In the summer of 1992, I joined Turner Broadcasting in Atlanta to organize its commercial presence in Latin America. The fact that the company owned a National League team sure to be in championship contention for years was for me a significant perk of taking the job. Unexpectedly, I also had the opportunity to interact from time to time with Braves legend Henry Aaron, the company’s vice president for community affairs.
Credit: contributed
Credit: contributed
Independently, he had established a bond with the Cuban National Baseball Team after traveling to the island with a CNN film crew to document the team and the aspirations of its young players. When the team won the Gold Medal at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, Aaron invited them to his home for a celebratory brunch and he asked me to attend so I could serve as interpreter.
In preparing for the event, I spent a half-hour alone with him, touring his home. Upon learning that I’m from Puerto Rico, he opened up about the two seasons he played in our Winter League and his close friendship with our baseball hero, Roberto Clemente. Having played in Puerto Rico, Aaron understood instinctively the contrast of playing in both places, and the sting Clemente felt at the racist attitudes he encountered in major league baseball. Aaron and Clemente both were determined to claim the place their talent and discipline deserved in their chosen profession. And Aaron identified with those young Cuban players who hoped to break through political barriers to their aspirations.
I was not in Atlanta in 1974 when Aaron broke Babe Ruth’s record, and he never spoke to me about that experience. However, anytime one met him, one could feel the depth and the dignity of the man. And his life’s work and private actions showed how deeply he cared for the sport, for his organization, for his city and for his community.
Although not surprised, I am saddened that we put at risk the All-Star Game tribute that would show the world our pride in Henry Aaron’s accomplishments and his contributions to our community. Even after baseball was integrated, Aaron faced death threats when chasing the record. That he prevailed over this hatred is a tribute to him and to our community. Similarly, and regrettably, the triumph of securing voting rights now faces a backlash rooted in that same dark history that threatened Aaron.
Our political leadership has chosen to make voting policy based on those fears. I had hoped they would choose to build on the part of our legacy that wants to allow all of us to participate fully and to the best of our abilities in the construction of our beloved community. We could have done better for our hero.
Carlos I Díaz lives in East Cobb. After a 40-year career in local government and international business, he has spent the last decade in both volunteer and staff roles in metro Atlanta nonprofit organizations, including a term as president of the Latin American Association.
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