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Juan found himself a good teacher: Blanche Laverne Johnson, a plump, elderly woman who lived near Candlestick Park. "Mama" Johnson took Marichal and Matty Alou into her home as boarders, force-fed them English, lectured them on "Getting Along in America." "If we didn't pay attention to what she said," recalls Alou, "she'd grab her dish mop and give us a swat. She'd tell us, 'You want to make good in this country, you learn to speak English. Nobody makes shaving commercials in Spanish.' " Lonely and homesick, Marichal played Dominican records over and over by the hour. "Finally I had to smash them," he says, "so I could forget about home and get to work."
Marichal's state of mind—and his 6-2 1960 record—might have been better if a back injury had not kept him out of action for most of a month. Freak ailments have been Juan's bugaboo ever since he broke into the big leagues. In 1961 he pitched his second one-hitter (against the Los Angeles Dodgers), but wound up with only 13 wins, ten losses when he was spiked in the leg trying to cover first base. In 1962 it was a twisted ankle that disabled him for 30 days—though he still posted an 18-11 record and picked up a victory in the All-Star game. Somehow, Marichal managed to stay healthy in 1963. On June 15, at Candlestick Park, he pitched a no-hitter, permitting only two Houston Astros to reach first base, and winning 1-0. Two weeks later he toiled 16 innings to win another 1-0 decision, over the old master, Warren Spahn. At season's end his record was 25 victories, only eight defeats.
Good fortune obviously could not stay at that astronomical peak—and it didn't. Marichal won 22 games in 1964; he also spent weeks in traction with a pinched nerve in his back. Even that was a minor crisis compared with The Incident of 1965, when for the first time anyone can remember Juan Marichal lost his cool completely—thereby endangering another man's life and his own career.
Beanballs & Bats. Most so-called U.S. sports rivalries are frauds, preserved only by tradition. The feud between the Giants and Dodgers is real. It was bad enough when it involved The Bronx and Brooklyn, two boroughs of the same city. Now the principals are San Francisco and Los Angeles, two cities 325 miles apart whose partisans hate each other's guts. In ordinary times, Giants-Dodgers games are still games. Aug. 22, 1965, was no ordinary time.
Dodger Catcher Johnny Roseboro was deeply concerned about race riots in the Watts section of Los Angeles near his home. Giants Pitcher Marichal had been brooding over the bloody civil war in the Dominican Republic. For tinder, there was the tension of the tightest National League race in history; for fire, a provocative trading of beanballs, curses and threats. In the third inning, with the Dodgers leading 2-1, Marichal came to bat. The second pitch was low inside; Roseboro dropped the ball, then picked it up and deliberately fired it as hard as he could back to the mound—right past Juan's right ear.