Baseball's Great Experiment, Jackie Robinson: Part V

The final installment in 108 Red Stitches tribute to African American ballplayers in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. Continued from Part IV.

Branch Rickey was able to step up to bat for Jackie while he was being torn apart in the papers. Rickey stated that “Jackie’s the same high-class boy he was the first year we brought him up. He’s entitled to all the rights of any other American citizen. He’s a great competitor and resents any violations of those rights” (Rampersad; 207). In response to Lacy’s attacks on the Dodger and Robinson’s occasional out bursts, Rickey retaliated saying;

“Perhaps he has lost his temper occasionally the same as any white player would do. But he’s been sorry for it afterward and has used good judgment. We couldn’t have picked a finer boy than Robinson for our experiment of introducing a Negro into organized baseball” (Rampersad; 207).

Robinson was under a considerable amount of stress at the time. The hate mail, death threats, being in the nation’s spotlight, constant badgering from the press, and being “broken into the league” with high and inside fastballs all began to take their toll on Jackie. In an interview with Robinson biographer, Arnold Rampersad, Rachel Robinson (Jackie’s wife) began to worry about Jackie’s well being;

“In those months, according to Rachel, Jack’s worries ‘were eating at his mind, for he would jerk and twitch and even talk in his sleep, which was not like him.” Sometimes he would raise his voice in anger, but anything more violent was out of the question.

Aware of his ordeal, she tried hard to make their home a haven, which Jack appreciated; he had little interest in going out with the boys.” (Rampersad; 180).
Robinson’s standings with the press would eventually change dramatically, and with surprising outcomes. Called upon by the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1949 to refute statements made by Paul Robeson, one of the most admired and famous blacks of his time. Robeson was addressing those who attended a gathering of the leftist World Congress of the Partisans of Peace at the Salle Pleyel in Paris when he “had uttered the most controversial words. ‘it is unthinkable,’ he allegedly declared about the United States and the Soviet Union, ‘that American Negroes would go to war on behalf of those who have oppressed us for generations against a country which in one generation has raised our people to the full dignity of mankind” (Rampersad; 211).

Branch Rickey set up an “invitation” from the House Un-American Activities Committee so that Robinson’s growing voice could be heard. Robinson explained to the Committee that in no way did he consider himself an expert on communism or any other type of political organization. According to an article that ran in the New York Times, Robinson did “ask to be put down as ‘an expert on being a colored American, with thirty years of experience at it.’ ” (Trussell; 1). Robinson quickly took the opportunity to denounce racism, many years before the advent of the Civil Rights Movement. Robinson was able to convey to the Committee his love for his country and his willingness to defend it.

Despite his efforts to appear patriotic and expose the racial inequalities his people faced, the remarks against Robeson were what caught the attention of the press and the American people;
“I’m not fooled because I’ve had a chance open to very few Negro Americans,” stated Robinson. He vowed to continue fighting racial discrimination in sports and other areas. At the same time, Robinson rejected Robeson’s assertion that blacks would not fight for the United States;

‘I’ve got too much invested for my wife and child and myself in the future of this country, and I and other Americans of many races and faiths have too much invested in our country’s welfare, for any of us to throw it away for a siren song sung in bass” (Tygiel; 334).

The “siren song sung in bass” Robinson was referring to pointed fingers at Robeson. Robinson believed that Robeson was “shooting from the hip” in his remarks, and felt that his (Robeson) voice did not speak for the entire African American race. Members of the press, however, focused on Robinson’s criticism of the African American Icon, rather than what Robinson had hoped to shed light on; racism in America.

The press, after the Robeson bashing, began to take sides; the white press began supporting Jackie, while the black press remained critical of its bright star. The New York Post ran parts of his speech to the Committee under an editorial entitled “Credo of an American”. The Daily News, ended its editorial piece on the event with ‘Quite a man this Jackie Robinson. Quite a ball player. And quite a credit, not only to his own race, but to all the American people” (Rampersad; 215).

A New York Times article reported that a Democratic Representative from New York, Arthur G. Klein, proposed “that Congress print 500,000 copies of a statement made July 18 before the House Un-American Activities Committee by Jackie Robinson” (No Author; 39). Klein said in a letter to Representative Mary T. Norton (D-New Jersey, chairman of House Administration Committee) “This great American athlete has spoken successfully for all minorities-and for all Americans” (No Author; 39).

