Martín Dihigo Jr. (1942-2019)

June 18, 2019- It is with great sadness that I report that Martín Dihigo Jr. died yesterday at the age of 76. The eldest son of the greatest Cuban to ever play the game was a ballplayer himself, spending four years in the Cincinnati Reds minor league system. Perhaps the greatest thrill in the entire eight-year journey of the Hall Ball was the opportunity to play catch with Martín Jr. by his father’s graveside. He was funny, warm, and had an energy that lit up a room. I cherish the few hours I spent by his side.

Martín was kind enough to let me interview him that day. I originally intended for the interview to be a part of The Hall Ball, the book, but in the end I cut it because I thought it interrupted the overall flow of the story. In honor of the passing of this wonderful human, I offer it to you today (complete with the lead-in I intended for that chapter of the book, which introduces another character in our conversation).

Martín Dihigo Jr. is a mountain of a man and a chip off the old block. His physical resemblance to his Hall of Fame father is profound and it is easy to sometimes imagine you are talking to the man, himself. We met at the local municipal museum, which had an entire room dedicated to Dihigo artifacts, before walking over to a local bar for a Bucanero beer. Accompanying us as we spoke were fellow Cubaballistas Larry Phillips and Bob “Pepito” Krieger. Pepito has been to Cuba many times and he and Dihigo are good friends. When they saw each other, they hugged warmly while Pepito tried to tell Martín Jr., in a memorized pre-written speech, a racy tale about his own 97-year old father and the women that still come to visit him. I was uncertain if Dihigo’s warm, booming laughter was caused by the story or by Pepito’s flailing attempts at Spanish. Krieger interjected a few times during the interview, usually to humorous results.

RC: Did you ever get to see your father play?

MD: No, never.

RC: Did he teach you how to play?

MD: Sometimes. He tried to fix the way I played.

RC: Where did you learn how to play?

MD: I used to live with my father and mother in Mexico. I would watch people play. I learned by watching other people and playing.

RC: Really? Because I watch people play, and I’m no good.

MD: (laughing) Yes, but if you do it, and do it, and do it, and do it again, something gets through.

RC: You said he would try to fix you. What advice did he give you?

MD: If you are going to play baseball, you have to love it.

RC: When you left to play baseball in the United States, did your father warn you about the racism? Did he try to prepare you for that?

MD: Yeah. He tried to prepare me but, I don’t know. I was sixteen years old. My first year I began in Florida and that didn’t help me too much. After that I was in Georgia. We have here [in Cuba] racism, too, but not like that. I got on the bus, I had to walk back there, and sit back there. It was too much for me. So I came back here to my people. He tried to prepare me for that, but I didn’t believe him. I tell you the truth, I didn’t believe him. My father told me something that I didn’t think could be possible. Think, sixteen years old. Far away from my mother and father.

RC: I would have been terrified.

MD: There was a newspaper man, who came to me and says “What about political things?” I remember that I said, “Leave politics to the politicians.” He said, “Right, but what about political things?” I said, “I don’t know anything about that. I came here to play ball. That’s all I know.” But after I came to the South of the United States, I started to think about it. One day I said, “Well I can’t help it. I have to go home. I can’t stop that one. I can’t stop this one. I have to go home.” And so I told him [Martín Sr.], “He was right.”

RC: What was life like for your father when he came home? When he was done playing ball? I know he was a writer.

MD: Well, you know Zorro? (makes a Z in the air with his fingers)

RC: Sure.

MD: (imitating his father, speaking to a young version of himself) “Where are you going?” (looks at an imaginary watch) “Eleven o’clock.” (rolls his eyes) Geez. (all laugh) Do you remember trains in the far west with the smoke?

RC: Of course.

MD: So, imagine that down in a ballpark. Down there, Tony Perez and I, we were smoking. (indicates they were hiding it and looking around for adults) I go home. My father says, “At what time did the train leave? I see so much smoke down there.” I say to Tony, “Let’s get our asses out of here! Let’s move it!” My father, he was a funny guy. Many respected him. He respected everybody. Anytime he told me something, he was right. But you know the lions, got somebody always with the whip. And the whip, was my mother. (pretending to be his father saluting his mother) “Yes, sir!” or as you say in the south, “Yes, sah! Yes, sah!” Yes, he was funny. I lived a good life with the both of them. I love my family. The one here. The one in Canada (indicating Pepito). Pepito over there will always do, I know that. It’s true, because you make me, all of you make me happy. To come down here, to see my father’s grave. All of these things make me feel… I don’t know. Because many people here in Cuba don’t know Martín Dihigo.

RC: Even here in Cuba?

MD: Yes.

BK: People who know baseball, know your father. And I think they do because he was not just a great baseball player, but he was also a great person. And people know that.

MD: That’s why in this movie we are making we talk about Martín Dihigo the man. Not Martín Dihigo the ballplayer. It is Martín Dihigo the man, the father, the husband.

BK: He could have left. He could have not been a man of the people. He could have done anything he wanted to do, but he stayed in Cruces. He helped people, he was a journalist. And he produced not a bad son.

MD: (Jokingly clears his throat, but obviously touched) You know… Say it again. (Room erupts in laughter. A woman walks by) She makes the best cold salad in the world. Cold salad? Cole slaw. (To the woman, in Spanish) Deciembre 31, a tu casa. (More laughter)

RC: Did you just invite us all to New Year’s Eve at her house?

MD: Yes, suh! (laughter)

RC: What did your father think of the National Series? Did he think it was a good thing for Cuban baseball?

