Celebrating Hispanic Heritage Month: Victor Rosario

I’m from the Bronx, the northernmost of New York City’s five boroughs. The Bronx and its residents are synonymous with diversity. In fact, the U. S. Census has labeled the Bronx as one of the most diverse communities in the country. While I was growing up, you couldn’t go a city block without hearing a different language, or smelling the delicious aromas of homemade food from somewhere far, far away.

The multicultural atmosphere in the city was comforting to my parents, who are originally from Puerto Rico. They wanted to start a family in a more secure environment with better opportunities, while still being able to preserve the customs they grew up with their entire lives. That’s exactly what they found in the Bronx. When my parents moved into the area, their neighbors were predominately Europeans of Jewish descent. Not exactly the same as their vecinos on the island, but they were just as welcoming.

Soon, their family of two became a family of seven, with my four siblings and me quickly making our way into their lives. Overall, my childhood was great; I never felt out of place because I was culturally different than most kids in my neighborhood. However, there was one thing that set me apart from my peers: I was born with one arm. I would be lying if I said I was never picked on because of my disability. Kids can be cruel, but my parents taught me early on that I would have to work 10-times harder than most to get ahead, and that’s what I focused on. I put all my energy into athletics, particularly one sport that most might equate to being a two-handed game: baseball.

Not only did I participate in my high school’s baseball team, I excelled. I played right field – a remarkable accomplishment for a one-handed player. When I graduated, I took with me the self-confidence I developed as a young athlete, and went on to play one year of minor league baseball for the Kansas City Royals.

Soon after my run in the minor leagues, I got married. In 1981, my wife and I moved to Miami, and in 1982, I joined Jackson Memorial Hospital’s public safety team. Eleven years into my tenure at Jackson, I found myself longing to play baseball once again. I knew that I couldn’t professionally, but I needed to find a way to get myself back in the game. That’s when the One-Armed Bandits were born.

For more than 20 years, the Bandits was a co-ed softball team that consisted of players who were missing an arm or part of an arm. Some players lost their arms in accidents, and some, like me, were simply born that way. Regardless, we all had one thing in common: we never let our handicap stand in our way. We competed in leagues across Miami-Dade County that had no other disabled players – and won.

Soon, our small, local team started to receive international attention, traveling to places like Colombia, Nicaragua, the Dominican Republic, and even Puerto Rico to compete. We even traveled to Venezuela to play an eight-game series against the Bandidos de un Solo Brazo (the country’s own one-armed bandits), with the games being televised throughout Venezuela, as well as broadcast on local radio.

The One-Armed Bandits also served as goodwill ambassadors, visiting children’s hospitals in an effort to show that a big heart can make up for a missing arm, with many of my fellow team members often saying to young patients, “God didn’t give us all the limbs you need to play baseball, maybe that’s why he gave us a little bit more heart.”

From Santurce, Puerto Rico, to DeWitt Clinton High School in the Bronx, to Miami, and my 34 years as a member of Jackson’s public safety team, my sincere hope has always been that physically challenged youngsters and adults like me have the opportunity to display their various talents, just like our able-bodied counterparts. I firmly believe that my strong Hispanic upbringing has given me the confidence to allow people to see me for my abilities and not my disability.

Victor Rosario
Security Lieutenant
Jackson North Medical Center