The black press was more critical of Robinson; they felt as if he had become a puppet for the white press. They felt as if Robinson was playing into their hands, or buying the white press’ agenda. “To the New York Age newspaper, Harlemites were split sharply on the issue. Robinson had come back from Washington, ‘in the duel role’ of leader of his race and ‘handkerchief head’ ” (Rampersad; 215).

What Jackie didn’t realize was that in negating Robeson’s remarks and by testifying against him, he destroyed what respect and admiration any blacks had left for the influential Robeson. The House got exactly what they wanted from Robinson; a way to remove the “un-American Activist” from public light.

Some members of the black press, like the Baltimore Afro-American, felt that Robinson did more to spearhead a movement against racism then to knock Robeson’s communist remarks; “The Baltimore Afro-American reported that HUAC’s maneuver in summoning Robinson had ‘boomeranged’, in that he had been much more severe on racism that communism. Its headline read: ‘Jackie Flays Bias in Army’ ” (Rampersad; 215).

Throughout his first three seasons with the Brooklyn Dodgers, Robinson was constantly in the nations spotlight and forever a target of the press. His every move, every word, every breath, was under constant watch by both the white and the black press. Living under these conditions took its toll on Robinson, and he would need an outlet off the field to vent his frustrations. One would imagine that Robinson could find a type of peace on the baseball diamond, but the stands, filled with bigots, hatred, and racism only added to the discomfort that came with being a pioneer. In his essay “The Greatest Season” Roger Kahn wrote of a visit he had with Robinson, shortly before his death;

“Before his death, I was visiting the Robinsons in North Stamford, Connecticut, and Mrs. Robinson,Rachel, whom we call Rae, said, ‘No single reporter, not one has ever asked me this. If Jack had a hard day at the ballpark, if the bigots were yelling at him, did he take it out on family when he got home? He didn’t,’ she said. ‘The only way I could tell was that he’d take a bucket of golf balls and his driver and start hitting them off the back lawn into the lake.’ Then Jack looked at me and his eyes were twinkling. “The golf balls,’ he said, ‘were white’ ” (Kahn; 42).

Jackie Robinson set out to do the impossible; he was going to break down the color barrier that cast a dark shadow over America’s pastime and he accomplished that task with the utmost candor and respect. He blazed a trail for the likes of black superstars of the future. Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Roberto Clemente, Sammy Sosa, and for those who follow in his path, all owe an infinite amount of gratitude to Robinson.

Hank Aaron once said “I hope black kids today can learn what Jackie went through, what I went through when I started, what all of us went through. Now there is a statue of me outside the stadium in Atlanta. When you think about it, that statue is as much a tribute to Jackie as it is to me. You don't hear his name much anymore. I think people have forgotten. Baseball should do something about that. Baseball owes Jackie Robinson something” (Allen; 199-200).

On April 15, 1997 Major League Baseball retired Jackie Robinson's number. In every stadium throughout the league, the Number 42 is proudly displayed, in honor of Baseball's Greatest Experiment.

Ten years later, on the 60th Anniversary marking Robinson's entry into baseball, Robinson was again honored, this time, by having every player in the league don his number.

Baseball's Great Experiment, Jackie Robinson: Part IV

108 Red Stitches continues its week long tribute to African American ballplayers in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr.

Joe Black, a right handed pitcher for the Dodgers during the fifties, was one of Robinson’s roommates on road trips. He and Robinson became close and in an interview with Robinson biographer Maurey Allen, Black said that “Jackie developed this internal defense system, this thick skin, and he just didn’t let it bother him. Sure he was dying inside, but he felt the real answer was just playing well and beating the other guys” (Allen; 189). Jimmy Cannon of the New York Post gave Jackie Robinson the nickname of “the loneliest man I have seen in sports” (Rampersad; 172).
The incident between Robinson and the Phillies opened a Pandora’s box for those who wished ill of Robinson. With the press focusing on the events of the three game series, those who had ripped Robinson quietly now had the opportunity to let fly their bigotry and hatred;

“The escalation of public disclosures about the ridicule and hatred heaped on Robinson by the Phillies unearthed more snakes. Hate mail increased. Death threats were plentiful. Scribbled letters came in daily, with vulgarities” (Allen; 132).

