A Lifetime Destroyed by Words

Family members, friends and some of those who worked beside him. Those are the only people who might have other memories.

For anyone else who learned about Al Campanis’ death, the first thing that came to mind was that infamous appearance on “Nightline” in April 1987. No need to even see the clip again. How many of us can’t vividly remember Campanis sitting in the Astrodome, a glassy look on his face, digging himself a deeper hole with every word he said?

He indicated that the dearth of African Americans in baseball power positions was because African Americans didn’t have what it takes to be managers, general managers, quarterbacks or even swimmers. Two days later he was fired by the Dodgers after 44 years of work.

The people close to him said over and over again that Campanis didn’t have a racist bone in his body. Those who know nothing more than what they saw that night think otherwise. Campanis’ definitive legacy is this: he was the first casualty of a new age of media, when accessibility, sensitivity and accountability all converged. After Campanis, you talked into a microphone at your own risk.

A year later, Jimmy “The Greek” Snyder played armchair anthropologist in front of a TV camera at a Washington restaurant, said that the black athlete is superior because “he was bred to be that way” and lost his job at CBS. Last year Fuzzy Zoeller advised Tiger Woods not to put fried chicken on the menu for the champions’ dinner at the Masters and lost a major endorsement deal.

Miami Heat radio announcer David Halberstam somehow got on an on-air tangent about Thomas Jefferson and how his slaves would have made good basketball players and was fined $2,500 by NBA Commissioner David Stern. Reggie White stepped before the Wisconsin state assembly this year, criticized gays and made what amounted to a laundry list of racial stereotypes. Not coincidentally, he was dropped from consideration for a gig at CBS.

Those are all costly prices to pay for words. But what Campanis showed us is words deserve careful scrutiny. Most of all, they call for context.

Because what Campanis said went much deeper than the oft-repeated phrase that African Americans “lack the necessities” to be managers; in reality, he never used that exact phrase.

Ted Koppel asked Campanis, “Why are there no black field managers and few blacks in baseball management positions? Is there still that much prejudice in baseball today?” Campanis replied: “I don’t believe it’s prejudice. 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. . . . Well, I don’t say . . . all of them. But they certainly are short. How many quarterbacks do you have? How many pitchers do you have that are black?”

In an interview with Jim Murray that summer, Campanis said, “When I said blacks lacked the ‘necessities’ to be managers or general managers, I meant the necessary experience, not things like inherent intelligence or native ability.”

That still doesn’t explain him raising the black quarterback and pitching issue. How much “necessary experience” does it take to play those positions? None. Just the opportunity.

His absurdity topped out when he said: “Why are blacks not good swimmers? Because they don’t have buoyancy.”

Koppel kept giving Campanis chances to get himself off the hook, but Campanis kept making it worse.

“We have scouts in our organization who are black, and they are very capable people,” Campanis said that night. “I have never said that blacks aren’t intelligent, but they may not have the desire to be in the front office.

“I know that they have wanted to manage and many of them have managed. But they are outstanding athletes, very God-gifted and they’re very wonderful people. . . . They are gifted with great musculature and various other things. They are fleet of foot and this is why there are a number of black ballplayers in the major leagues.”

At the bare minimum this comes across as ignorant and patronizing. It was yet another example of black athletic success attributed to physiology and not skill, another case of blacks receiving compliments only when they’re playing sports or entertaining.

Campanis just didn’t get it. In an interview afterward, he said: “As far as I’m concerned, this was no big deal. In fact, I said to [Koppel] how wonderful athletes I thought blacks are.”

Years later he said, “I still say there is no prejudice in baseball,” which, given the sport’s record for hiring minorities, is almost laughable.

It was almost as if he were detached from reality. That would explain his difficulty understanding why the Dodgers had to fire him.

The credibility of the organization was at stake. After all the things Campanis said on “Nightline,” every personnel move he made that dealt with an African American would be subject to second-guessing. So would all of the team’s hiring practices.

Free speech didn’t suffer a blow in April 1987. As long as the punishment comes from private entities like teams, leagues and networks--and not the government--our rights are still protected.

What Campanis did was hurt himself with his own words, overshadowing a successful run as general manager that resulted in a championship and three other trips to the World Series, wiping away deeds that went back to his support of Jackie Robinson when they were teammates and continued after “Nightline,” when he worked with the prominent black sociologist Harry Edwards as consultants to examine baseball’s hiring processes.

Campanis set the precedent. For those who think what you say can’t hurt you, remember Campanis. Then think of the first thing that comes to mind when you remember Campanis.