MD: Well, before the Revolution we only played ball here, in Las Villas, in Matanzas, in Havana, and a little bit down in Oriente.

RC: So, the National Series gave people more opportunities.

MD: Exactly. Exactly. But, now it is a different game, you know? We have the super human ballplayers but we don’t know how to play anymore. Don’t you agree?

BK: Who do you think you are, Victor Mesa? (room erupts in laughter at the mention of the popular and flamboyant manager who is a Cuban legend)

MD: What do you think of Victor?

BK: I think he’s very, very smart. And I think he’s very, very crazy. He could never get away with what he does in the Major Leagues. But, it works here. He’s very successful. And he’s very entertaining.

MD: But, he never has won a pennant. Not in Cuba. Not in Cuba. He played five or six years with Santa Clara and he lost. So, if I tell you who is the fastest man in hundred meters, who do you say?

RC: Usain Bolt.

MD: Right. Who’s the second one? Do you know it?

RC: Um, not Usain Bolt. (laughter) Did your father ever talk about whom his toughest opponent was? He was such a great pitcher. Was there ever any batter who always hit him well?

MD: I heard him said that the only hitter that can beat him, is the one that studied him. If you study, as a hitter, you will know.

BK: Ted Williams said the same thing. He had trouble with pitchers he didn’t know. With pitchers he studied, he hit very well.

MD: It was about ’60, ’61 I was down there, and we were talking to Mr. Ted Williams. He said, “At the beginning of your time in the major leagues, who wins, the pitcher, or you?” He answers his own question, “Little bit, more or less, about the same. At the middle of your time in the major league, where should you be? On top of the pitcher. And when you are ending your time in the major leagues? Well don’t ask me, because I hit .400.” (laughter)

RC: Did your father prefer pitching or hitting?

MD: He liked it more to pitch. Because, every time people talk about the game, they always want to know how many were struck out. A pitcher is the person who wins the game. You say, “Well, Ralph got the win.” When you make a home run, people talk about your home run but you don’t get to “win” the game.

RC: So he enjoyed being at the center?

MD: He enjoyed more being the pitcher.

RC: Do you watch Major League baseball?

MD: (Shakes his head, indicating “no.”)

RC: We were told yesterday that they’ve started airing one game a week of Major League Baseball.

MD: Yeah. Yes, on Sundays. But, when I was young I could say, well, I’m going to see Mickey Mantle in center field. Who are you going to see now? I went to see Ted Williams hit. Jesus! I was right there looking at what he was doing. How can he hit that ball? How can Willie Mays field that play? How can Larry Doby or…I don’t know. Years ago there was baseball for a show. I think now it is a show for baseball. I remember way back there weren’t any 16 million dollars [contracts]. Okay, if that guy is worth 16 million dollars, how many millions to get Stan Musial to sign?

RC: What do you think of the Cuban players who leave to go play Major League baseball?

MD: I think they are going to prove themselves. They can play. It’s not that they leave for wealth. I think they are trying to prove themselves. If you can do it well, you can do it.

RC: It seems to me in our interactions with people at the games we’ve gone to, that they are very happy for the players. They are glad that they are succeeding, that they are getting the giant million dollar contracts. Do you get a sense that there’s also a sadness that they are losing some of their better players, too? Or are they just so happy that they are making it with those paychecks?

MD: But I think that money’s not all. Money’s not all. I prefer to step out and look at that 35,000 people saying “Marty, Marty, Marty.” Man that feels like 35 million dollars. You keep your 35 million dollars and I will keep my 35,000 people.

RC: Who’s your favorite player?

MD: Martín Dihigo. (room explodes in laughter)

RC: Is there anything you’ve never told anyone that you think best exemplifies your father?

MD: I want them to know Martín Dihigo, the ballplayer. But I want you to know who was Martín Dihigo the husband. Who was Martín Dihigo the father. Because he was incredible. I love him. As simple as that. And I wish that in Cuba, the children knew more about Martín Dihigo, because in Havana many people know about Martín Dihigo. But, sometimes you come down here and they don’t know who he is. We have to know first, who was Martín Dihigo, but also who was Santos Amorós or who was Elio Chacón or who was Camilo Pascual or who was Mike Fornieles? We know our roots. Is that right? Roots?

RC: Yes.

MD: You see. I said it rightly. (all laugh)

RC: If it helps at all, American children are just the same. American kids know Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez but they don’t know Pie Traynor. Once you get past Babe Ruth they don’t know more than what they’ve seen.

MD: How can I sit right there in the museum and wait for Bob Krieger to tell me about my father? Everyone here will say, well, look what you know about baseball. Jesus. I tell everybody, every time that they come down here, watch out what you say. Because they know more of Martín Dihigo than you know. Be careful. I say it. It’s true.

RC: To me, that’s the beautiful thing. Being able to travel with folks like this, is that they know. They know. They know so much about the history, the stories. I think I know, but then every day something…

MD: You learn a little bit more.

RC: I learn a little bit more every day. I’ve been here a little less than a week and I already know so much more than I did when I got here. It’s wonderful.

MD: Well, you keep close to him (indicating Pepito).

RC: If I keep close to him I’m going to end up in prison.

MD: Both of you. (laughter)

BK: I’m the opposite. I come to Cuba… the more I learn about Cuba, the less I know.

MD: Oh, what am I going to do with him? (laughter)

RC: Gracias. Muchas gracias.

MD: Para servité.