Had the press kept the problem quiet, (fans who attended the game knew little of the verbal bashing Robinson received from Chapman and his Phillies) the hate mail and death threats might have never happened, or at least have been put off for a time.
Robinson would later write that this experience almost ended his career. He believed he didn’t deserve such treatment and wrote;

“I felt tortured and I tried just to play ball and ignore the insults. [...] But it was really getting to me. What did the Phillies want from me? What, indeed, did Mr. Rickey expect of me? I was, after all, a human being.For one wild and rage-crazed minute I thought; To hell with Mr. Rickey’s noble experiment. To hell with the image of the patient black freak I was supposed to create. I could thrown down my bat, stride over to that Phillies dugout, grab one of those white sons of bitches and smash his teeth in with my despised black fist. Then I could walk away from it all.” (Rampersad; 172-73).

Robinson’s building frustration began to poison his relationships with those that surrounded him. Eventually, the Dodger began to burn bridges with the press, both black and white. Their responses further frustrated a man who just wanted to play the game, nothing more. Wendell Smith had shown that, in his column “Sports Beat, the journalist’s relationship with Robinson was worsening and accused Robinson of showing signs of ingratitude;

“This, it seems, is time for someone to remind Mr. Robinson that the press has been especially fair to him throughout his career. Were it not for the press, Robinson would be ‘just another athlete’ insofar as the public concerned. If it had not been for the press-the sympathetic press-Mr. Robinson would have
probably still been tramping around the country with Negro teams, living under what he has called ‘intolerable conditions’. [...] Mr. Robinson’s memory, as it seems, is getting shorter and shorter. That is especially true in the case of the many newspapermen
who have befriended him throughout his career” (Rampersad; 206-7).

Sam Lacy, one of Robinson’s original ardent supporters, began to attack him. In attempts to correct Jackie, Lacy wrote in the Baltimore Afro-American;

“In his (Joe Louis) at the top of boxing he has NEVER had to deny having made a statement, he has NEVER criticized the people who gave him his chance, and he has NEVER blamed someone else for anything that happened” (Rampersad; 207).

Lacy wanted Robinson to remember where he came from and to watch his mouth. Becoming a the press’ target would only further incense Robinson, and lead to more heated confrontations between the two. Luckily, Robinson found an ally in a familiar place.

To be continued.

Baseball's Great Experiment: Jackie Robinson, Part III

Continued from Part II of the week long tribute to African American ballplayers in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr.

Officials weren’t the only ones who were leery of having a Negro play in the majors. Some of the Dodgers, in a movement spearheaded by second baseman Dixie Walker, began “plotting” against the idea of having Robinson in a Brooklyn uniform. Once manager Leo Durocher caught wind of their intentions, he quickly called a team meeting and told the rebels “I don’t care if the guy is yellow or black, or if he has stripes like a fucking zebra. I’m manager of this team, and I say he plays. What’s more, I say he can make us all rich. An’ if you can’t use the money, I’ll see that you’re traded” (Golenbock; 18).

The white press would continue to attack Rickey and Robinson, especially writers from the Deep South. Atlanta Journal sports editor Ed Danforth wrote “I don’t see why a top flight Negro ballplayer would be so anxious to play in the white leagues when he is doing so well in his own organization” (Tygiel; 74). “George White of the Dallas News described the Dodger action as ‘unfair’ to both Robinson and the South, where an established way of life was threatened” (Tygiel; 74).

The black press would begin to levy an unfair burden upon Robinson’s shoulders. They saw Robinson as a figure head that would spearhead a Civil Rights movement. “Sam Lacy cast Robinson in the role of a greater ‘national benefactor’ than President Truman. ‘Alone Robinson represents a weapon far more potent than the combined forces of all our liberal legislation,’ contended Lacy” (Tygiel; 75). Wendell Smith, a prominent figure in the black media, wrote that Robinson had “the hopes, aspirations, and ambitions of thirteen million black Americans heaped upon his broad, sturdy shoulders” (Tygiel; 75).

