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In a span of eight months, umpire Emmett Ashford experienced the indignation of being assaulted by a player and the satisfaction of breaking down a racial barrier.

During a winter league playoff game in the Dominican Republic in January 1965, Ashford was punched by Julian Javier, who went into a rage because of the way the umpire called him out on strikes. Javier was the second baseman for the Cardinals during the major league season.

The year got a lot better for Ashford after that. An umpire in the minors for 15 seasons, Ashford was informed in September 1965 that his contract was being purchased by the American League for the 1966 season. Ashford became the first African-American umpire in the major leagues.

Skill and style

Born and raised in Los Angeles, Ashford went to Jefferson High School. He became the school’s first black student body president and also was the first black editor of a Los Angeles high school newspaper, according to the Los Angeles Times. He was a member of the school’s baseball and track teams, too.

After attending Chapman College, Ashford got a job as a postal clerk. He served in the Navy during World War II. Afterward, he resumed his job at the post office and began umpiring semipro games on weekends in Los Angeles.

In 1951, Ashford, 36, pursued umpiring fulltime. He worked games in the Southwest International League, becoming the first black umpire in the minors. He advanced to the Arizona-Texas League (1952), Western International League (1953) and Pacific Coast League (1954-65).

Displaying a “flamboyant style and distinctive motion for calling balls and strikes,” Ashford had “both skill and crowd appeal,” The Sporting News noted. 

When calling a pitch a strike, Ashford “lets fly with an ebullient ‘Stee-rike-ah’ that carries into the bleachers,” the New York Times reported.

In describing Ashford’s strike call, Jim Murray of the Los Angeles Times wrote, “His feet leave the ground at right angles in a semi-entrechat, his right arm shoots out, and in a voice that brings bull moose crashing out of the woods for miles around, he shouts, ‘Yes! Yes!’ or sometimes ‘Ste-ee-rike.’ “

Murray concluded, “They accuse him of being a showboat. In a game that too often resembles a slow boat, you’d think that would be desirable.”

Tropical heat

During winters, Ashford often refereed college basketball games in the United States or umpired baseball games in the Caribbean.

In January 1965, he was behind the plate for Game 1 of the Dominican Republic championship series between Leones del Escogido and Aguilas Cibaenas before a capacity crowd in Santo Domingo.

Julian Javier, a National League all-star in 1963 and the second baseman for the World Series champion Cardinals in 1964, played for Aguilas Cibaenas. Born and raised in the Dominican Republic, “Javier is a national hero,” wrote Jim Murray.

In the third inning, Javier was batting against Larry Miller, who played in the majors for the Dodgers. After throwing a strike on his first pitch to Javier, Miller delivered a slider on the outside corner at the knee.

“Javier couldn’t hit it with a butter paddle,” Murray wrote. “So he did the next best thing: he let it go by and hoped the umpire would mistake it for a ball.”

Ashford called it strike two.

Javier whirled around to face Ashford and argued the call.

In a 1977 interview with author Larry Gerlach, Ashford recalled Javier saying, “Why are you calling that pitch on me? You know I don’t like that pitch.”

Ashford said the discussion deteriorated into a “nonsensical argument.”

“I knew I had a powder keg on my hands,” Ashford said.

“As Javier’s invective rose in decibel and malevolence,” Murray wrote, “Ashford curtly instructed him to get back in the box.”

Ashford warned Javier if he didn’t immediately resume the at-bat he would, as the rules allowed him to do, order Miller to throw a pitch and would call it strike three.

Ashford said Javier leaned on his bat, crossed his legs and replied, “I dare you.”

Ashford motioned for Miller to throw. According to Murray, Javier was 10 feet away from the plate and had his back turned when Miller delivered his pitch.

“Strike three,” barked Ashford.

Losing control

Ashford lifted his mask to remonstrate. According to The Sporting News, Javier stepped around the catcher and punched Ashford twice in the face.

Javier “landed a left to the cheekbone and a right to the jaw,” Murray wrote. “It was a picture book one-two, but Ashford didn’t go down.”

Ashford reeled back, his mouth bleeding, and then counterattacked, using his iron mask to strike Javier before other players intervened and separated them.

A hush fell over the ballpark, Ashford said. He said he asked for a towel and ice, pressed it to his mouth between innings and continued working the game.

Ashford told author Larry Gerlach that when he returned to his hotel room after the game, “Javier called, crying.”

Ashford told Sid Ziff of the Los Angeles Times that Javier was in a bad mood when the game started because he had received a contract proposal from the Cardinals for the 1965 season and it was for less than he made in 1964.

For attacking Ashford, the Latin American Baseball Federation initially gave Javier an indefinite suspension, but soon the punishment was reduced to a three-day suspension and $50 fine.

“Politics took over,” Ashford told Gerlach.

A lighter sentence was imposed on Javier “because he is a popular figure at home,” The Sporting News reported.

