REMEMBERING FERNANDO VALENZUELA
By Luis Torres
In 1981 Fernando was honored as the Rookie of the Year and the winner of the coveted Cy Young Award.
When Fernando Valenzuela pitched a memorable no-hitter at Dodger Stadium on June 29, 1990, legendary broadcaster Vin Scully intoned over the air: “Fernando Valenzuela has just pitched a no-hitter, if you have a sombrero throw it to the sky.” Well, Dodgers’ fans—especially those in the Mexican/Chicano community—are today seemingly looking skyward for signs of Fernando’s ascension into some place other than the baseball diamond. Looking skyward seems appropriate in view of Valenzuela’s patented routine on the mound when he peered toward the heavens for a nano-second before delivering a pitch to the plate. And could he deliver formidable pitches to the plate!
The cause of death of the prominent icon who was esteemed by Dodgers fans—and residents of L.A. in general—was not revealed. His family has sought privacy about Valenzuela’s medical condition since he was hospitalized weeks ago. Let’s respect the family’s wishes. His accomplishments on the field will ensure his legendary status as a ballplayer. The slightly panzón teenager from the tiny town of Etchohuaquila in the northern state of Sonora astonished sports fans in 1981 when he was honored as the Rookie of the Year and the winner of the coveted Cy Young Award, the prize for the best pitcher of the year. That was the year of what came to be known as Fernandomania. He drove opposing hitters crazy and drove Dodgers fans wild by pitching five straight shutouts in the first weeks of the season. In that season he frequently threw more than one-hundred pitches in a game. He had a number of complete games in that rookie season. In his second season with the club he won 21 games to lead the National League and he pitched 20 complete games. Those numbers would be unheard of in today’s game. The Major Leagues will likely never see numbers such as those again. Ever.
So, there’s no doubt about Fernando Valenzuela’s prowess and glory on the diamond. But of equal significance is the cultural/historical imprint that he represents to the city of Los Angeles. His exploits galvanized the public of L.A.—and not only rabid baseball fans. Everyone, it seemed, could take some pride in applauding for this young Mexican guy. We Chicanos were so proud of him. He brought legions of fans to Dodger Stadium—among them throngs from the Mexican American community. And that’s significant for more reasons that immediately meet the eye. At the time Valenzuela arrived on the scene, many older folks in the raza community remembered the history about the battles that paved the way for the construction of the edifice of Dodger Stadium.
The area where the stadium now stands was once the robust Méxicano communities of Bishop, Palo Verde and La Loma.
The area where the stadium now stands—an area adjacent to the forest-like Elysian Park—was once a robust méxicano community. Actually, the area routinely referred to a Chavez Ravine was the home of three distinct but interwoven little communities. There was Bishop, Palo Verde and La Loma. As it happens, I was a two-year-old mocoso when my family lived in the neighborhood of La Loma. (My family moved to Chinatown and then to Lincoln Heights in the mid-1950s, before the serious chingasos that are now a sordid chapter of Los Angeles history.)
As we mourn the loss of Fernando and celebrate his many achievements, let’s hop into the Way Back Machine for a minute. (You may be too young for that reference, but ni modo.) Let’s go back to the indelible year of 1955. That’s when the chingasos involving the Dodgers, the city of L.A. and the gente of Chavez Revine really began. The Brooklyn Dodgers were owned by the aggressive cigar-chomping Walter O’Malley. The city fathers of the city of New York (of which Brooklyn is a borough, of course,) were giving O’Malley a hard time. They wanted him to move his team–lock, stock and baseball bats—to Queens, yet another borough of the city of New York. For a number of reasons, O’Malley didn’t wanna do dat. So, he began exploring the possibility of picking up his marbles (in the form of the Brooklyn Dodgers) and moving to that city three-thousand miles away, Los Angeles.
Remember it was the Senator McCarthy era—Red Scare and all the associated pedo. At the same time O’Malley was working with L.A. city officials to somehow navigate his way to L.A., the city fathers (and one “mother” by the name of Rosalind Wyman, a city council member,) had turned their backs on a plan to build affordable public housing in the spot where Dodger Stadium now stands. Given the political climate of the time, it’s easy to see how the project was publicly condemned as some kind of nefarious “socialist” endeavor. Take that, Karl Marx! So, no affordable housing.
The city “sold” the land to O’Malley for the stadium and city officials began the process of removing the residents as depicted in Judy Baca’s Grate Wall mural.
The raza in the three little communities were still there. O’Malley and L.A. officials regarded that as a mere inconvenience. The city “sold” the land to O’Malley for the stadium and city officials began the process of removing the residents. They’d “buy them out” or force them out, if necessary. Lotsa battles ensued, in the courts, in city hall and elsewhere. There are classic photographs of L.A. County Sheriff’s deputies, armed with shotguns “encouraging” residents to leave. There are bulldozers in the background, presumably with engines revving impatiently. Among the families in the photographs are the Aréchiga family.
