By Dave Parker and Dave Jordan
March 22, 2018
Editor's note: The following is former MLB All-Star Dave Parker's remembrance of the Pirates' first spring training after the death of Roberto Clemente, who died in a plane crash on New Year's Eve 1972. Parker's account is co-authored with writer Dave Jordan.
This week marks 45 years since the Baseball Writers' Association of America held a special election to vote Clemente into the Hall of Fame.
New Year's Day 1973
“They can’t find him.”
That’s what my teammate Ron Mitchell said to me on the phone, New Year’s Day 1973.
Whenever there’s a horrible accident or tragedy, and even if it’s more search and recover than search and rescue, you never talk in terms of death. You never use that word until you absolutely know for sure. You cling to every possibility, every hope, that there’s a chance things will be OK.
“Roberto was in a plane crash last night. They can’t find anybody.”
I was out that night with friends celebrating the end of a great year and the joyous coming of a new one. This would be the year that I finally made the Pirates roster. When I signed with Pittsburgh out of Courter Tech High School in Cincinnati in 1970, I gave myself three years to make the bigs. I missed the Triple Crown by a home run for the Salem Pirates only a few months earlier. The team was calling me their No. 1 prospect. With everyone saying our outfield was the deepest in all of baseball, I knew competing with them would be tough but I never had a moment’s doubt. I batted .400 last spring training, hit a couple of dingers, a few doubles and triples. But I put that all aside when I got the phone call from Ron.
Roberto Clemente was more than a humanitarian, more than our spiritual team leader, more than a baseball angel. Roberto was our brother, and I never experienced a life shock this close to me. I started getting phone calls from friends and family, asking whether I heard what happened. Sometimes people want to connect with you over a tragedy, be there for you, and it’s genuine and all, but sometimes you just need to sit down by yourself and process what happened.
My New Year’s Day was like a blur. I couldn’t enjoy spending time with my family, didn’t want to take anymore phone calls. I just didn’t want to believe it. I tried to watch the Rose Bowl like I did every year to get some peace. Curt Gowdy’s play-by-play kept me company like he did to millions of other folks. I tried to think about Ohio State taking on ‘SC — it always made me feel good watching the Buckeyes because they recruited me as a football player. I was a halfback in high school — football was my first sports love — and if it wasn’t for a senior year knee injury, I’d have red stars on my helmet rather than a "P" on my baseball cap. My sister and my mom were making our New Year’s dinner while I was on the couch in the den watching the game. Every half hour, mom would check up on me, try to smile and understand what I was going through.
“David,” she said with a shoulder hug, but I just shook my head and was like, “I’m OK.”
I lost track of the Rose Bowl at halftime, went up to my room, put on my headphones, just looked at the ceiling, spinning my football in the air over and over as I listened to my hi-fi stereo. Sly and the Family Stone, The Temptations, and our local boys, The Isley Brothers. They came from Millville, a town about 30 minutes from Cincy. I had most of their albums and their soulful ballads got me through many moments in my life. I wasn’t the kid who sat in his room for hours listening to records, but my life did have a soundtrack. What I loved most about them was that they were related, there were blood relatives in the group, just like with Sly, and that was something important to me in baseball. The Pirates’ general manager was Joe Brown, and he treated all the players like one of his own. It was a family affair, and I wanted them to be my brothers in the worst way.
I was numb over Roberto’s death. I had no deep thoughts as I laid there, no “a-ha” moments. I just mourned my fallen team leader, worked through my emotions with the Isleys, and tossed my football while missing my baseball brothers.
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