Happy Birthday Mr. Robinson
By Karlsie
On the eve of Jackie Robinson's 87th birthday, I wrote a letter to two of my siblings recalling the time we met him.
It was on a family trip to Florida during February school vacation week. Disney had just opened their east coast theme park and my folks thought it would be fun to take the three of us still home: my brother (who was a senior in high school), my younger sister (who was in the 4th grade) and me (who was in 7th grade). Because my father hadn't quite anticipated the draw of Disney during school vacation week, we found ourselves searching for a hotel room after our days in Orlando.
When we finally found one that had a room, my parents snagged it as quickly as they could. (It was cramped, but at least we didn't have to drive as far north as Georgia.) We kids went on an excursion to the lobby, somehow an ice fight started. I don't remember who started it, but it was a lot of fun when a door flew open and a tall, black man came out and started yelling at us.
"Who are you kids?! Where are your parents?"
I remember being scared - the guy had to be 10 feet tall (OK, he was actually 6 feet tall, but I was maybe all of 5 feet at that point if I stood on tip-toes) and he was ancient... at least as old as my dad, who was maybe 50, at that point. I was trying to cower behind my sister and she was trying to cower behind our brother. The fact that we didn't just run immediately still amazes me, we did recover and book towards the room, but we were all frozen for what felt like an eternity - but was probably just a second or two in reality.
Hearing the commotion, the folks came out of the room and made apologies for us the way parents do. Once the adrenaline rush was over, I remember thinking, "Man he was a jerk," which is what you'd expect from a 12 year old who just got bagged having an ice fight in a Florida hotel hallway.
When we were back in our own room and settled down, my father announced, "You know who that was, don't you?"
We all looked at him.
"That was Jackie Robinson, the first black baseball player."
Apparently he was in town for a celebrity pro-am golf tournament and had the misfortune of being across the hall and a few doors down from us... and the ice machine.
At the time I remember thinking, "What's the big deal, there are lots of black baseball players. In particular, at the time, was Hammerin' Hank Aaron who was chasing one of Babe Ruth's records. It was the first time in my life it ever occurred to me that this was a big deal. Of course, I was a girl and I wasn't supposed to like baseball so I remember trying to follow things on the sly if they went beyond trying to get Red Sox baseball cards - that was safe for girls but knowing stats was not.
I guess that's the real tribute to Jackie Robinson that a kid like me didn't think twice about black baseball players. When he crossed that line some 25 years earlier I wonder if he thought, "Some day they won't even notice a player's skin color, just their talent and stats."
As an adult, I learned Branch Rickey, the man responsible for bringing Robinson to the Dodgers from the Negro Leagues realized he had to win over Red Barber, the voice of the Dodgers, because how Barber called the games would be how people perceived Robinson. Two years before brining Robinson into the Dodgers, Rickey took Barber out for a meal to pitch his idea.
Barber was a Southern gentleman and proud of it. He recounted how Rickey took him out and told him over a meal about his plan and asked if Barber could call the games if there was a black player on the field. Barber wanted to think it over and he went home, ready to resign from his job when his wife asked him why. In that moment, Barber claimed to have had an ephiphany and understood that there was more to baseball and life than segregating people because of their skin color. The next day he went to Rickey and said he'd do it, he'd call the games. Rickey and Robinson both credited Barber for people accepting Robinson on the field because Barber called the games as if he were just another rookie rather than someone special because of his race.
When the rest of Brooklyn heard that, they came to see Robinson as just another player as well. The rest, as they say, is history.
I sometimes think that if I had a time machine, one of the things I would like to do is go back and watch Robinson in his rookie year. It must have been astounding to watch an athlete of his caliber endure what he did and still be able to deliver those numbers. He hit .297 that first year - the year he won "Rookie of the Year" honors - in spite of people throwing at his head, sliding into second with their spikes up trying to cripple him, the cat calls, epithets, threats and everything else. It sort of makes you wonder if we could do some of our best work under those conditions.
Sure there were other great black players in the Negro Leagues at the time, many of whom eventually came over to the majors, but Robinson's the one that took that giant leap of faith that forever changed the face of the game. His entry made it easier for guys like Roberto Clemente and other minorities to eventually just play ball.
For close to 60 years, baseball has been integrated. There are players from all over the world and it seems to go in phases. The Dominican players, while still a force in MLB, are starting to give way to the Venezualans after that, who knows. While the Greek Olympic team was made up mostly of Americans of Greek heritage (there's a reason Steven King refers to Kevin Youkilis as the Greek god of walks), maybe something will click in the Mediteranian and we'll start seeing Italians or Greeks or Cypriotes.
Maybe the next wave will be from the old Soviet block: Russians, Ukrainians, Serbians and such. More and more Japanese players are making the adjustment to the American leagues and you can't ignore that Korea has produced some pretty good pitchers over the past few years. Maybe it will be kids from Massachusetts or Florida that dominate soon - you never know.
It doesn't really matter much to someone like me who's been doing the happy dance over Covelli Loyce "Coco" Crisp. I told one of my brothers at Christmas time that we'd be signing him and he was convinced we were trading Wells for Roberts and Crisp would be staying with the tribe, but I knew better. (Speaking of Dominicans, I *really* wanted Vlad Guerrero - but I knew the Angels would never give him up. Coco was my second choice and Damon, quite frankly, was my third choice and I said as much as early as mid-October.... but I digress.)
This spring will be the World Baseball Classic where we'll have a real World Series. The US is in a tough bracket, but I'm excited to see how different teams will stack up. Finally I get to see the Cubans and the Japanese play against teams I suspect may dominate (like the Dominicans). It will be cool.
But the reality is, 60 years ago something like that wasn't even a thought, let alone a blip on the radar - which makes it that much cooler to me. That this is happening at all is something to be celebrated.
In the end, I think I'll hang onto that one brush of greatness we had that day in the hallway of some Florida hotel. Even if it was one of those stupid kid moments where you don't quite get it until you're old enough to realize what a moron you were as a kid. On the other hand, if it hadn't been for that ice fight in the hallway, we wouldn't have had that brush that has me rambling on at the end of a long week.
So on Tuesday, I think I'll kick back and raise my glass skyward and wish Jackie a happy 87th birthday before I go back to checking hot stove reports and counting the final days until pitchers and catchers report in and invite you to do the same.