Robinson officially broke the color barrier in baseball on Opening Day of the 1947 season. The Brooklyn Dodgers played the Boston Braves at Ebbets Field in a game that “went off without a hitch”. Arthur Daley, of the New York Times wrote of the game;

“The debut of Jackie Robinson was quite uneventful, even though he had the unenviable distinction of snuffing out a rally by hitting into a remarkable double play. [...] The muscular Negro minds his own business and shrewdly makes no effort to push himself. He speaks quietly and intelligently when spoken to and already has made a strong impression.” (Daley; 32).

It wasn’t until the series with the Braves ended that Robinson began to face the racism that would follow him throughout his career. The Philadelphia Phillies followed the Braves into Brooklyn, and led by their manager Benjamin Chapman, began to verbally assault Robinson with everything they had;

“And Jackie Robinson was a nigger. He was also snowflake and Little Black Sambo. He was accused of sleeping with the white wives of his teammates. He was told he was spreading contagious diseases among his teammates, and his teammates were browbeaten with that time-honored phrase of bigots-nigger lover. The intensity of the attacks were beyond what anyone had ever heard. Chapman vilified Robinson every chance he had. [...] The language was so vile that National League President Ford Frick ordered Chapman to cease and desist.” (Allen; 130-31).

Chapman would later blame Robinson for keeping him out of the Hall of Fame, and pointed to this incident as “bad press” for his career. In his biography written by Arnold Rampersad, Robinson recalled the series with the Phillies and described it as one he would never forget. Robinson wrote;

“Tuesday April 22, 1947, off all the unpleasant days in my life, brought me nearer to cracking up that I ever had been.’ Starting to the plate in the first inning, I cold scarcely believe my ears. Almost as if it had been synchronized by some master conductor, hate poured forth from the Phillies dugout. Hey nigger, why don’t you go back to the cotton field where you belong? They’re waiting for you in the jungles, black boy! Hey, snowflake, which one of those white boys’ wives are you dating tonight?
We don’t want you here nigger. Go back to the bushes!” (Rampersad; 172).

And Chapman, the ring leader, wondered why he was never inducted into the Hall of Fame.

To be continued.

Baseball's Great Experiment, Jackie Robinson: Part II

Continued from Part I of 108 Red Stitches tribute to African American Ballplayers, part of a week long series honoring Dr. Marting Luther King, Jr.

After his discharge from the Army, Robinson soon found himself in a new uniform; the uniform of the Kansas City Monarchs, a baseball team in the Negro League. At the time Robinson began playing for the Monarchs, the Negro League had just suffered a setback in attempts to break down the color barrier in baseball. Major League baseball was looking for excuses to keep black players out of the league and eventually struck gold in the form of the black press. In his novel Baseball’s Great Experiment, Jules Tygiel discusses the actions of a prominent member of the black press, Sam Lacy.

“Lacy and other black writers frequently criticized the absence
of fundamentals in the Negro Leagues. Some black athletes
excelled in hitting or fielding or base running, Lacy contended,
but few demonstrated the all-around talent necessary for
success in the majors” (Tygiel; 84).

In attempts to jump start or motivate the players in the Negro Leagues, Lacy wrote “I am reluctant to say that we haven’t a single man in the ranks of colored baseball who could step into the major league uniform and disport himself after the fashion of a big leaguer” (Tygiel; 84). This comment gave the authorities of “white baseball” something to build off of. If their own press didn’t believe that blacks could play in the majors, why should we give them a chance to prove themselves?
Robinson would continue to play for the Monarchs as the racially driven debate continued. Robinson wasn’t the best player in the Negro Leagues, so it was a surprise to him when the general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers approached him with an offer to play for his franchise. In an essay written by Peter Dreier titled “Jackie Robinson’s Legacy; Baseball, Race and Politics” the topic of “baseball’s great experiment” is discussed. Dreier writes;

“He (Branch Rickey) knew that if the Robinson ‘experiment’
failed, the cause of baseball integration would be set back for
many years thereafter. He could have chosen other Negro
League players greater talent or name recognition, but he
wanted someone who could be what today we call a ‘role-model’.
Robinson was articulate and well educated. Although born in the
segregated Deep South, he lived among whites in his Pasadena
neighborhood, at school, and in college, and he played on
integrated sports teams.” (44).