Outraged, Ashford resigned, saying the punishment wasn’t severe enough “for the serious action committed by Javier.”

A short time later, according to The Sporting News, Ashford was persuaded to change his mind and work the remainder of the playoff series “after Javier apologized.”

When Javier was eligible to return to the lineup in the playoffs, it was a home game for Aguilas Cibaenas before a big crowd in Santiago de los Caballeros.

As Javier came to bat for the first time in the game, he “comes straight to me and sticks out his hand,” Ashford told Gerlach.

“Well, what could I do? I couldn’t be a lesser man. So I shook hands with him and the house went crazy.”

Sticking it out

After the Dominican Republic playoffs ended, Ashford returned to the United States to work his 12th season in the Pacific Coast League. Three years earlier, he’d been named umpire-in-chief for the league. He was wondering what more he needed to do to prove he belonged in the big leagues. 

“I was completely discouraged,” Ashford told the Los Angeles Times. “I had always clung to the hope I could make the big leagues, but as the years went by they picked up a lot of our umpires, but not me.”

Ashford was preparing to attend real estate school after the 1965 baseball season, he told columnist Melvin Durslag of The Sporting News. He canceled that plan on Sept. 15, 1965, when American League president Joe Cronin said Ashford had been hired for the 1966 season and would become the first black umpire in the majors. Video

Ashford, 51, worked spring training home games of the Angels and Indians in Arizona in 1966. His first regular-season assignment in the majors was the American League opener between the Indians and Senators at Washington, D.C., on April 11, 1966. Boxscore

After five seasons in the majors, Ashford retired in December 1970, two months after he worked the World Series and one month after he turned 56.

Two years later, in September 1972, Art Williams became the first black umpire in the National League.

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One of the unsolved mysteries of baseball is the case of the abduction of Roberto Clemente.

In 1970, Clemente, the Pirates’ outfielder and future Hall of Famer, revealed he had been abducted at gunpoint a year earlier by four men in San Diego and robbed. Clemente said he thought he would be shot and left for dead. Instead, he said, he was released and his possessions were returned.

No arrests were made and no witnesses came forward. Details were inconsistent. Published reports, for instance, said the incident occurred in May 1969. More likely, it happened in August 1969. Skeptics abounded.

Clemente’s story sounded similar to one told 40 years earlier by Cardinals pitcher Flint Rhem, who claimed he was abducted in New York by two men, held at gunpoint and forced to drink to excess so he would be unable to make a start against the Dodgers.

Absent a Sherlock Holmes, or even a Jim Rockford, to crack the case, Clemente’s version is the only one available.

In his biography, “Clemente: The Passion and Grace of Baseball’s Last Hero,” author David Maraniss concluded of the kidnapping tale, “Whatever the hidden reality, it fit perfectly into the mythology of Roberto Clemente as a man of the people, respected even by urban desperados.”

Going public

On Aug. 9, 1970, after the Pirates beat Nolan Ryan and the Mets in Pittsburgh, reporter Bill Christine of the Pittsburgh Press approached Clemente in the clubhouse. Clemente, the only player left in the locker room, was sorting his fan mail with help from a personal assistant.

Christine had gotten a tip about a bizarre incident involving Clemente in San Diego a year earlier. He asked Clemente about it and Clemente decided to tell the tale publicly for the first time.

“I haven’t told this story to many people because I figured if any of the four robbers heard about it they might be looking for our ballplayers when we go out there again,” Clemente told Christine.

Taken away

The Pirates were in San Diego to play the Padres on Friday night, Aug. 8, 1969. In the fourth inning, Clemente was ejected by plate umpire Lee Weyer for arguing a called strike. Boxscore

Clemente went to his room at the team hotel. Most published accounts identified it as the Town and Country in the Mission Valley section of San Diego.

Clemente, who roomed alone, phoned his wife, Vera, according to Christine. Clemente complained to her about his shoulder aching and said he was thinking about quitting. She urged him to continue playing.

Shortly after midnight, Clemente went looking for a place to eat. 

Dressed in a sport coat and tie, Clemente was about to leave the hotel when teammate Willie Stargell entered the lobby. Stargell had a carryout order of fried chicken and told Clemente it was from a place nearby. Clemente walked to it, got an order to go and headed back to the hotel.

Clemente was about 400 feet from the hotel “when a car with four men stopped him. One produced a gun and they ordered him to get in,” Christine reported.

Clemente said he was forced to lie on the floorboard in the back of the car and a gun was put to his chin, the Associated Press later reported.

Don’t kill me

The abductors took Clemente to a spot overlooking the valley. Police later told the Associated Press the location probably was Balboa Park.

Everyone got out of the car and Clemente was ordered to strip. He removed everything except his undershorts.

“The man with the gun shoved Clemente in the direction of the car, pushing him backwards across the right front hood. He stuck the gun in Clemente’s mouth,” Christine later reported.

