He was like a meteor briefly streaking across the baseball sky. And like that briefly glowing celestial object, Ron LeFlore would burn out too soon.
LeFlore’s story was straight out of Hollywood — and indeed, his life story would be told on the silver screen. He would grow up in poverty in eastern Detroit, become a petty thief as a youth before being sent to prison for his involvement in an armed robbery, and then learn the game of baseball while incarcerated during his 3½ years behind bars. With a few breaks and some dashes of luck, LeFlore reached the majors and was productive, a speedy runner and exciting player who brought crowds to their feet and left opponents marveling at his ability. But he would become his own worst enemy as drugs and clashes with managers — and management — derailed his career after nine seasons.
It is a story that Adam Henig captures with clarity, honesty and sensitivity in his latest book, “Baseball’s Outcast: The Story of Ron LeFlore” (Bloomsbury Academic; hardback; $24; 311 pages). Henig presents an unvarnished look at LeFlore’s career, drawn from “dozens” of telephone interviews he conducted with LeFlore, 77, over a 4½-year period.
“The goal of the book was to erase the folkloreness about him, the mystique,” Henig said on the “Tiger Territory” podcast a few weeks ago. “And to show that he’s a three-dimensional person just like everyone.”
To achieve that goal, Henig did some digging. He presents insights from former teammates, coaches, baseball executives, sportswriters, childhood friends, relatives and even inmates. Henig provides extensive notes, and his bibliography draws from 42 books. He also cites the Detroit Free Press, The New York Times, Montreal Gazette, The Evansville Courier & Press, the San Francisco Examiner and other newspapers; and magazines that include Sports Illustrated, The Sporting News, Sport, Inside Sports, Jet, Baseball Digest and more.
LeFlore’s story was straight out of Hollywood — and indeed, his life story would be told on the silver screen. He would grow up in poverty in eastern Detroit, become a petty thief as a youth before being sent to prison for his involvement in an armed robbery, and then learn the game of baseball while incarcerated during his 3½ years behind bars. With a few breaks and some dashes of luck, LeFlore reached the majors and was productive, a speedy runner and exciting player who brought crowds to their feet and left opponents marveling at his ability. But he would become his own worst enemy as drugs and clashes with managers — and management — derailed his career after nine seasons.
It is a story that Adam Henig captures with clarity, honesty and sensitivity in his latest book, “Baseball’s Outcast: The Story of Ron LeFlore” (Bloomsbury Academic; hardback; $24; 311 pages). Henig presents an unvarnished look at LeFlore’s career, drawn from “dozens” of telephone interviews he conducted with LeFlore, 77, over a 4½-year period.
“The goal of the book was to erase the folkloreness about him, the mystique,” Henig said on the “Tiger Territory” podcast a few weeks ago. “And to show that he’s a three-dimensional person just like everyone.”
To achieve that goal, Henig did some digging. He presents insights from former teammates, coaches, baseball executives, sportswriters, childhood friends, relatives and even inmates. Henig provides extensive notes, and his bibliography draws from 42 books. He also cites the Detroit Free Press, The New York Times, Montreal Gazette, The Evansville Courier & Press, the San Francisco Examiner and other newspapers; and magazines that include Sports Illustrated, The Sporting News, Sport, Inside Sports, Jet, Baseball Digest and more.
Adam Henig
It’s a thorough look at a man who portrayed himself as a tough guy but whose vulnerabilities would be exposed for all to see.
This is Henig’s fourth book. His other book about baseball was 2016’s “Baseball Under Siege: The Yankees, the Cardinals, and a Doctor’s Battle to Integrate Spring Training,” a fascinating look at Ralph Wimbish Sr., a doctor in St. Petersburg, Florida, who went to great lengths to battle racism and help desegregate baseball in his hometown during the 1960s.
Henig also wrote “Alex Haley’s Roots: An Author’s Odyssey” (2014) and “Watergate’s Forgotten Hero: Frank Wills, Night Watchman” (2021).