Branch Rickey invited members of the press to attend the signing of Robinson to a major league contract. Once the press realized why they had been invited, the room fell eerily quiet. The writers realized this was the beginning of a new era in baseball, and frankly, they did not know how to handle the situation. In a sign of the times Al Parsley, of the Montreal Herald, wrote in his article of Robinson “His color is the hue of ebony. By no means can he be called a brown bomber or a chocolate soldier” (Tygiel; 72). This was a chance for the members of the press to introduce a new ballplayer to the world, but all they could concentrate on was the color of his skin.
Members of the white press began to doubt Rickey’s selection of Robinson to break the barrier. Will Connally, a sportswriter from San Francisco, spearheaded that belief. Connally considered one of Robinson’s U.C.L.A. teammates, Kenny Washington, to be a better pioneer. Connally wrote “Kenny is a ‘white man’, a nice guy. [He] quoted Californians as saying, “Robinson, he’s a troublemaker” (Tygiel; 75-6).
The black press (or members within the black press) treated this situation far more differently than the white press did. Jules Tygiel writes “black newspapers placed the Robinson story on the front page, hailed the breakthrough in their editorials, and devoted a substantial proportion of their papers to the event” (Tygiel; 78-9). Robinson was quickly elevated to the same platform that held the likes of Joe Louis and Branch Rickey quickly became popular in many black communities.
Once Robinson signed on with the Dodgers, he was assigned to their farm team located in Montreal. The Dodgers hoped this would give him some shelter from the American media that would eventually try to break him. A year before Robinson would make his debut with the Dodgers, New York Times columnist Roscoe McGowen wrote in one of his articles “A bit of tradition was shattered today when Negroes were seated throughout the stands. Heretofore they have sat only in the small bleachers back of first base reserved for them. Possibly the Jackie Robinson influence...” (McGowen). In his essay “The Greatest Season, From Jackie Robinson to Sammy Sosa”, Roger Kahn writes about the task Robinson was about to undertake;

“With precious little help from the press, the umpires, and the
other ball players, Jackie Robinson integrated major league
baseball in 1947. [...] The policy of segregation that began in
1885 was unofficial and absolute. No documents attest to
baseball’s apartheid. There was simply an understanding among
every major league club owner and every minor league club owner
for more than sixty years that no blacks could play in so-called
organized ball.” (Kahn; 38).

Robinson’s entry into the league caused quite a stir amongst baseball officials. An article ran in the New York Times with different officials perspectives on Branch Rickey’s newest signing. Frank Shaughnessy, the president of the International League (where Robinson would play in the minors) confirmed what Kahn had written in his article on race relations in baseball;

“There’s no rule in baseball that says a Negro can’t play with a
club in organized ball. As long as any fellow’s the right type and
can make good and can get along with other players, he can play
ball” (Club Heads Give Views; 17).

Clark Griffith, the President of the Senators believed that baseball had no right “stealing” players from the Negro Leagues when he stated “The only question that occurs to me is whether organized ball has the right to sign a player from the Negro League. That is a well-established league and organized baseball shouldn’t take their players. The Negro league is entitled to full recognition as a full-fledged baseball organization” (Club Heads Give Views; 17). In short, Griffith was stating that blacks should stay where they belong, in the Negro Leagues. Horace Stoneham’s response to the signing of Robinson wasn’t much brighter; “the primary responsibility we have is finding places for our returning Service men, numbering into the hundreds, and only if they prove incapable will new players (blacks) be placed on our clubs.” (Club Heads Give Views; 17).

To be continued.

Baseball's Great Experiment: Jackie Robinson, Part I

In honor of Martin Luther King Day, the staff here at 108 Red Stitches decided honor King's Legacy by writing about African American Pioneers in the game of baseball. First up, is "Hall of Famer" Jackie Robinson. Robinson is most famous for breaking baseball's color barrier while playing for the Dodgers. Often overlooked is the way the media and others treated him at the time. Here is the first installment of "Baseball's Great Experiment; Jackie Robinson".

The Constitution says that “all men are created equal”. African Americans served with honor throughout World War One and World War Two. In the North, many African Americans were beginning to realize the dreams their ancestors laid out before them. America, during the middle of the 1940’s and the early 1950’s was undergoing a period of change. Change (although slow at first) effected everything except for the heart of America; baseball. Baseball has been given the title “America’s Pastime”, and up until the end of the second World War, baseball had refused to break down the color barrier that had clouded the game. All that would change with the help of “the founder of the farm system” and a no-name from the Negro Leagues.