The other men went through Clemente’s discarded clothes and took about $250 from his wallet. The gunman removed an All-Star Game ring from Clemente’s finger.

“This is when I figure they are going to shoot me and throw me into the woods,” Clemente told Christine.

“I thought if they killed me, and threw me someplace, nobody would have ever been able to find me.”

Desperate, Clemente said he informed the kidnappers he was a Padres ballplayer. Clemente told Christine he did that because he thought the men might not know the Pirates were a baseball team.

Clemente said he told them, “If you really need the money, take it, but don’t kill me. Don’t kill anybody for money.”

One of the men who searched Clemente’s wallet found his Major League Players’ Association membership card. The All-Star Game ring was additional verification he was a ballplayer.

Change in plans

According to Clemente, when the abductors realized he was a big-leaguer, they told him to dress and gave back his money, wallet and ring. Clemente said he was driven to within three blocks of the hotel and released.

“I started walking, and then I heard their car returning,” Clemente said to Christine.

Clemente said he feared the men were coming back to harm him. As the car pulled up beside him, Clemente said, one of the men handed him the bag of fried chicken. Clemente said he waited for them to drive off and tossed the bag away before returning to the hotel.

Clemente didn’t report the incident to police. He said to Christine he told four people about the abduction the next day: wife Vera, teammate Jose Pagan, coach Bill Virdon and general manager Joe Brown. Later, the Associated Press reported Clemente told umpire Lee Weyer. Pirates player Matty Alou also knew, according to The Sporting News.

Lots of questions

Christine’s exclusive appeared in the back of the Pittsburgh Press sports section, above the big-league box scores, in the Aug. 10, 1970, edition. Though underplayed, the story was picked up by wire services and published throughout the United States.

Charley Feeney of the rival Pittsburgh Post-Gazette wrote, “OK, so it’s a whopper of a tale. Some people don’t believe.”

One of the doubters was Mets first baseman Donn Clendenon, who was a teammate of Clemente for eight years with the Pirates. “I believed everything until the part about the guys giving Clemente back his money and his fried chicken. Nobody steals money and gives it back,” Clendenon said.

Though Christine scooped him, Feeney, an experienced baseball reporter, wrote, “It’s felt here the Clemente story is true. Fantastic to be sure, but true. Roberto Clemente is not some kind of nut.”

Asked by The Sporting News why he didn’t report the abduction to police, Clemente replied, “Why should I report it? I am alive, no? I got everything back that they took.”

Clemente said he decided to go public when Christine started asking questions. “Then I figured I better tell the story so that it would be printed right,” Clemente said.

Padres manager Preston Gomez told both Pittsburgh newspapers that San Diego police wanted to question Clemente. “People in town, and the police, are very disturbed about the Clemente kidnapping story,” Gomez told the Pittsburgh Press.

Something is afoul

Clemente didn’t let the commotion caused by his story hurt his performance on the field. On the day Christine’s article was published, Clemente played against the Mets and got two hits and a walk against Tom Seaver. Boxscore

On Aug. 18, 1970, Clemente turned 36. Two days later, the Pirates embarked on a road trip, starting with games at Los Angeles. Clemente went on a tear, with five hits against the Dodgers on Aug. 22 Boxscore and five more on Aug. 23. Boxscore

From there, the Pirates went to San Diego for the first time since Clemente told about his abduction.

After a day off on Aug. 24, the Pirates and Padres opened a two-game series on Aug. 25. Clemente, leading the National League in hitting at .363, was in the lineup as the right fielder.

When Clemente took his position in the bottom of the first inning, someone in the stands dropped a live chicken over the outfield fence and it crept up on Clemente. A batboy removed the bird from the field.

“Clemente was unimpressed with the prank,” according to the Pittsburgh Press.

The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette speculated “it could have been a gag arranged by some San Diego players.” Christine wrote that someone in the Padres’ front office hatched the idea. Boxscore

Four years later, in 1974, a radio station had a college student, Ted Giannoulas, wear a chicken suit for promotional gigs, and his antics led to the San Diego Chicken becoming a popular sports mascot at Padres games.

Quick work

On Aug. 26, 1970, the day after the chicken incident, Clemente said he spoke with police. At Clemente’s suggestion, the meeting was held in his hotel room, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reported.

According to the Pittsburgh Press, Clemente “was visited by a San Diego detective, who wanted a perfunctory, first-hand explanation” of the abduction.

“The policeman came away with the same story told in Pittsburgh a couple of weeks ago, plus Roberto’s autograph” the Pittsburgh Press reported.

According to the Associated Press, police detective Hanly Pry said he was convinced “Clemente was telling the truth” after questioning him “for two hours.”

In a followup, the Pittsburgh Press reported Clemente said he spent “only 15 minutes with the San Diego authorities.”

Clemente said he considered the case closed.

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