"A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives."
--Jackie Robinson


Jackie

On April 15th, Baseball celebrates the 60th Anniversary of Jackie Robinson’s debut in the big leagues. It is a fitting tribute for a man who was far more than an extraordinary ballplayer, but a great man whose life embraced the challenge of fulfilling the American Ideal, and gained iconic status for the dignified way he carried himself and the hope of equality.

On April 15th, 1947, the Brooklyn Dodgers defeated the Boston Braves 5-3 at Ebbets Field. The box score states that he played first base on that day, went 0-3 with a sacrifice bunt, reached on an error and scored the winning run in the eighth inning.

All in all, a pretty unremarkable line for a rookie in his Major League debut. However, this guy was no “rookie” in the game of life. He was a 28-year old former Army officer who was able to withstand an unimaginable degree of hatred and ill will, both on and off the field, only to forge a brilliant career as a team player, but as a pioneer for justice and equality.

Over the next ten baseball seasons, he was an integral part of a team that won six pennants and one World’s Championship (1955). Look at his numbers. His 1949 MVP season was off the charts. With a season like that in the modern era, Jackie could’ve named his price. His career numbers are impressive, to say the least.

But anyone who takes the time to consider his life, it wasn’t about the numbers. It was a matter of equal opportunity in life and taking personal responsibility for your actions. Prior to 1947, it was Baseball’s Great Shame that incredibly talented black ballplayers were prohibited from performing on the same stage as their white counterparts.

After the War, Jackie and a couple of other Negro League stars were “invited” to tryout for the Red Sox. The result was some numbskull shouting, “get those n------s off the field.” There’s no lack of irony in the fact that Jackie’s #42 is retired together with Cronin’s #4 in right field at Fenway Park.

In Brooklyn, Branch Rickey saw things differently than the racist Red Sox ownership and management. Rickey may have been penurious, but he knew how to build winning baseball teams. The offer was made, and the rest is history. The awesome responsibility of carrying the burden of being “the first” fell on Jackie’s shoulders, and how magnificently he carried that terrible weight. He and his family were subjected to death threats off the field, and on the field he was taunted by players (with spikes high) and fans alike with vile abuse.

When Jackie took the field, he was all business, especially on the base paths where he was a Holy Terror. He’d get on first and take a decent lead. The pitcher might throw over to first to keep him honest; no chance. He’d steal second, beating the throw by half a mile. By this time, the opponents didn’t know what was coming next. The next pitch was no sooner on the way to the plate and he’d be dusting himself off at third. Then, he’d be dancing up the third base line, completely flustering the pitcher’s rhythm, daring the pitcher to pick him off. There may have been one, if not two, more baserunners aboard because of the chaos Jackie created. Jackie watched the pitcher intently. Just as the pitcher would enter into his windup, Jackie broke for home with a fury. There would be a collision at the plate, a cloud of dust and the umpire signaling the runner safe at home.

By the time he closed out his career in 1956 at age 37, his hair had turned nearly white and his place as one of baseball’s best was secure. In December of that year, he was traded to the Giants, and rather than donning the colors of Brooklyn’s most hated rival, he retired.

Despite all their post-War success on the field and being hugely profitable, the Dodgers only lasted one more season in Brooklyn after Robinson retired. The community never recovered from the loss. Baseball was going west anyhow, so why was it necessary to cut the heart and soul out of Brooklyn? People these days speak of “Red Sox Nation” (a crass marketing scam). In Brooklyn, it was the genuine article. This team, and Ebbets Field were the force that unified a ethnically diverse, rough n’ tumble city and the Dodgers were a matter of civic pride. There was no reason—save for more to be had elsewhere—for the team to have left town.

By the time he walked away from baseball, the game featured many brilliant black ball players, Larry Doby, Monte Irvin, Ernie Banks, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Roberto Clemente and Frank Robinson all went to Hall Of Fame careers. While all of this was going on, Jackie embraced the fight for equality on the national stage. He was successful in business and preached a message of self-reliance.

By the early seventies, his body was ravaged by the effects of diabetes; he and his wife had lost a son, and perhaps the weight he carried so valiantly for so long had taken its toll. His last public appearance was at the 1972 World Series, when he told the crowd in Cincinnati (a town where his life was threatened a generation earlier) that he looked forward to the day when a black man would be a major league manager. Within a matter of days, he was gone. He was 53.

…in 1975 Frank Robinson was named Manager of the Cleveland Indians.

Congratulations to a Genuine American Hero!