Inmates who played in the majors is not a new story, but LeFlore’s is the most successful example. Eric Stone provided an interesting angle in his 2005 book, “Wrong Side of the Wall: The Life of Blackie Schwamb, the Greatest Prison Ballplayer of All Time.” Ralph “Blackie” Schwamb, a pitcher who reached the majors in 1948 and appeared in 12 games for the St. Louis Browns, was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison in 1950. He would win 131 games while playing for teams based at the San Quentin and Folsom state penitentiaries in California.
LeFlore’s teammate in Detroit, Gates Brown, served 22 months in 1958-59 after he was convicted of burglary. He played the game while incarcerated at the Ohio State Reformatory and later enjoyed a 13-year career with the Detroit Tigers (1963-75), establishing himself as one of baseball’s top pinch hitters. His career would overlap with LeFlore’s in 1974 and 1975.
LeFlore co-authored his autobiography, “Breakout: From Prison to the Big Leagues,” which was published in 1978 and adapted into a television film later that year (“One in a Million: The Ron LeFlore Story”) that starred LeVar Burton in the title role.
LeFlore pulled no punches in his autobiography, addressing his heroin use, his father’s alcoholism, and the armed holdup that landed him in prison.
Henig builds on that foundation in “Baseball’s Outcast.”
During his major-league career, LeFlore played six seasons in Detroit beginning in 1974. He lasted one year with the Montreal Expos in 1980 before playing his final two years with the Chicago White Sox.
Fast on his feet, LeFlore led the American League in stolen bases in 1978 (68) and led the majors in runs scored (126). In Montreal, he topped the National League with 97 steals, becoming the first major leaguer to win the stolen base title in each league.
This is Henig’s fourth book. His other book about baseball was 2016’s “Baseball Under Siege: The Yankees, the Cardinals, and a Doctor’s Battle to Integrate Spring Training,” a fascinating look at Ralph Wimbish Sr., a doctor in St. Petersburg, Florida, who went to great lengths to battle racism and help desegregate baseball in his hometown during the 1960s.
Henig also wrote “Alex Haley’s Roots: An Author’s Odyssey” (2014) and “Watergate’s Forgotten Hero: Frank Wills, Night Watchman” (2021).
Inmates who played in the majors is not a new story, but LeFlore’s is the most successful example. Eric Stone provided an interesting angle in his 2005 book, “Wrong Side of the Wall: The Life of Blackie Schwamb, the Greatest Prison Ballplayer of All Time.” Ralph “Blackie” Schwamb, a pitcher who reached the majors in 1948 and appeared in 12 games for the St. Louis Browns, was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison in 1950. He would win 131 games while playing for teams based at the San Quentin and Folsom state penitentiaries in California.
LeFlore’s teammate in Detroit, Gates Brown, served 22 months in 1958-59 after he was convicted of burglary. He played the game while incarcerated at the Ohio State Reformatory and later enjoyed a 13-year career with the Detroit Tigers (1963-75), establishing himself as one of baseball’s top pinch hitters. His career would overlap with LeFlore’s in 1974 and 1975.
LeFlore co-authored his autobiography, “Breakout: From Prison to the Big Leagues,” which was published in 1978 and adapted into a television film later that year (“One in a Million: The Ron LeFlore Story”) that starred LeVar Burton in the title role.
LeFlore pulled no punches in his autobiography, addressing his heroin use, his father’s alcoholism, and the armed holdup that landed him in prison.
Henig builds on that foundation in “Baseball’s Outcast.”
During his major-league career, LeFlore played six seasons in Detroit beginning in 1974. He lasted one year with the Montreal Expos in 1980 before playing his final two years with the Chicago White Sox.
Fast on his feet, LeFlore led the American League in stolen bases in 1978 (68) and led the majors in runs scored (126). In Montreal, he topped the National League with 97 steals, becoming the first major leaguer to win the stolen base title in each league.
And from 1976 through 1980, he scored at least 90 or more runs.
During the 1976 season, LeFlore batted .316, stole 58 bases and had a team-record 30-game hitting streak — the longest in the American League since Dom DiMaggio hit safely in 34 games in 1949.
