Remembering Robby (Part 3)
Major League Baseball rightfully
celebrates Jackie Robinson Day every April 15, the day he broke the color
barrier in 1947.
I met my
all-time favorite player twice –once as a teenager and then as an adult. Both
moments still stay with me.
HARVEY
FROMMER: When school was out, I
sometimes went around with my father in his taxi. One summer morning, we were
driving in East Flatbush in Brooklyn down Snyder Avenue. My father pointed to a
dark red brick house with a high porch.
“I think Jackie Robinson lives
there,” my father said. He parked across the street and we got out of the cab,
stood on the sidewalk and looked at the house. Suddenly, the front door opened.
A black man in a short-sleeved shirt stepped out. I didn't believe it. Here we
were on a quiet street on a summer morning with no one else around.
The man was not wearing the baggy,
ice-cream-white-uniform of the Brooklyn Dodgers that accentuated his blackness.
He was dressed in regular clothes, coming out of a regular house in a regular
Brooklyn neighborhood, a guy like anyone else going out for a bottle of milk
and a newspaper.
Then, incredibly, he crossed the street and came right toward me. Seeing
that unmistakable pigeon-toed walk, the rock of the shoulders and hips that I
had seen so many times before on the baseball field, I had no doubt who it was.
“Hi Jackie, I'm one of your biggest
fans," I said self-consciously. “Do you think the Dodgers are going to win
the pennant this year?”
His handsome face looked
sternly down at me. “We'll try our best,” he said.
“Good luck,” I said.”
“Thanks,” he replied.”
He put his big hand out, and I
took it. We shook hands and I felt the strength and firmness of his grip. I was
a nervy kid, but I didn't ask for an autograph or try to prolong the
conversation. I just walked away down the street.
That was my first personal contact with
Jackie Robinson. Years later I came across him in downtown Brooklyn in a Chock
Full O Nuts coffee shop. He was the company’s vice president and director of
personnel. Now he was heavier, gray-haired, slowed, sitting at the counter. We
chatted a bit but the meeting was sadder, even poignant for me to see how this
great athlete had been slowed by time and illness.
He did not remember our chance meeting that long ago summer day but I
did. Ironically, that coffee shop on Montague Street was close by what had been
the offices of the Brooklyn Dodgers where Robinson had his first meeting with
Branch Rickey who helped him shatter baseball’s color line.
What
follows is a short-hand version of some of the life and times of Jack Roosevelt
Robinson. It is all memorable and moving.
Brooklyn Dodgers
To avoid racist
behavior in spring training 1947, Branch Rickey wisely chose Havana as his site
for both the Montreal Royals and the Brooklyn Dodgers. Rickey wanted Brooklyn
players to see what Robinson was like. They got an eyeful –in a seven game series
at the Nacional Stadium between the two teams he batted an amazing. 625.
Robinson very well could have spent a second season in Montreal; his spring
training performance of 1947 paved the way for his promotion to the major
leagues.
However, not everything was serene despite
the best laid plans of Rickey. At the start some Dodgers were opposed to a
black man being part of their team. Brooklyn manager Leo Durocher defended
Jackie Robinson this way “I do not
care if the guy is yellow or black, or if he has stripes like a fucking zebra.
I'm the manager of this team, and I say he plays. What's more, I say he can
make us all rich. And if any of you cannot use the money, I will see that you
are all traded."
And for
good measure “Leo the Lip” added: You want a guy who comes to play. But he
doesn’t just come to play. He came to beat you. He came to stuff the damn bat
right up your ass.”
With
the blue number 42 on the back of his Brooklyn Dodger home uniform, Jackie
Robinson, a grandson of a slave and a son of a sharecropper, took his place at
first base at Ebbets Field on April 15, 1947.
“Back in the thirties and forties, Joe Louis was the only
hero that we ever had. When he won a fight, everybody in Harlem was up in
heaven.” On that April day James Baldwin said, “The large contingent of blacks
in the crowd had another hero to be “up in heaven” about, another hero to stand
beside Joe Louis.”
Many of the 26,623 at that tiny ballpark on that chilly
spring day were not even baseball fans, but they had come out to see “the one”
who would break the sport’s age-old color line. Robinson’s wife, Rachel, was
there along with the infant Jackie, Jr.
Many in the crowd wore “I’m for Jackie” buttons and badges, and screamed
each time the black pioneer came to bat or touched the ball.
Jackie Robinson grounded out to short his first time up. He
flied out to left field in his second at bat. He got on base on an error in the
seventh inning. He grounded into a double play in his final at bat of the day.
The Dodgers won the game, 5–3, nipping Johnny Sain and the
Boston Braves. For Robinson it was not the performance he had sought, but the
first of his 1,382 major league games was in the record books—and he had broken
baseball’s color line forever.
