From the S&S archives: Barrier-breaking Ashford wants more black umps

WIESBADEN — In spite of his many accomplishments — many barriers he's helped bring down — American League umpire Emmett Ashford would dearly love to add a couple more before he hangs up his spikes.

Emmett would like to work a World Series. Even more, he'd like to help more black men move into his profession.

Right now, Ashford is the only Negro umpire in organized baseball, and it doesn't seem likely that the majors will see another soon. The thought saddens the jovial, outgoing veteran of 19 years in the blue suit game.

"I deeply regret that I haven't been able to help some of my, people get firmly established in professional umpiring," Ashford said Wednesday during a break in the USAFE baseball clinic sessions.

Other instructors at the clinic, I which runs through Friday, are I Los Angeles Dodger executive Al Campanis, Dodger coaches Dwight (Red) Adams and Dixie Walker and St. Louis Cardinal catcher Joe Torre.

"I've tried my best to help at least 10 or 12 of them, but for one reason or other, they have given it. up — I don't really understand it completely."

Ashford's best prospect, Ozzie Jelks, got as far as Triple A ball, in the Pacific Coast League, when he unexpectedly quit while at spring training last season. He had been in pro ball for eight. years.

Now the colorful — far more than just being black — dynamic arbiter is all alone.

"There are plenty of them who do it for a hobby, but they just don't seem interested in officiating as a profession," Ashford explained.

Two things have been invaluable in Emmett's climb to the top — being a solid official and having a never-failing sense of humor.

"It's sort of my philosophy. 'I feel that doing a job well will take care of a lot of other things at the same time."

Thrust into the midst of an explosive situation in El Paso Tex., in 1952, working behind the plate in a crucial El Paso-Chihuahua, Mex., series in the old Arizona-Texas League, Ashford earned a standing ovation from the partisan crowd in an area not in the deep south but certainly far from prejudice free.

"For that time and place, it was truly remarkable, I'll never forget it," the rotund Californian recalls. "And the El Paso press was most gracious too," he added.

Another incident from that same series is typical of the Ashford humor.

When Emmett arrived for the series, there were only the two regular policemen on hand — by the third inning two squads of riot police had come to the scene.

In the opening game, Ashford had two particularly anxious moments, one on a called ball, another on a close play at third where he called a sliding runner out and set off a chorus of wild remarks.

"Whatcha doin' out there in a white man's job?" a Negro spectator yelled at him.

Peering over at his tormentor, Ashford shot back, "Listen, my friend, you go home and put on some shoes, then we'll discuss the matter. That really broke everyone up and loosened things up."

That Ashford should have gotten into officiating at all was more of an accident than anything else.

He was the only Negro player on a semi-pro baseball team in his native Los Angeles in the late 1940s, and on one occasion when many wintering pros were on the scene he sensed he'd never get into the game. He had showered and dressed to watch from the bench.

The regular umpire didn't show, and after about 15 minutes the players began to look for a sub. They eventually fixed on Ashford as their target.

"They virtually carried me, kicking and screaming out behind the pitcher, two-tone shoes and all," Ashford laughs.

The die was cast. Pretty soon Ashford was putting in almost as much time officiating — in as many as five different sports — as he was working for the post office in The City of the Angels.

Subsequently, unknown to him at the time, someone arranged that Emmett be scouted while working a collegiate baseball lame in the old Pacific Coast Conference-now Pacific 8. Then he passed a tryout held shortly thereafter in Mexicali, Mex.

"A week later, the president of the Southwest International League (SIL) asked me to finish the final two weeks of the season — I literally flew into the postmaster's office and eventually got a leave of absence to cover the time involved."

The next season, Ashford had to make a decision — he got an offer from the SIL for the whole season.

"I had 15 years of seniority in the post office to consider. My people called me crazy, but I decided to take a chance on baseball. I've never regretted it — I'd do it again without hesitation," Ashford says emphatically.

Two months into the season, the league folded. The other five umpires — all white — were placed immediately, but it took two days for the loop prexy to locate Emmett, after many phone calls at the executive's own expense.

Then Emmett was thrust into the El Paso hot seat.

In 1953, Ashford moved to the Class B Western International League, then to the Pacific Coast League in 1954.

During the winters, he also spent three years officiating in the Dominican Republic about which he recalls: "If you can successfully work in a Latin American country, you can survive in Hades."

Ashford's PCL tour was climaxed by three years as Umpire in Chief and included his share of hot spots — one a Little Rock-Dallas series into which he was thrust after virtual civil war had broken out and both managers had been fined substantial sums. Somehow he got things quieted down.

By 1964, Ashford was still in the PCL, 10 years after he began. He sometimes wondered if he'd ever get that coveted shot at the majors.

"Every year, I'd grit my teeth, pull in my guts and go out there," he recalls. "But my wife says I did it with dignity," he smiles.

Then in 1965 he finally made it, and the rest is history. Ashford was honored with an assignment to the all-star game in 1967.

Some critics accuse Emmett of showboating, because of his often unorthodox, spirited approach to officiating. But Ashford feels mobility is more important than convention in calling them in baseball, basketball or whatever.

Ashford recalls he often came in for criticism in moving onto the court while officiating basketball-which he gave up only two years ago. Now it's common practice. He also was perhaps among the first to develop backpedaling for the basketball official to a fine art.

Whatever one says about Ashford, he can never be accused of being dull. Anyone who has ever seen that right hand windup on his first strike call in a baseball game can testify to that.