On the evening of April 4, 1968, as the sun dipped below the horizon in Memphis, Tennessee, a pivotal moment in American history occurred that would stain the conscience of our nation for decades to come. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., the civil rights leader who had dedicated his life to fighting racial injustice, was struck down by a sniper’s bullet while standing on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel. At just 39-year-old, the leader died within an hour, leaving the nation in shock and sparking widespread protests across the country. Many of them reacting counter to what he had lived advocating for.
In cities like Baltimore, Chicago, and Detroit, communities erupted in anger. The assassination of King, a figure who had become the moral backbone of the civil rights movement, pushed many black Americans to the edge. Long-standing grievances over police brutality, poverty, housing discrimination, and systemic racism exploded into violence, as people who had followed King’s message of peace and hope felt that their voices had been silenced.
The National Mourning: A Day to Reflect, a Game to Postpone?
In the wake of the assassination, President Lyndon B. Johnson declared April 7, 1968, as a day of national mourning. Flags were flown at half-staff, churches held special services, and schools, banks, and businesses across the country closed their doors. In an unusual but fitting gesture, sports leagues around the nation postponed games and events out of respect for King’s memory. Perhaps a little known fact at the time, but Martin loved baseball. So this gesture seemed appropriate. The NBA and NHL rescheduled playoff games, the Greensboro Open golf tournament suspended its final rounds, and even racetracks shut down.
But one prominent institution — Major League Baseball — stood out for its lack of action. The league, under Commissioner William Eckert, made no formal announcement regarding the opening of the season, despite the fact that the tragedy had deeply affected the nation. In 1963, after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, the NFL had similarly pressed on with its schedule, but the public had swiftly criticized its lack of respect for the national grief. Eckert, however, seemed unwilling to take a firm stance, choosing to leave the decision of whether to cancel or postpone games up to the individual teams.
In the absence of leadership from the commissioner’s office, the Pittsburgh Pirates took matters into their own hands. With their roster boasting several high-profile black players, including the legendary Roberto Clemente, the team felt a deep sense of loss and moral obligation. They were unwilling to take the field while the nation mourned the loss of a man who had fought for racial equality. It wasn’t just a symbolic gesture; it was a stance rooted in the shared experiences of discrimination and injustice that many of the team’s players had faced.
Clemente, Wills, and the Pirates’ Stand
The Pirates, an unusually integrated team for the time, featured players of various racial backgrounds. Among the most prominent were Clemente, the Puerto Rican star who had long been an advocate for civil rights, and Maury Wills, the dynamic African American shortstop. Both men were deeply moved by King’s death, and their reaction to the news of the assassination was immediate and resolute. Clemente had even met King on several occasions and had invited him to his home in Puerto Rico. For him, King’s death was not just a political loss but a personal one.
Clemente had come face to face with America’s racism when he entered Major League Baseball in the 1950s. As a young man raised in the Caribbean, he was unfamiliar with Jim Crow laws, but he quickly learned the harsh realities of racial segregation during his time in spring training. After an incident where black players were barred from entering a “whites-only” restaurant, Clemente took a stand, demanding that the black players be given their own transportation. His actions in the years that followed had cemented his reputation not only as an extraordinary baseball player but also as a staunch advocate for racial equality.
Maury Wills, too, had personal experiences with racism that shaped his worldview. He had faced bigotry throughout his career, from playing in the segregated South to receiving hate mail during his time with the Los Angeles Dodgers. Meeting King in 1966 had left an indelible mark on Wills, who described the experience as life-changing. The day after King’s assassination, Wills was among the first to push for the team to sit out their scheduled game in protest of the tragedy.
It wasn’t just the black players on the Pirates who supported this decision. White players like pitcher Dave Wickersham and future broadcaster Steve Blass also stood in solidarity. The vote to postpone the games was unanimous, with the entire team agreeing to wait until after King’s funeral to take the field again. The gesture was a powerful act of unity, demonstrating the deep emotional impact of King’s death on those who had witnessed the pain and struggles of racial injustice firsthand.
Resistance from the Astros and a League Divided
Despite the Pirates’ firm stance, not all teams were so quick to act. The Houston Astros, for example, announced that they would go ahead with their scheduled home opener against Pittsburgh. Team officials argued that the game would not interfere with the funeral proceedings, as it was set to occur after the memorial service had ended.
However, black players on the Pirates, including Clemente and Wills, decided to take their message directly to the Astros’ clubhouse. They were met with support from Houston’s own African American players, including Bob Watson, who had endured his own battles with racism within the sport. Watson’s powerful response echoed the sentiment of many players: “Anytime a man says you’re going to be judged by your character and not the color of your skin, that gets your attention,” he later recalled.
By the time the game took place, many of the Pirates’ black players had convinced their counterparts in Houston to join their protest. The Astros’ black players — along with some white players — decided they would not take the field either. The result was a ripple effect across the league, as one by one, other teams followed suit and canceled their opening games in honor of King.
The Los Angeles Dodgers were the last holdouts. The team, led by owner Walter O’Malley, had initially insisted on playing, reasoning that King’s funeral would be over before their game began. But after pressure from the Philadelphia Phillies and other teams, O’Malley relented, and the league officially postponed all Opening Day games until April 10, 1968, the day after King was laid to rest.
A Divisive Moment in History
While many players and teams acted swiftly and with unity, the response from the league’s leadership — or lack thereof — revealed deep cracks within the baseball establishment. Commissioner Eckert, a former military officer with little previous experience in baseball, became a symbol of indecision and a lack of leadership. Critics, including sportswriters like Frank Dolson, lambasted Eckert for failing to take a strong stance in the face of national tragedy. The decision to leave the matter to individual teams only fueled confusion, leaving many players and fans to wonder if the sport had truly understood the gravity of the situation.
For the Pirates and their supporters, the boycott of the season’s opening games was a defining moment in the struggle for racial justice. It was a moment when athletes used their platform to make a statement, not just about baseball but about the values of equality and respect for all people. Clemente, Wills, and their teammates may have been athletes, but in those days of mourning, they showed the world that they were also human beings, deeply affected by the loss of a man who had given his life for a better future.
The Legacy of Martin Luther King Jr. and Baseball’s Response
In the aftermath of King’s death, America’s healing process was slow and painful. The civil rights movement, which had gained momentum under King’s leadership, was faced with a new reality in the absence of its most powerful voice. But the stand taken by the Pirates, and the response from other players and teams, became a symbol of unity and resistance to racial injustice.
For Clemente, Wills, and their teammates, the decision to postpone the season wasn’t about protest for protest’s sake — it was about honoring the memory of a man who had dedicated his life to creating a more just world. Their actions on that fateful day were an act of solidarity not just with King, but with all those who had been marginalized and oppressed.
In the years that followed, baseball would see increasing integration and progress, but it would also be reminded of the difficult and sometimes painful choices that come with standing up for what is right. The legacy of that day in 1968 — when baseball players refused to play in the face of injustice — continues to resonate, as a reminder that even in times of mourning, action can speak louder than words.