaging incident.

Admittedly, smuggling drugs is a lot more serious than making insensitive remarks on a television program.

So who should suffer more?

Cepeda broke the law. And paid a steep price. After serving nine months in prison, he should not be denied the opportunity to make a living in the game he knows so well. His ability to serve as a batting instructor or third-base coach would in no way be compromised by the fact he was once involved in a drug operation for which he was punished.

Here’s a man with two strikes against him--his past and the past of his ancestors--who deserves another chance at bat if he is qualified. If not, the very demons of bigotry raised by the Campanis case are indeed alive and well.

The law Campanis broke, on the other hand, was a law of decency. Harder to define. Often impossible to dispel. Giving him a second chance would have left the Dodgers open to second-guessing on every personnel move he made. The club that gave Jackie Robinson a job could not function had it allowed Campanis to keep his job.

He is to be commended for opening the door to the big leagues to so many Latins. But he might best be remembered for inadvertently opening the door for blacks into baseball’s boardroom.