Let's enshrine Vic Power in memories

(twins daily image)

The summer of 1962 was a most charmed time in Minnesota. Two years earlier we had no big league baseball at all. We had the Millers, a very dubious consolation prize. Jim Bouton once wrote that the biggest jump in baseball was between Triple-A and the majors. He added "the minor leagues are all very minor."

We had the football Gophers in Minnesota. We thumped our chest over that, but very little else.
We had to pinch ourselves to see if we were dreaming when big league ball came here for 1961. Our new Minnesota Twins had a losing campaign but we were excited.
With Sam Mele pulling the levers, we came up with a contending team in 1962. If you could put aside the Cold War and the Cuban missile scare - OK we really couldn't put that aside - it was our "summer of love" with our Twins and their home of Metropolitan Stadium, then considered state of the art. We finished in second place behind the dynastic Yankees with Mickey Mantle. Second place was the stratosphere.
And, who was voted the team MVP? It was none other than Vic Power. Vic ought to be remembered better by Minnesota Twins fans. He was not only a superior first baseman with his glove, he was flashy and flamboyant. He was a mature ballplayer in our young infield. Obviously he was a stabilizing influence for the likes of Zoilo Versalles, and not only that, he batted a quite fine .290, supplying his usual dose of "frozen ropes." What an exciting player he could be! Jim McRoberts of Morris well remembers.
I was seven years old in 1962. My father Ralph took the UMM men's chorus to Seattle for the World's Fair. John F. Kennedy had to cancel out for the closing ceremonies of the Fair, reportedly due to being ill, but that was just a cover story: He had to deal with the Cuban missile crisis. Remember the old joke about "kiss your ass goodbye?" Well fortunately it didn't happen.
The '62 Twins team carved out a special niche in team history. It's an underrated team in my view. Only one team per league made the post-season in those days. We had to be thrilled just challenging the Yankees. Here in Minnesota. Here in what Steve Cannon called the "tundra."
Vic Power was a man of color from Puerto Rico. That nation had no real racial issues. Welcome to America! Here, Power had to get oriented to a climate with plenty of racial issues and tension, especially when he had a stint in Philadelphia with the Athletics.
I remember reading that Vic liked getting his food in grocery stores so as not to have to deal with segregationist practices in restaurants. He'd buy lots of salami and bananas, he said.
Power often fielded the ball with one hand. The style was a trademark of his. Fielding one-handed actually increases your reach. His style influenced others at the first base position. Power also had a sharp wit and a dark deadpan humor. He played for several teams in his career. We most appreciate that he came to Minnesota. Hope he was able to go walleye fishing! He struck out only 247 times in 6,046 career at-bats. He helped groom a young Tony Oliva.
Today I have a poem I wish to share with you, honoring the great Vic Power. Here it is:

 
He came from that island land

Where a man was just a man

Never in a pigeon hole

Where your color spelled your role
 

Yes, Nirvana it did seem

Color-blind and so serene

Territory, not a state

No room there for racial hate
 

As a young man he could see

Where he'd fetch his destiny

Puerto Rico had its charms

but he'd have to go afar
 

Milk and honey was that place

Even if you felt your race

Mr. Power had black skin

He'd be challenged to fit in
 

Meanwhile he would feed his urge

With the San Juan Senators

Learning baseball with its skills

Moving forward with sheer will
 

Parking by the first base bag

He was quite the gifted lad

Fielding grounders hot and fast

In the role where he was cast
 

A Yankees scout with roving eyes

Fixed upon this diamond prize

Making sure he'd get his due

Signing with a big-time crew
 

Here in North America

Victor would display his glove

Playing first like it's an art

To this game he gave his heart
 

First he joined the minor leagues

'Cause he had to plant his seeds

That's the lot for all young guys

Yearning to complete their climb
 

Drummondville was where he went

That meek burg was in Quebec

Four years after World War II

Baseball had a growing mood
 

Victor thrived and rode the wave

With the Sky Chiefs he was great

Syracuse was where they played

In the good ol' USA
 

Now he was a mere stone's throw

From the most prestigious show

Playing fine in Triple-A

Now he sought the big league game
 

Oh, but he would toil more

Showing patience with that chore

Hitting liners with the Blues

Kansas City's baseball crew
 

K.C. of the minor leagues

Gave Vic Power room to breathe

So he hit like on a tear

Posting stats beyond compare
 

Doubles, triples off his bat

Got the notice of the fans

So they wondered why this guy

Could not rise, be big-time
 

On and on his bat did smoke

Could he get the Yankees' vote?

Could he cross that big league grass

Joining with that famous cast?
 

Yes the theory crossed our lips

Vic's black skin was a hindrance

Baseball had Neanderthals

Pulling levers in those walls
 

Yankees had a cautious stance

As they guarded their big dance

Vic was not reserved enough

He had too much flamboyance
 

Power dated light-skinned dames

Such a faux pas for that game

It's so quaint to conjure up

How our nation wouldn't budge
 

Yankees courted baby steps

Integration, no not yet

Not in its more proper form

Let's talk "token," just the norm
 

Elston Howard was the man

He was hand-picked by the brass

To put on a proper show

As the Yankees' first Negro
 

We can weigh the might-have-beens

Had Vic Power helped them win

Frozen ropes to thrill the fans

Fielding grounders with one hand
 

What if New York kept the faith

Keeping Victor in his gait?

Wouldn't he look prim and right

Putting on those grand pinstripes?
 

But the story would not fly

Never meant to crystallize

Yankees dealt him in a trade

To a less high-profile place
 

Philly was his new backyard

Racial tensions looming large

Puerto Rico seemed so pure

Next to Philly's daunting brew
 

Hotels, restaurants made their case

To discrim-nate based on race

So bizarre, such ignorance

When we should push excellence
 

Life in U.S. plodded on

Slowly shedding what was wrong

Victor's team moved to the west

Now in K.C., whole new test
 

Year was nineteen fifty-five

Eisenhower's eight-year ride

Rock n' roll was on the fringe

As Athletics sought their wins
 

Power was phenomenal

Hitting like an angry bull

Second in the batting race

Everyone now knew his name
 

Then he joined the Indians

Helping Cleveland roll up wins

He was so adaptable

Earning cheers, never dull

 

With the Twins he kept that pace

Helping them to second place

Minnesota felt the love

So enamored with his glove
 

Twins were in their second year

When Vic Power earned those cheers

They made sure the Yankees felt

Pressure from the vast corn belt
 

His Gold Gloves made us aware

Of a fielding skill so rare

He was chosen an All-Star

Like a golfer under par
 

He could surely savor all

Accolades earned in baseball

Still to make it really right

Let's discard the racial strife
 

© Copyright 2016 Brian R. Williams