What Numbers Don't Tell -- Campanella In Perspective

The Philadelphia Inquirer published a fine article by Rich Westcott on baseball great Roy Campanella. Campy was an exemplary catcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers in the of the early 1950s, and the article brought back a vivid memory to me. However, it was not a memory of Campy's career, as I never saw him play. Instead, the article reminded me of a conversation I had with an old Italian man in 1969 when Campanella was voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame with 80 percent of the vote.
"What did he do to deserve the Hall of Fame," he asked me. I certainly didn't know, because I was not a baseball fan as a kid. MOre significant, of course, it was a rhetorical question. In fact, it wasn't even a question; it was an indictment. The statement dripped with the insinuation that Campanella didn't deserve to get in, that he got in simply because...
are you ready?...
because he was black. Because, of course, in the eyes of this old man, all African Americans earned nothing. They were given things.
Even though I was not a baseball fan, I was an accumulater of facts and trivia, as I am today. (Hey, that's why I speak, write and blog.)
"I know that he was MVP (Most Valuable Player) of the National League twice, so I guess that he was a good player in his time." (Actually, I was wrong. Campanella won THREE MVP awards, in 1951, 1953 and 1955.)
The old man literally snarled at my response. "Is that what it takes to get into the Hall of Fame? Win a couple of MVP awards?"
I quit the argument immediately. If Campanella had batted 1.000 and had beaten Lou Gehrig's record for consecutive games played, it would not be enough. I didn't have any more evidence, and obviously I could not never have enough. But I always wondered: Just how good WAS Campanella?
According to Westcott's article, apparently he was well beyond good. He was spectacular.While his lifetime batting average of .276 was respectable, he hit 242 homers and 856 RBIs in just 1,215 games. In his best season of 1953, he led the National League with 142 RBIs, hit 42 home runs, reach a .312 batting average.
But as I said, that was only part of the story. Before he hit the big leagues, Campanella played in the Negro Leagues. (Campanella was biracial, born of an Italian father and an African American mother. In that American era, he qualified as a black man.) In 1941, when he was only 19, he was the MVP of that league's all-star game. A year later, he and other African American players were offered a tryout with the Pittsburgh Pirates, but that offer was suddenly, inexplicably withdrawn. Want to guess why?
Branch Rickey, general manager of the Dodgers, signed Campanella and four other black players. Campanella played minor league ball in New England (achieving MVP status in his league) and finally made it to the bigs in 1948. He had arrived, finally.
Tragically, Campanella's stunning career ended abruptly in 1958 when he was involved in an auto accident, which paralyzed him from the neck down.

As a physician friend likes to say when he is pressed for a diagnosis based on prior cases, "Statistics are just numbers." In other words, they don't tell us of the people who beat certain illnesses or succumb to them earlier. My friend is right; many of us lean lazily on mere facts without looking deeper.
In the case of that old man, he not only didn't accept the figures before him, he could not see the backstory or epilogue to Campanella's achievements. Campy suffered somewhat for the color of his skin. If he had been allow to play baseball at age 19, as other white players could, he was likely to have passed many more milestones. For example, if he had hit an average of just 30 home runs in each of those seven lost years, the additional 210 would have brought him tantalizingly close to the magic number of 500, which would have ensured him entry to the Hall of Fame. We also don't know how much more he would have achieved had his career not ended prematurely at age 36.

We Americans are all too often slaves to stats and purveyors of prejudice. How much more charitable would our national conversations be if more of us looked at what people had overcome in addition to what they achieved, more at a person's character rather than their degrees, and placed less emphasis on their age but more on their wisdom.

I wish I could talk to that old man today and present him with these facts. Well, maybe not. As I noted earlier, they probably would not matter, as they would merely be an inconvenience to his conclusion. How many of us don't look deeply enough and choose to rely only on the information that lies before us?