Mays' noblest achievement: Peacemaker

In "Willie Mays: The Life, The Legend," James S. Hirsch tells the greatest Giant's life story with a remarkably deft touch and provides vivid details that even old-school Giants aficionados might not be fully familiar with. Mays' role in the Marichal-Roseboro brawl is a prime example, and it's relevant today — the 45th anniversary of one of baseball's most disturbing chapters, but one in which Mays acted with bravery and compassion.

On Aug. 22, 1965, during a Giants-Dodgers game at Candlestick Park in front of a capacity crowd of 42,807 and in the heat of a pennant race, Giants ace Juan Marichal, while batting, struck L.A. catcher John Roseboro on the head three times with his bat, opening a gash that poured blood into one of Roseboro's eyes.

Hirsch's telling of the story provides rare and thought-provoking insights into Mays' personality and character.

Hirsch quotes from the Boston Herald American, which reported, "Except for the majestic presence of Willie Mays, several players could have been maimed. Willie was out of the dugout in a flash to help disarm Marichal ... this could be the year Mays wins the MVP award and Nobel Peace Prize, too."

When Marichal attacked Roseboro, Tito Fuentes, the Giants' on-deck batter, approached home plate with a bat still in his hand.

Hirsch writes that "When the fight began, Mays rushed onto the field and darted in and out of players, pulling them apart and removing the bat from Fuentes' hand. &‘This is crazy,' he said to players on both teams.'"

You might have known that Mays played peacemaker. But I had forgotten, until Hirsch reminded me, that when the Giants next played the Dodgers, 15 days later in Los Angeles, San Francisco players were roundly booed, as expected, except for Mays. In a rare display of appreciation for an opposing player's humanity rather than merely his athletic gifts, Mays was given a standing ovation.

Notable Dodgers felt similarly.

From Hirsch's book:

Maury Wills (the Dodgers' base-stealing sparkplug): "I gained new respect for Willie after that."

Walter Alston (Dodgers manager): "Mays was the only player on either club who showed any sense.'"

"Mays' efforts brought a redeeming quality to one of the ugliest incidents in baseball history," Hirsch writes, and then quotes from National League commissioner Warren Giles, who described Mays thusly: "This man was an example of the best in any of us."

Hirsch's research also included this telling description from Sports Illustrated: "Mays cupped the enemy's head and surveyed his wounds with deep anguish on his expressive face."

"Roseboro looked at Mays and saw that he was crying," Hirsch writes, "and on newscasts that night and the following morning, Americans across the country beheld the same stirring image of a baseball icon — heroic, sentimental, proud, wounded."

Hirsch asks: "Why among some sixty players and coaches did he so distinguish himself amid the bedlam?"

Mays' answer: "I hate to see good friends fighting like that."

"... His real home was always the clubhouse, where he was surrounded by the men who knew him best and where his loyalties rarely wavered," Hirsch writes before quoting Giants broadcaster Lon Simmons: "Willie thought he was the head of a family."

Hirsch: "So when the Dodgers and Giants staged their epic brawl, it was, to Mays, like a family being ripped apart ... he tried to separate the belligerents. He tried to make peace. But the violence occurred. So in the dugout, his hands holding a towel soaked with blood from the deepest of wounds, he wept."

Clearly, Willie Mays' playing peacemaker 45 years ago wasn't merely symbolic or perfunctory. On a day when the more sensationalistic aspects of the Marichal-Roseboro fight will be recounted, it's gratifying to remember that.

Robert Rubino can be reached at robert.rubino@pressdemocrat.com or 521-5261.