Reggie Kidd, Wearing Number 42

61 years ago this past Tuesday (April 15, 1947), Jackie Robinson first took the field for the Brooklyn Dodgers. This Tuesday many Major League Baseball players honored Robinson by wearing his retired number 42.

I wore 42 in my heart.

George Will maintains that Jackie Robinson runs a close 2nd to Martin Luther King, Jr., as most important black person in American history.  And Ken Burns contends that Robinson’s play on the Brooklyn Dodgers beginning in 1947 was the 1st real progress in civil rights in the U.S. since the Civil War.  Will suggests that the heroic equipoise with which Robinson played was not just one of the great achievements in the annals of all sport, but was one of the great achievements of the human drama anywhere, any time.  I would agree with each of these statements.  It was, in fact, Robinson’s crossing over the color line in baseball that pricked the conscience of the US of post-WWII, and enabled the civil rights movement.   

But more needs to be said.  It is arguable whether Jackie Robinson would have happened without Branch Rickey, president and general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, the man who put Robinson in a Dodger uniform and helped him exercise the “ferocious forbearance” (Gerald Early) that turned this country around on race.

Rickey’s first name was that of the founder of his branch of the Christian faith, Wesley.  As a farm boy in Ohio he memorized Scripture, taught himself Greek and Latin, and promised his mother he would never drink, swear, or profane the Sabbath — his refusal to play on Sundays would one day cost him a slot on his favorite team, the Cincinnati Reds.   

During his 20s, Rickey became convinced that the line of racial separation in our society and the hatred and fear that under-girded it were inconsistent with the faith he had learned and embraced as a boy. 

In 1903, Branch Rickey was 21, and was putting himself through Ohio Wesleyan University, partly by being the coach of the school’s baseball team.  One of his star players was an 18 year old black, Charles “Tommy” Thomas.  On a road trip to Notre Dame, a South Bend hotel clerk refused admission to Thomas; the black player suggested he simply return to OWU and forget it.  Rickey insisted Thomas be allowed to sleep on a cot in his room, and then he watched Tommy Thomas sitting on the end of the cot:

his huge shoulders hunched and his large hands clasped between his knees. … Tears welled … spilled down his black face and splashed to the floor.  Then his shoulders heaved convulsively and he rubbed one great hand over the other with all the power of his body, muttering, “Black skin, … black skin.  If I could only make ‘em white.”  He kept rubbing and rubbing as though he would remove the blackness by sheer friction. 

Over 40 years later in March of 1945, five months before he ever met Jackie Robinson,  Rickey told sportscaster Red Barber: “all these years I’ve been hearing that boy crying, and now I’m going to do something about it.”  Indeed, Rickey had spent 40 years putting himself in a position to do just that — when he threw his arm out in professional baseball he went to law school, becoming general manager first of the Cleveland Browns and then of the Brooklyn Dodgers.

It’s amazing what can happen to convictions gained in one’s 20’s when they are backed by 40 years of “a long obedience in the same direction.”

By the end of WWII it was clear to many that Jim Crow’s days were numbered, and even though all the pro owners except Branch Rickey were still dead set against bringing a black player into the big leagues, many knew it was a matter of time.  And there were plenty of established players who were expected and were expecting to be brought in, chief among them Satchel Paige (who would indeed help the Cleveland Indians win the World Series in 1948). 

But in the end Rickey was willing to take an unproven minor leaguer, because he was looking for someone special, someone with an x-factor, something more than ability. Rickey believed that the first black player in the majors would have to be able not to retaliate — any explosive incident on or off the field would, in Rickey’s view, set everything back decades.  What his scouts turned up was Robinson, whom Rickey would later describe as “Christian by inheritance and practice.”

Rickey’s signing of Robinson took place during an intense 3 hour interview  on a hot afternoon in August of 1945. “You will be carrying a tremendous load,” he told Robinson.  Biographer Murray Polner’s account is worth telling in full (what follows is from Polner’s Branch Rickey: A Biography, [Atheneum, 1982], pp. 166-167):

Reaching for a book under the mountainous mass of papers on his desk, he (Rickey) shuffled impatiently through its pages and then stopped, “It’s Giovanni Papini’s The Life of Christ, son.  Ever hear of it?”

Robinson shook his head. 

Rickey barely looked up at him and began to read aloud.  First, he quoted:

“Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: But whosoever shall smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. …”

And then he read with excitement and feeling: “… To answer blows with blows, evil deeds with evil deeds, is to meet the attacker on his own ground, to proclaim oneself as low as he….  Only he who has conquered himself can conquer his enemies.”

He placed the book down.

“Now,” he said softly to Robinson, “can you do it?  You will have to promise that for the first three years in baseball you will turn your other cheek.  I know you are naturally combative.  But for three years — three years — you will have to do it the only way it can be done.  Three years — can you do it?”

Robinson was an intense Christian, but Rickey also described him later as excessively competitive, “instantly violent by natural disposition, immediately ready to counterattack, relishing physical involvement and capable of dealing physically with anyone he encountered.”

Can you do it?

What will you do, Rickey stood again and demanded, shouting, what will you do when they call you a black son of a bitch?  When they not only turn you down for a hotel room but also curse you out?

Can you do it?

Rickey was perspiring, despite the whirring of an electric fan.  His brow and shirt were damp.

Nervously, Rickey sat and then, just as quickly rose again, walking to he front of the desk to where Robinson sat.  Robinson was tense and involuntarily clenched his fists.  Abruptly, Rickey swung his bulky fist at Robinson’s jaw.

“What do you do?” he screamed.

“Mr. Rickey,” the young black man whispered hoarsely, “I’ve got two cheeks.  Is that it?”

That, of course, was the answer Rickey was looking for.  Robinson signed — and for three tough years Robinson turned the other cheek, because Jesus and Mr. Rickey told him to.  And this country took arguably its most significant steps towards racial reconciliation since the Civil War, because two men linked their arms in Christ. 

Many of us have learned — wrongly — that forgiveness is weakness, and that turning the other cheek is otherworldly idealism. But every once in a while we get a glimpse of reality: the good news is that good has overcome evil, and love has triumphed over hatred. A full-orbed gospel — one that is the power of God for salvation — includes our share in Jesus’ cruciform life.

I don’t know what others thought they were doing Tuesday when they wore Number 42 — but for me, Tuesday was about wearing what most marked Robinson’s crossing baseball’s color line, the cross of Jesus Christ.

Comments

[Amy Lauger]

This is awesome, Reggie! Thanks for writing it.

[Ike]

Thanks so much for that blog on Rickey and Robinson. That was a great application of Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek. How hard that must have been to find a man who had the pride and determination to be a great baseball player and, at the same time, have the humble and Christlike heart needed to hold his retaliation in check.

Thanks for telling us that side of the story!!!

[Soon]

That was an amazing story. It's cool to get a different perspective on what happened besides the angle that ESPN shows.