Melo Almada: Brushback!
It’s 1937–just seventeen years after Ray Chapman had been killed by a Carl Mays fastball to the head. To reduce the possibility of serious injury from a beaning, the major leagues mandated that dirty or scuffed balls be replaced by new ones and dangerous trick pitches like the spitball prohibited. Still, baseball remained a rough and violent sport.
And the deprivations of the Great Depression only made the game crueler, as players desperately tried to hold on to their baseball jobs at all costs. Teams like the St. Louis Cardinals were celebrated for their tough approach to the game, earning the nickname the “Gashouse Gang” as a nod to their gritty style of play. Pitchers such as Dizzy Dean, Van Lingle Mungo, and Charlie Root were notorious for throwing at a batter’s head.
Beanballs were just an expected part of the game, and most players simply brushed it off. This wasn’t out of any machismo posturing, but because to show fear at the plate was a sign of weakness that pitchers could use to their advantage. Once a player was identified as being “plate-shy,” a pitcher could now throw a high and tight one to intimidate him, thus replacing concentration with terror.
This is the career-ending predicament the first Mexican-born player to make the major leagues found himself in.
HE WAS NAMED Baldomero Almada Quiros after his father, but everyone called him Melo or Mel. Baldomero and his wife, Amelia, had five daughters and one son when Melo came along in 1913.
The Almada family was one of the most influential in Mexico, and their ancestral tree was populated with many titled Dons, Knights, and Counts reaching back to medieval Europe. In Mexico, the Almada family owned several silver mines, and their collective land holdings amounted to an area the size of Belgium.
At the time of Melo Almada’s birth in 1913, the family’s fortunes were on the decline. A revolution in 1910 had overthrown President Porfirio Díaz and plunged the country into a bitter civil war that would rage for the next decade. Large landowners such as the Almada’s found their property and holdings seized, and many faced execution by revolutionaries and political rivals.
According to Melo Almada’s son Edward, Baldomero Almada had become a colonel in the Mexican Army. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, he took the precarious step of aligning himself with General Álvaro Obregón, who was vying with General Victoriano Huerta for control of the government. While several family members had been murdered in the vicious revolution that engulfed the country, Baldomero Almada and his family had so far been safe from the violence in their hometown of Huatabampo, Sonora. That came to an end when Melo was a year old; General Huerta had become President Huerta, and he began taking revenge on his old rivals.
Soon, Huerta’s thirst for vengeance reached Baldomero Almada, and a telegraph ordering his execution was sent to Huatabampo. By a stroke of luck, Huatabampo’s telegraph operator was a cousin of Baldomero’s, and he was able to warn the family to flee before Huerta’s death squad came knocking.
The Almada’s eventually made it across the border to the United States. The family first settled in Tucson, Arizona, where their daughter, Neli, was born in 1915. Baldomero operated an import-export business, and after President Huerta was overthrown, named Mexican consul in Tucson.
Mexico’s new leader, General Venustiano Carranza, made it his mission to defeat the armies of his former allies, Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata, and bring the Mexican revolution to a close. Baldomero became the new president’s personal representative. The family relocated to Los Angeles in 1916, and Baldomero took on an increasingly prominent role in Mexican-American relations. Named “general fiscal agent” for the Mexican government, Baldomero set about purchasing large amounts of American guns, military equipment, trucks, and ships with which to fight Villa and Zapata. In 1920, General Álvaro Obregón emerged as Mexico’s new president and offered his old ally Baldomero Almada the governorship of Baja California.
Unfortunately, the job came with a hitch: the former governor refused to vacate the office. As Melo later told the Sporting News, the incumbent had “a large well-equipped army, while my father’s army consisted of my mother and eight children.” Not possessing a death wish, Baldomera kept his family in Los Angeles, and President Obregón subsequently appointed him Mexican commercial attaché and finally consul in that city.
