On September 1st, 1971, half of an inning transpired at Three Rivers Stadium before anybody noticed that the Pittsburgh Pirates had made history.
Facing the Philadelphia Phillies, Doc Ellis, the ace of the team, an all-star, an 18-game winner at the time, had already been knocked for two unearned runs in the first inning. The Pirates, a team well-known for their offensive firepower, knew that they had to get the bats going early if they wanted to finish their series sweep of the Phillies.
As the Pirates settled in to take their first hacks, the issue of race was pushed to the forefront by a team that normally put it behind them when they stepped onto the diamond.
Centerfielder Gene Clines nudged that day’s third baseman Dave Cash, the regular second baseman, and asked if he noticed anything different.
Cash didn’t but catcher Manny Sanguillen did.
“We have nine brown people on the field,” Sanguillen said to himself as Clines handed that day’s batting card to Cash.
The Pirates started “nine brothers” in the game, making them the first team in Major League history to do so.
The moment didn’t last long, as Ellis was touched up for another 5 runs in the 2nd inning. He was replaced by white relief pitcher Luke Walker, who said all he saw is eight men behind him.
But history had been made in the bottom of the first inning.
“The Black Nine”
Although few made a big deal out of that moment 50 years ago, the media chose to focus on the coach and the sentiment of fairness, rather than the visual representation of black power on the field. This allowed them to highlight a so-called American creed of colorblindness and work ethic.
Today, as we reflect on the significance of this moment, it’s important to ask- what’s lost when we don’t see color?
This is a story about belief in Blackness.
When manager Danny Murtaugh set his lineup that day with nine Black starters, he didn’t make a speech, he didn’t alert anybody, he just went about his business.
With a versatile team and depth to match, Murtaugh had no qualms about changing his lineups. He understood the days of the iron man 162 game player were gone. He preferred to get the most out of his players by resting guys.
Besides, it kept them on their toes, ready to contribute.
The previous day, when asked why he sat star catcher, Manny Sanguillen, a Panamanian whose dark skin elicited color-coded responses from the white media, he replied “It’s a team game and when a man knows he’s gonna’ be in there without previous notice, he tends to keep in better conditions and it’s a good thing for team morale.”
The next day he was asked about his all-black lineup.
“When it comes to making out the lineup, I’m colorblind,” he replied. “And my athletes know it. They don’t know it because I told them, but they know it because they’re familiar with the way I operate.”
For him, merit mattered, not color.
“The best men in our organization are the ones who are here. And the ones who are here all play, depending on when the circumstances present themselves.”
His attitude rubbed off on his team.
Publicly, they put the pursuit of a championship over any racial hang-ups a team nearly split 50/50 between white and Black players might have had. Coming off the long hot summers of the 60s, the city was clearly divided on race, but not the players.
“With our team, you could put all the names into a hat, draw out nine and still be all right,” said Dave Cash.
A diverse group of men working for a common cause. In fact, they were celebrated for their diversity.
A Win for Black America
The day of the game, a Philadelphia writer characterized them as “a helluva lot of diverse men who know how to play baseball.”
In truth, the Pirates seemingly racial harmonious team was not built by a colorblind manager. Rather, it was forged by Black players like Wille Stargell and Roberto Clemente who refused to put up with racism.
When Clemente came up into the Pirates, he made it his mission to stamp out racism in the clubhouse, from teammates and reporters.
At the beginning of the 1971 season, he told a reporter, “My greatest satisfaction comes from helping to erase the old opinion about Latin-American and black ballplayers. People had the wrong opinion. They never questioned our ability but they considered us inferior in our station of life.”
Their insistence on being treated with dignity established the atmosphere for success. That helped them to come back and beat the Phillies 10-7 on that historical night.
And it ultimately enabled them to upset the formidable Baltimore Orioles in the World Series later that year.
That lineup shattered the misconception that an all-Black team was incapable of winning a championship. It reiterated the message delivered by the 1966 national title-winning Texas Western Miners men’s basketball team, who became the first NCAA basketball team to start an all-Black lineup in the championship game.
It was a win for the team, the city, civil rights, and Black America.
But the celebration of their diversity partly masks the story of white resentment.
It can’t be understated that the progress in baseball, just like the progress in society during the civil rights movement, came with white backlash.
When asked by a reporter if that history-making lineup would ever happen again, Dave Cash said no.
“You have to realize that baseball is supported mainly by white fans.”
When the Chicago Defender’s Audrey Weaver ventured to Pittsburgh to catch a World Series game against Baltimore, she “got a little insight into the racial thinking of some of the white fans,” as she put it.
She told her readers that she heard a fan say “these seats are costly and that’s a lot of dough to pay just to see that many darkies play.”
Another complained, “Gee, I didn’t know there were so many blacks on these two teams.”
Despite a fan base increasingly worried about the team’s Blackness, the Pirates organization pushed on, proving that investing in Blackness and ignoring white resistance is a recipe for success.
Eight years later, led by the strong Black leadership of Willie Stargell, the Pirates won another championship. This time they would famously be known as the “We Are Family” team, a moniker that celebrated their racial diversity in a divided nation.
On a late summer evening in September 1971, the Pittsburgh Pirates made history and complemented it with a World Series ring.
It was a moment that completed the dreams of Black players once deferred by a white power structure that feared their talent and skills.
And it ushered in a decade that featured some of the greatest Black talent in MLB history.
Sources:
[1] “Cash Gives Credit to Maz,” Dayton Daily News, October 26, 1971.
[2] “Manny,” Philadelphia Daily News, September 1, 1971.
[3] “Pirates All Black,” Kenosha News, September 2, 1971.
[4] “Pirates All Black,” Kenosha News, September 2, 1971
[5] “Manny,” Philadelphia Daily News, September 1, 1971.
[6] “Today’s Sports Parade,” The Terre Haute Tribune, April 21, 1971.
[7] “Pittsburgh Manager Says His Nine Black Starters are ‘Just 9 Pirates,’” Jet, November 4, 1971.
[8] “From the Weaver,” Chicago Defender, October 23, 1971.