“I was nervous on my first day in my first game at Ebbets
Field,” Robinson told reporters later. “But nothing has bothered me
since.”
Part sociological phenomenon, part entertainment spectacle,
part revolution, part media event—the narrative of Jackie Robinson played out
its poignant, dramatic and historic scenes through that 1947 season.
Famed sports columnist Jimmy Cannon called Jackie Robinson “the loneliest man I have ever seen in sports." That
comment was only partly true. Toward the
end of the 1947 season, a Jackie Robinson Day was staged at Ebbets Field. He
was not a lonely man. Robinson was now a major drawing card rivaling Bob Feller
and Ted Williams in the American League.
“I thank you all.” Number 42 said over the microphone in that
high-pitched voice. He was presented with gifts which included a new car, a
television and radio set and an electric broiler.
The famed tap dancer Bill “Bojangles” Robinson stood next to
Jackie Robinson: “I am 69 years old. But I never thought I would live to see
the day when I would stand face to face with Ty Cobb in Technicolor.”
What Jackie Robinson accomplished on the baseball field had
never been accomplished in the same way. He had a flash, a flame, a fire that
prompted Dodger manager Chuck Dressen who had replaced Leo Durocher, who had
moved on to the New York Giants, to say: "Give me five players like Robinson and a pitcher and I'll beat any
nine-man team in baseball."
At season’s end, playing in 151 of
the team’s 154 games, Robinson put up impressive stats and won the Rookie of
the Year award.
During his time as Dodger Robinson
became close friends with Larry Doby of the Cleveland
Indians, the first black baseball player in the American League. Their bond was
the shattering of the color barrier in baseball in the same year. The duo
talked baseball on the phone and shared experiences about racism.
The motivations of Branch Rickey, the man they called
“the Mahatma,” have always been questioned subject to debate. Why did he
sign Jackie Robinson? How much of what he did came from a moral conviction
that the color line must go? How much came from a desire to make money and
field a winning team?
MONTE IRVIN: Regardless of the
motives, Rickey had the conviction to pursue and to follow through.
Breaking baseball’s color line enabled Branch Rickey to tap
into a gold mine, but he elected not to monopolize that gold mine of talent in
the Negro Leagues. Monte Irvin cold
have been a Brooklyn Dodger, so could other Negro League greats like Larry
Doby, Sam Jethroe, and Satchel Paige and more.
But Rickey had
Robinson, Roy Campanella, Don Newcombe and Joe Black, Jim Gilliam and
more. He was very much in favor of other teams integrating, too.
Prejudiced major league club owners who had called Rickey
complaining, “You’re gonna kill baseball bringing that nigger,” were now
asking, “Branch, do you know where I can get a couple of colored boys as good
as Jackie and Campy and Newk?”
Jackie Robinson took the abuse: the cut
signs by players near their throats, the verbal curses, the spiking attempts,
the cold shouldering, and the death threats that came in the mail.
On and off the field that rookie season of 1947, Jackie
Robinson made his point and kept making his point. He had come to play. He had
come to stay the distance no matter what.
At season’s end, playing in 151
of the team’s 154 games, Robinson put up impressive stats and won the Rookie of
the Year award.
By 1949, Jackie Robinson was in his third season as a Brooklyn
Dodger and was no longer the lone black man on the baseball diamond. Branch
Rickey told him he could now let it all hang out. Dodger fans were elated.
“I sat back happily,” Rickey recalled, “knowing that with the
restraints removed, Robinson was going to show the National League a
thing or two.”
“I told Mr. Rickey that if a pitcher hits me
intentionally with a fastball, his ass belongs to me,” explained Jackie
Robinson. “And if a second baseman strikes me intentionally, his ass belongs to
me. Apparently the warning was passed down the line. So the word got down the
league. They called me names, but I expected those. But nobody hit me
intentionally”
RACHEL ROBINSON: It was
hard for a man as assertive as Jack to contain his own rage, yet he felt that
the end goal was so critical that there was no question that he would do it.
And he knew he could do it even better if he could ventilate, express himself,
use his own style.
And what a style it was!
ABOUT
HARVEY
FROMMER
One of the most prolific and
respected sports journalists and oral historians in the United States, author
of the autobiographies of legends Nolan Ryan
,Tony Dorsett, and Red Holzman, Dr. Harvey Frommer, a professor for more than two decades in the
MALS program at Dartmouth College, was dubbed “Dartmouth’s Mr. Baseball” by
their alumni magazine. He’s also the founder of www.HarveyFrommerSports.com and has written extensively about Jackie Robinson.
Signed, mint condition books can be obtained from his site.
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