MEANWHILE, Baldomero had become an enthusiastic fan of America’s National Pastime. He encouraged his son, Lou, to play the game, and Melo, who was five years younger and idolized his older brother, followed suit. The brothers were exceptional athletes at Los Angeles High, each making the all-city team in both football and baseball. Melo also starred on the track team, where he set a state record for the broad jump.
Both brothers planned on attending the University of Southern California, but the lure of professional baseball was too great. Lou was the first to succumb, signing with the New York Giants as a pitcher in 1927. While pitching batting practice, a line drive off the bat of Fred Lindstrom injured his neck before he got to pitch a major league game. The injury hampered his pitching ability, and he was farmed out to Albany and Richmond for a short period before the Giants handed him his release. By 1929, Lou had reinvented himself as a slugging outfielder with the Seattle Indians of the Pacific Coast League, hitting the ball at a .300 clip for the next three seasons.
In 1932, Melo graduated from high school and was planning on attending USC. However, after Melo visited his brother at Seattle’s spring training camp, he too forwent college for pro baseball.
Many newspaper accounts tell the tale that Melo was so good that Seattle cut his brother to put him on the roster. It’s a great yarn, but not the real story. While it is true that Lou Almada left the team after his brother was signed, he left due to a contract dispute, not to make room for Melo. Lou would go on to have some great seasons playing in the Pacific Coast League, though he never got another chance with a major league team. Melo Almada is a different story.
Seattle used the him sparingly until their first baseman took ill. Melo volunteered to step in, and the hitting and speed he displayed earned him a permanent job in the outfield. He hit .311 and stole 28 bases to wrap up his rookie season.
ALTHOUGH Melo hit over .300 in baseball’s top minor league, some observers looked askance at his batting style. Melo was what was called a “pull away” or “bucket” hitter, meaning that instead of leaning into a pitch, he did the opposite as he brought the bat around. An article in the Sporting News would later describe him as the “most pronounced ‘water bucket’ hitter in the majors. You never saw a guy in such a hurry to keep a date at first base. He seems to be running towards the initial hassock even before his bat meets the ball.” It wasn’t an ideal way to hit, but Melo was a solid singles hitter, so no one tried too hard to change him.
Then there was his lack of power. This was the era of the home run slugger – guys like Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Jimmie Foxx were all the rage. Melo was strictly a singles hitter. Batting from the left side, he primarily hit the ball behind third base and used his tremendous speed to beat the ball to first base. It was effective, but the singles and stolen bases way of playing the game had become out of fashion by 1932.
BY THE TIME the 1933 season was halfway over, Melo was being touted as the best outfielder on the West Coast and the odds-on favorite to become the first Mexican-born player to make the majors. While the Mexican fans in the cities around the league honored the twenty-year-old with “Melo Almada Days” and the sports writers coined all kinds of dopey nicknames playing on his Mexican heritage, Melo, who never visited Mexico after he was brought to the States as a one-year-old, always thought of himself as a regular ol’ American. In interviews, he stressed this point, for instance, telling the Sporting News, “…you see, I am very much an American.”
In July, a Boston Red Sox scout traveled to Seattle to look over second baseman Freddie Muller. After watching a few games, the scout returned to Boston with both Muller and Melo Almada’s signatures on Red Sox contracts.
On September 8, 1933, Melo Almada emerged from the Red Sox dugout and took his place in center field, thus making history as the first Mexican-born player to make it to the majors. Boston kept him up with the big club for the remainder of the season, and he hit a promising .341 with a home run. He also had the distinction of getting the last hit Babe Ruth gave up as a pitcher. In fact, Melo tagged the Bambino for three hits that day. The Babe would go on to win his own game with a home run to beat the Sox, 6-5.
After the season, Mexico’s president, Abelardo L. Rodríguez, personally invited Melo and his brother Lou to play in the nine-game Good Will Baseball Tournament in Mexico City. The brothers played on opposite teams and were warmly received by Mexican fans. Back in LA, both brothers moonlighted as extras in Spanish-language movies when they weren’t playing for their company’s baseball team, Melo at Fox Film (forerunner of 20th Century Fox) and Lou at MGM.
