- Associated Press - Wednesday, April 25, 2012

HAVANA (AP) - Conrado Marrero can still remember the crisp feeling of slipping on his Washington Senators uniform, and the surge of adrenaline he got staring down Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams and other major league batters. But the diminutive right-hander’s glory days are a world _ and a revolution _ away.

The Cuban pitcher who last year became the oldest living former big leaguer turned 101 on Wednesday, surrounded by family and a couple of old friends in his modest Havana apartment, the faded walls in need of paint, the spartan furniture tattered and frayed.

Marrero is hardly in better shape.

He has been confined to a wheelchair since fracturing his hip last year, is hard of hearing and can no longer see. But the man once known as “The Peasant of Laberinto,” after the central Cuban farm where he grew up, still indulges in cigars, and listens avidly to Cuban baseball on the radio.

Not bad for a man who is a year older than Boston’s iconic Fenway Park, which celebrated its centenary earlier this month.

Marrero, who was known in his major league days as Connie, speaks with pride about the five years he spent with the Senators, and he raises his voice in excitement when he recalls going against pitchers like Allie Reynolds of the Yankees or Early Wynn, who in those days played for mighty Cleveland.

Beating the Yankees, he says, was the sweetest feeling in the world.

“They were strong,” he said. “They were the best. Each batter was a struggle.”

Marrero had less good things to say about his own team, the lowly Senators, who he called “lazy” and error prone. Still, he said it was a thrill to suit up every day.

“Putting on that uniform always made me feel bigger, more powerful,” said Marrero, who in his playing days was listed as 5 feet 5 inches tall and 158 pounds. His memory often fails him, and his voice sometimes trails off in mid-thought, but Marrero grows animated when the subject turns to his sport, and he wraps his long wrinkled fingers around a baseball to demonstrate his grip.

He recalls meeting the retired Babe Ruth once in Miami, befriending Connie Mack, and sharing an elevator with Dwight Eisenhower in Washington.

As for the great hitters of his day, Marrero insists he was afraid of no one, although he admits that Williams usually got the better of him.

“One day Williams got two home runs off me, and afterward he came up to me and said `Sorry, it was my day today,” Marrero recalled. “I responded, `Ted, every day is your day.’”

Marrero doesn’t complain about money, but his circumstances are exceedingly modest compared with today’s multimillion-dollar players. The stairwell up to his second floor apartment has no lighting, and his living room is empty save for two sagging sofas and a rocking chair.

Marrero is eligible to receive a $20,000 payout granted him under a 2011 agreement between Major League Baseball and the players’ association to extend financial help to big leaguers who played between 1947 and 1979, and did not otherwise qualify for a pension. But the money has been held up for months due to the 50-year U.S. economic embargo, which makes financial transactions between the United States and Cuba extremely complicated.

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