In the film “Field of Dreams” Terrance Mann (played by James Earl Jones) says;

“The one constant through all the years has been baseball.
America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been
erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball
has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good, and what could be again.”(baseball-almanac.com)


There has never been a greater quote used to describe baseball, and never has their been a quote like this that so accurately depicts what Branch Rickey and Jackie Robinson were trying to accomplish during the Summer of 1947; erase America’s blackboard and rebuild it.

Born Jack Roosevelt Robinson on January 31, 1919, the son of a farmer from Cairo, Georgia would soon face one of life's many hardships that would shadow his life. His father, Jerry Robinson, (owner of a small farm) eventually grew weary of the monotonous motion of his life, and ran away to Florida with another woman. Jackie’s mother decided that Cairo was no place to raise her family, so they moved to Pasadena, California. In his book, Jackie Robinson, A Life Remembered, Maury Allen interviewed Mack Robinson, one of Jackie’s older brothers. Mac said “What my mother didn’t know, when she brought us here, what none of us knew, was that Pasadena was as prejudiced as any town in the South. They let us in alright, but they wouldn’t let us live” (Allen; 19).

Robinson would eventually attend UCLA because of the college’s proximity to his mother. There, Robinson excelled in football, basketball, and most importantly baseball. It was after his college days that Jackie Robinson began to show a glimpse of what was to come.

Just before being deployed oversees to fight in World War Two, Robinson engaged in a dispute that almost ended his military career in disgrace. Robinson got on a bus at Camp Hood (his military base located in Texas) to go to a hospital in Temple. Robinson decided to sit in one of the seats located in the middle of the bus and, eventually, an argument between Milton Renegar (the driver) and Robinson ensued. Renegar commanded Robinson to move to the back and threatened to cause trouble with his officers once they reached the hospital. Robinson refused. “Robinson had obeyed Texas law requiring Jim Crow seating on the bus. But he also knew that the Army now forbade segregation on its military bases” (Rampersad; 102). Things began to spiral out of control, and soon enough, Robinson found himself in front of a court martial panel. In one of Robinson’s biographies, Arnold Rampersad writes about the trail:

“Clearly, almost all of the whites involved were genuinely
mystified that Robinson disliked being badly treated. The white
private, Ben Mucklerath, denied that he had called Robinson a
nigger, as Robinson charged; but Corporal Elwood, the first MP
on the scene, testified the Mucklerath ‘came over to the pickup
and asked me if I got that nigger Lieutenant. Right then the
Lieutenant said, ‘ Look here, you s son-of-a-bitch, don’t you call
me no nigger’. (Rampersad; 107)

Robinson’s testimony to those hearing the court martial open a portal that reveals the strength and intestinal fortitude that he latter called upon when dealing with the media during his baseball career. Robinson took the stand, on his own free will, and delivered a speech that would effect the outcome of his trial;

“ To the question ‘Do you know what a nigger is?’ Robinson
replied: “I looked it up once, but my grandmother gave me a good
definition, she was a slave, and she said the definition of the word
was a low, uncouth person, and pertains to no one in particular; but I
don’t consider that I am low and uncouth. I looked it up in the
dictionary afterwards and it says the word nigger pertains to the
negroid or negro, but it is also a machine used in a saw mill for pushing
logs into the saws. I objected to being called a nigger by this private
or by anybody else. When I made this statement that I did not like
to be called a nigger, I told the Captain, I said, ‘If you call me a nigger,
I might have to say the same thing to you...I don't not consider
myself a nigger at all,I am a negro, but not a nigger.’ (Rampersad; 108).

Robinson was soon after acquitted of all charges against him, but the trail lasted long enough where Robinson wasn’t able to meet up with the rest of his battalion, who had just left for Omaha Beach. “On November 28, 1944, Robinson was ‘honorably relieved from active duty’ in the U.S. Army ‘by reason of physical disqualification’ (Rampersad; 111).

After his discharge, Robinson soon found himself in a new uniform.

To be continued.