AFTER SPENDING spring training with the Red Sox, Melo was optioned to the minor league Kansas City Blues for the 1934 season. He clobbered the ball at a .328 clip, swiped 30 bases, was named the team’s most valuable player, and selected for the American Association all-star team. That was enough for the Red Sox, and they called Melo back up to The Show.
Despite hitting only .233, the Sox liked the speedy outfielder, and when the 1935 season began, Melo was with Boston for good. Six months later, he had hit .290 and was being called the best Red Sox outfielder since the legendary Tris Speaker.
The novelty of his being the first Mexican-born major leaguer made Melo Almada the subject of many newspaper and magazine profiles. Every aspect of the rookie’s life was examined. His aristocratic background and flight from Mexico added a bit of drama. He was musically inclined and kept hip to the newest tunes on the state-of-the-art radio he traveled with. He had the matinee idol good looks that went with his bona fide Hollywood film credits. And he was a big league ballplayer.
THE BOSTON RED SOX at this time was a team in transition. Owner Tom Yawkey was doing all he could to buy a pennant, his bottomless checkbook purchasing a series of marquee veteran players just passing their prime. When they didn’t get results, Yawkey simply wrote another check for more.
Veteran Doc Cramer had a lock on centerfield, but playing time in left and right would have to be shared by Melo and the more experienced Heinie Manush, Dusty Cooke, and Billy Werber. Whether it was not playing regularly or the sophomore jinx, Melo chalked up a poor .253 average for the year.
1937 BROUGHT a new crop of Yawkey purchases, and Melo would have to platoon left and right field with Dom Dallesandro, Fabian Gaffke, and Buster Mills. After spring training, the Red Sox joined with the Cincinnati Reds to barnstorm their way north for opening day.
On April 13, the two clubs were in Durham, North Carolina. Reds rookie Whitey Moore was on the mound in the top of the eighth when Melo came to bat.
Whatever the reason, Melo lost sight of the pitch. The ball slammed into his head, just behind the right ear, striking with such force that the crack was heard throughout the ballpark. Melo crumpled to the ground, dazed, but conscious. Still, his teammates had to carry him from the field. Two doctors examined him in the dugout, and an ambulance was summoned. At the hospital, X-rays showed no fractures. Although he was able to rejoin his team after a few days, the incident would have a long-lasting impact on Melo Almada.
THE THOUGHT of taking another fastball to the head now turned every one of Melo’s at-bats into a battle of nerves. Ballplayers back then had a name for this: “plate-shy.”
This fear of being beaned took its toll – not just on Melo’s mental game, but also on the way he physically played it. He had always been a “pull away” style hitter, but after his 1937 beaning, it became much more pronounced. This led to less contact with the ball and a sure tell to opposing pitchers that he was now “plate-shy.” Word spread through the American League bullpens, and soon pitchers were throwing Melo a steady stream of high and tight fastballs and brushbacks. After 32 games, his average sank to .236.
In June, the Red Sox traded Melo to the Washington Nationals. The change of scenery suited him. His highlight reel catches in the outfield quickly made him a favorite of the Washington fans. Nats manager Bucky Harris took a liking to his new outfielder and worked with him on his hitting. The extra tutoring paid off, and he hit .309 for the rest of the season.
He even made some baseball history when he scored nine runs in a July 25th doubleheader against St. Louis – a record that still stands as of 2025.
On the surface, it looked like Melo Almada had conquered his fears; however, the opposite was true. He confided in his brother Lou that he believed he was being thrown at because of his ethnicity. Minor league baseball historian Carlos Bauer interviewed Lou Almada and asked him about his brother. “Melo,” he told me, “Couldn’t stand being thrown at. ‘Louie,’ he once said to me, ‘They’re throwing at me because I’m a Mexican!’ ‘No, Melo,’ I told him, “They’re throwing at you because you’re a batter!’” Infielder Pete Coscarart, a teammate of Melo Almada, believed the brushbacks were due to nothing more sinister than pitchers using his known plate shyness to their advantage.