Like many folks of that era, that family made its way from Mexico to the copper mines of Morenci, Bizby and Douglas in the 1930s. They worked diligently, planning for a better future in a world full of unknowns. They eventually made their way to California, specifically L.A. As it happens, that’s the basic pattern my own family followed. The timeframe of my family’s experiences paralleled that of the Aréchiga family. That family was among the very last to be removed before the bulldozers cleared the land for what became Dodger Stadium. (My family had already left the area before the battles with the bulldozers.)
When I was a kid we lived in La Loma which is now the place where one of the stadium’s parking lots extract money from fans. It would be more poetic if I wrote that the erstwhile site of our home is now center field. But that would be a falsehood, something like the thing that characterizes Donald Trump. I don’t do that. Well, as we all know, Dodger Stadium, a gleaming edifice was built and the Dodgers started playing there in 1962. (The team first played in the cavernous Memorial Coliseum for three years, starting in 1958.) Some in the Mexican community vowed never to enter that evil edifice, Dodger Stadium. When Fernando Valenzuela arrived in 1981, attitudes changed pretty dramatically.
It wasn’t exactly “all is forgiven.” Some people who somewhat grudgingly became Dodger fans, still smoldered about the battles over the bulldozers. But the city now had generations of younger Mexican Americans for whom those early battles never resonated in a personal way. Memories are short, for those who don’t know their history. Whatever the circumstances and lingering attitudes, there can be no doubt that raza welcomed and embraced Valenzuela, and by extension the Dodgers in general.
Los Doyers, as they’re known in some circles—have decided to have the team wear his number on the sleeves of their uniforms during the World Series.
Fernandomania was an explosion of joy and energy in L.A. in 1981. As it happens, that was the year I had just returned to L.A. from graduate school in New York City. I got to savor the joy and the slight uneasiness of it all, given the history of the Chicanada and the Dodger management. What a year!
I was a kid in junior high school when the Dodgers abandoned Brooklyn for L.A. I’m grateful they came here. As a kid I didn’t know or, frankly, care about any internecine political intrigue. The ball club was here and that’s all that mattered to a ten-year-old kid. And then I discovered the magical voice and presence of the inimitable Vin Scully. I was hooked.
Many, many years later I spent a day with Fernando Valenzuela. I was a reporter at KNX/CBS Radio. In 1983 the station named him The Man of the Year. A big banquet and all the stuff that accompanies that kind of thing. Since I was the only bilingual reporter, I was assigned to be his guide through the whole event. A limo picked him up, then picked me up at my chante. I spent the day as his interpreter/pseudo Secret Service agent. It was a kick. (See accompanying article for a closer look at that experience.)
He gave the people of Los Angeles quite a kick for so many years. After his playing days he became part of the broadcast team for the Dodgers. He also became a coach for the Mexican national baseball team at the start of the World Baseball Classsic, sort of baseball’s equivalent of World Cup Football (“soccer” to some.) It was a kick observing his gradual grasp of the English language.
Whatever language folks speak in this cultural arco iris of a city, chances are they’re talking about Fernando, the memories he conjures and his potential legacy. That’s fitting. What’s also fitting is that the Dodgers—or Los Doyers, as they’re known in some circles—have decided to have the team wear his number on the sleeves of their uniforms during the World Series, which is currently underway. Not long ago the team retired his number, 34. It was a change in Dodger protocol. The team usually only retired a player’s number if he was inducted into the Hall of Fame. This was an admirable change in policy.
Que descance en paz.
Fernando was only 63 years old. Now that I’m approaching rucítodom, that seems too damned young. He will be remembered fondly.
I’m guessing that during the World Series there will be a lot of Valenzuela jerseys being worn by fans in the Dodger Stadium stands, along with those of Shohei Ohtani. Commissioner of Major League Baseball Robert Manfred approved a ceremonial salute to Valenzuela at the first game of the World Series. Manfred said: “Fernando is an icon for us, and especially for the Latin community. What he did for the community and for everybody in Los Angeles, it was amazing.”
Fernando Valenzuela. Some called him El Toro. Que descance en paz.
_________________________________________________________
Copyright by Luis R. Torres. Torres is a veteran reporter and writer. He is the author of a forthcoming biography of pioneering public official Gloria Molina. Born and raised in Los Angeles, he lives in Pasadena. Image of Fernando comes from the Los Angeles Times Photographic Collection at the UCLA Library. Copyright for the photographs in the archive was deeded to UCLA. It is posted here under the Wikipedia Creative Commons license and is unaltered from the original posting. Photo of Judy Baca’s Great Wall public mural copyrighted by Ricardo Romo and used with his permission. Fernando number 34 patch used under fair use proviso of the copyright law. Photo of Dodger Stadium is in the public domain. Los Angeles sunset copyrighted by Barrio Dog Productions, Inc.