“Whenever Ron came up to bat, fans made sure to be in their seats,” Henig writes. “He was one of the only exciting hitters on the club to watch during this time.
“But during the streak, it was taken to a whole new level.”
That is not to say that LeFlore was immune to criticism or catcalls from opposing fans.
“Get that convict out of there,” they would yell, but Detroit manager Ralph Houk ignored the taunts, a move that a grateful LeFlore never forgot.
Interestingly, LeFlore played for three of the crustiest, old-school managers in baseball during his career — Houk, Sparky Anderson and Dick Williams. Those skippers were bookended by Billy Martin early in his career and by Tony La Russa as his playing days wound down.
Henig provides plenty of details about LeFlore’s troubled youth and his time in Southern Michigan Prison, where he began serving time in 1970. LeFlore was attracted to the seedier side of East Detroit as a youth, impressed by the relative ease with which criminals made money and flaunted their wealth.
“There were drug dealers, pimps, and prostitutes in the neighborhood,” LeFlore told Henig. “I would see all these hookers and pimps driving Cadillacs and say to myself, ‘Man, I’m going to get involved in this.’”
LeFlore stole paychecks from the grocery store where he worked, pilfered clothing from a Sears store where he was an employee, and took advantage during the chaos of a riot in downtown Detroit in July 1967, swiping shoes, a leather jacket and even a lamb fur coat.
“Young, uneducated and reckless, Ron failed to come to grips with the immorality and illegality of his actions,” Henig writes. “Nor did he recognize the risks involved.”
LeFlore only became interested in athletics in prison because he realized that those inmates who competed received special treatment. But as it turned out, he was talented enough to get a tryout with the Tigers and would eventually make it to the parent club in 1974.
LeFlore would encounter racism while playing in the minors, Henig writes. LeFlore debuted in 1973 with the Clinton Pilots of the Midwest League and encountered a two-pronged problem — a lack of experience and a hostile fan base.
“I went through hell in Clinton,” LeFlore told Henig.
LeFlore would make life hell for himself during his time in the majors. Prone to drug use, his personal life also suffered because of delinquent child support payments. At one point, he owed more than $56,000 that had been supposed to go to his oldest child.
LeFlore hastened his departure from Detroit by defying Anderson, stating that he was offended by the former manager of the Big Red Machine’s lack of respect toward players — specifically toward him.
Former Detroit traveling secretary Bill Brown told Henig that stars with the Tigers were treated differently and received more leeway. The rub was who management believed were the stars.
“Ron thought he was a star,” Brown said. “(And) assumed he was better than he was and should have had more privileges because of it.”
Still, LeFlore’s trade to Montreal caused outrage among Detroit’s fans.
LeFlore’s exit from Montreal a year later certainly was a result of an interview with Inside Sports, where the player trashed the Tigers, Expos and Anderson, while also calling the fans in Montreal racist.
For all of his flashes of brilliance, LeFlore had a dark side he could not escape.
Henig writes that LeFlore encountered three dark periods during his life. One was the death of his older half-brother, Harry Campbell, who had earned a spot on the U.S. Olympic boxing team in 1960 but would later die in May 1961 after absorbing punishment in a lightweight bout. The other two dark eras were LeFlore’s time in prison and his post-baseball life.
It was especially difficult for LeFlore to make the transition from an admired athlete to a bellhop at a west-central Florida airport.
“He went from signing autographs, riding in limousines, and meeting heads of state, to waking up at four in the morning, hustling for a dollar here, a dollar there, and asking men and women, ‘Can I help you,’” Henig writes.
It was a monumental fall from grace, but LeFlore has persevered. Henig does an excellent job knitting all the details of LeFlore’s complicated life together in a coherent, readable biography.
“Ron LeFlore overcame insurmountable odds,” Henig writes. “He is a survivor. No one with his background should have reached the heights he did, let alone survive past the age of twenty-five.
“He might not have achieved everything he wanted, but what he did accomplish was nothing short of a miracle.”
During the 1976 season, LeFlore batted .316, stole 58 bases and had a team-record 30-game hitting streak — the longest in the American League since Dom DiMaggio hit safely in 34 games in 1949.