Years later, in a 1981 Arizona Daily Star article, Melo Almada seems to have veered away from the racial angle as well: “When asked about the accusation that a non-white athlete has had to be slightly better than his white counterpart to play, Almada said he was never confronted by discrimination on the field.”
During spring training in 1938, Melo’s frustration with being a human target finally came to a head. In the March 16 game against St. Louis, Cardinals catcher Mickey Owen repeatedly signaled pitcher Syl Johnson for knockdown balls when Melo came to bat. In the fifth inning, Melo struck out and returned to the dugout. Sitting on the bench, he began shouting what the newspapers delicately described as “unkind things” to Owen.
The catcher, who was a key member of the rough and tumble “Gashouse Gang” Cardinals, threw down his mitt, tore off his chest protector, and challenged Melo to come off the bench. He tore out of the dugout as Owen charged at him. Melo got in the first punch, a glancing right off Owen’s chin. Owen countered with a wrestling move, grabbing the Mexican by his head and throwing him to the ground. Washington’s Ossie Bluege reached down, picked up Owen, and threw the Cardinals catcher backwards in what the Washington Herald called “a pip of a somersault.” Both players were ejected, and injuries amounted to nothing more than minor cuts and bruises. After the game, Mickey Owen denied signaling for bean balls, but Washington manager Bucky Harris backed up Melo’s claim of being thrown at.
WHEN THE SEASON began, Melo couldn’t hit. Bucky Harris attempted to modify his swing to no avail. Sportswriter Shirley Povich wrote that Melo had become “a colossal joke as a hitter.” Melo’s average was a disappointing .244 when his trade to the St. Louis Browns was announced. Melo would be replacing fan-favorite outfielder Sam West. In contrast to Melo’s .244, West had hit .328 the previous season and was at .309 at the time of the trade. Browns fans bemoaned having their favorite replaced by a guy with less power and an average more than 60 points lower than West.
Defying all the predictions, Melo Almada rebounded in St. Louis. A week after his trade, Melo began a phenomenal hitting streak in which he had a base hit in 54 out of 56 games. During that stretch, Melo hit .372, getting 48 hits in 128 at-bats. He told reporters that the streak only ended because the Browns clubhouse man failed to bring him his daily letter from his fiancée back in California. He hit a resounding .342 with the Browns and ended 1938 by leading the American League with 158 singles. He capped off the year by marrying his fiancée, Alicia Terminel, in October.
Just when things were looking up for Melo Almada, the plate shyness returned. What triggered it again can’t be said. He had been hit by a pitch once while with Washington and three times with St. Louis during the 1938 season. The following year, he was not hit at all.
Still, it wasn’t being hit that affected Melo, but the possibility of it happening. By June, Fred Haney, the Browns’ new manager for 1939, ran out of patience with Almada. He later told a sportswriter the outfielder “nearly runs out of the park every time a pitcher throws a ball towards him.”
The Browns put Melo on waivers, but no American League team bit. However, just before the trade deadline, the Brooklyn Dodgers needed a fresh bat as they battled Cincinnati for the National League pennant. Dodgers GM Larry MacPhail asked Fred Haney how much he wanted for the outfielder.
What followed had to have been the most forthright trade negotiation in baseball history: “I was honest with MacPhail, says Haney. I told him Almada wouldn’t help him. But he insisted on me naming a price, so I did.” Haney asked for the sky-high sum of $25,000 and a minor league outfielder. The Browns manager thought that would be the end of the negotiations, but to his shock, MacPhail instantly agreed.
Haney notified Melo of the trade, and he was on a flight to Brooklyn that afternoon. But Haney wasn’t through dispensing his advice. The Browns skipper told syndicated columnist B. Harry Grayson: “And what do I see in the newspapers the next day, but Almada is in the clean-up slot for Brooklyn. I knew he wouldn’t be there long, but I telegraphed (Dodgers’ manager) Leo Durocher: ‘Get Almada out of that clean-up position. What are you trying to do? Show him up?’”
Unfortunately, Fred Haney was proved correct. Melo barely hit above .200 in 26 games as the Dodgers’ starting centerfielder before Dixie Walker replaced him. In his column, Grayson quipped: “Almada now decorates the Dodgers’ dugout.”
The Dodgers gave up on Melo, selling him to the Cardinals before the 1940 season. He refused to report when the Cards assigned him to their Rochester farm team and was subsequently assigned to their Pacific Coast League affiliate in Sacramento. Melo’s hitting continued to deteriorate, and he ended 1940 with a .232 average. A May 26, 1941, article in the Sacramento Bee mentioned that Melo Almada “would like to stage a comeback as a pitcher.”
WHEN PITCHING did not pan out, Melo turned to the country of his birth. Since the late 1930s, Liga Mexicana de Béisbol ballclubs had featured Latino and American Negro League stars, but so far had not been able to lure a former Major Leaguer south of the border. Melo Almada’s release from Sacramento left him open to take the player-manager job for the Torreon Union Laguna team. His experience as a successful major leaguer should have made him the keystone of the fledgling Mexican League, which was trying to establish itself as a major league-level entity.
Unfortunately, that was not meant to be.
The very thing that should have made him a star in the Liga Mexicana was what drove him back north. Melo, though considered Mexican by American fans and sportswriters, was considered “Americanized” by Mexicans who resented his success up north and privileged upbringing. In the States, he was “olive-skinned,” but in Mexico, he was “high-white.” Opposing pitchers started serving him non-stop brushbacks and dust-offs, and his own players refused to respect him. Though he was batting .343, Melo Almada threw in the towel after only 26 games.
AS LOU ALMADA’S baseball career wound down in the mid-1930s, he started a fruit distribution business. By 1942, the company had become very successful, and Melo joined his brother as a partner.
During World War II, Melo served stateside in the U.S. Army Medical Corps during World War II. He was able to rekindle his baseball career by playing for the Fort Sam Houston Rangers ball team in the San Antonio Service League. He batted .303 and pitched and won five games for the Rangers.
In the mid-1950s, he gave baseball another try, managing the Sonora team in the Mexican Pacific Coast League. This time, Melo’s experience was much better, and today, the league’s Rookie of the Year award is called the Baldomero Almada Trophy in his honor.
Alicia and Melo eventually returned to Mexico with their four children – Lydia, Cecilia, Edward, and Miguel. In 1971, Melo Almada’s contributions to baseball in the country of his birth were recognized when he was enshrined in the Salón de la Fama in Monterrey, the Mexican Baseball Hall of Fame.
Fernando Valenzuela’s spectacular debut with the Dodgers in 1981 finally gave Mexican fans a breakthrough superstar of their own. At the height of Fernandomania, Melo Almada told the Arizona Daily Star that, back in the mid-1950s, he had predicted to Mexican reporters that one day a kid from that country would make it in the major leagues. “They laughed at me. But here he is. And he’s the best thing that could happen to the sports world. Sports is a moral booster. Kids idolize him – and kids need idols.”
The first Mexican-born ballplayer to make it to the majors passed away from a heart ailment in the land of his birth on August 13, 1988, aged 75.
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For those who want to know more about Melo Almada, his son Edward published a biography in 2015 – but it is only available in Spanish. For those who don’t habla español, Bill Nowlin’s well-researched biography is available online as part of SABR’s Biography Project at SABR.org. Carlos Bauer’s interviews with Lou Almada at his minorleagueresearcher.blogspot.com website added some great personal insight, and Tracy Ringolsby’s interview with Edward Almada at MLB.com cleared up some familial details. And last but not least, Gary Bedingfield’s awesome Baseball in Wartime website gave me the details (and even the batting average!) of Melo’s service in World War II.
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This story is Number 86 in a series of collectible booklets