“Whenever Ron came up to bat, fans made sure to be in their seats,” Henig writes. “He was one of the only exciting hitters on the club to watch during this time.
“But during the streak, it was taken to a whole new level.”
That is not to say that LeFlore was immune to criticism or catcalls from opposing fans.
“Get that convict out of there,” they would yell, but Detroit manager Ralph Houk ignored the taunts, a move that a grateful LeFlore never forgot.
Interestingly, LeFlore played for three of the crustiest, old-school managers in baseball during his career — Houk, Sparky Anderson and Dick Williams. Those skippers were bookended by Billy Martin early in his career and by Tony La Russa as his playing days wound down.
Henig provides plenty of details about LeFlore’s troubled youth and his time in Southern Michigan Prison, where he began serving time in 1970. LeFlore was attracted to the seedier side of East Detroit as a youth, impressed by the relative ease with which criminals made money and flaunted their wealth.
“There were drug dealers, pimps, and prostitutes in the neighborhood,” LeFlore told Henig. “I would see all these hookers and pimps driving Cadillacs and say to myself, ‘Man, I’m going to get involved in this.’”
LeFlore stole paychecks from the grocery store where he worked, pilfered clothing from a Sears store where he was an employee, and took advantage during the chaos of a riot in downtown Detroit in July 1967, swiping shoes, a leather jacket and even a lamb fur coat.
“Young, uneducated and reckless, Ron failed to come to grips with the immorality and illegality of his actions,” Henig writes. “Nor did he recognize the risks involved.”
LeFlore only became interested in athletics in prison because he realized that those inmates who competed received special treatment. But as it turned out, he was talented enough to get a tryout with the Tigers and would eventually make it to the parent club in 1974.
LeFlore would encounter racism while playing in the minors, Henig writes. LeFlore debuted in 1973 with the Clinton Pilots of the Midwest League and encountered a two-pronged problem — a lack of experience and a hostile fan base.
“I went through hell in Clinton,” LeFlore told Henig.
LeFlore would make life hell for himself during his time in the majors. Prone to drug use, his personal life also suffered because of delinquent child support payments. At one point, he owed more than $56,000 that had been supposed to go to his oldest child.
LeFlore hastened his departure from Detroit by defying Anderson, stating that he was offended by the former manager of the Big Red Machine’s lack of respect toward players — specifically toward him.
Former Detroit traveling secretary Bill Brown told Henig that stars with the Tigers were treated differently and received more leeway. The rub was who management believed were the stars.
“Ron thought he was a star,” Brown said. “(And) assumed he was better than he was and should have had more privileges because of it.”
Still, LeFlore’s trade to Montreal caused outrage among Detroit’s fans.
LeFlore’s exit from Montreal a year later certainly was a result of an interview with Inside Sports, where the player trashed the Tigers, Expos and Anderson, while also calling the fans in Montreal racist.
For all of his flashes of brilliance, LeFlore had a dark side he could not escape.
Henig writes that LeFlore encountered three dark periods during his life. One was the death of his older half-brother, Harry Campbell, who had earned a spot on the U.S. Olympic boxing team in 1960 but would later die in May 1961 after absorbing punishment in a lightweight bout. The other two dark eras were LeFlore’s time in prison and his post-baseball life.
It was especially difficult for LeFlore to make the transition from an admired athlete to a bellhop at a west-central Florida airport.
“He went from signing autographs, riding in limousines, and meeting heads of state, to waking up at four in the morning, hustling for a dollar here, a dollar there, and asking men and women, ‘Can I help you,’” Henig writes.
It was a monumental fall from grace, but LeFlore has persevered. Henig does an excellent job knitting all the details of LeFlore’s complicated life together in a coherent, readable biography.
“Ron LeFlore overcame insurmountable odds,” Henig writes. “He is a survivor. No one with his background should have reached the heights he did, let alone survive past the age of twenty-five.
“He might not have achieved everything he wanted, but what he did accomplish was nothing short of a miracle.”
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