42

Looking back on my nearly 56 years on this earth, I really don’t think I have ever been a focal point of prejudice of any kind.  So to pretend that I understand the pain someone goes through who has been the victim of prejudice would be a lie.  I don’t understand their pain, and there is no way I ever will.

I don’t know if I would call myself a baseball historian or not.  Certainly not like Donald Honig, or Lawrence Ritter, or Roger Angell or other similar writers whose works I have enjoyed through the years.  No, I am not in their league, but do know a lot about the history of baseball, certainly more than the average person.  I don’t say that to brag, but to say baseball is one subject I know a lot about.  I also know a lot about airlines and airports.  That doesn’t make me smarter than anyone else.  Most of us have at least one subject in which we know more than the average person, a subject in which we have immersed ourselves.  A subject in which many would consider us an expert.

Before I went to the movies Sunday afternoon to see “42,” I knew the Jackie Robinson story.  I knew he had grown up in California, had starred in baseball and football at UCLA.  I knew he had gone into the Army, had been court-martialed for refusing to move to the back of a bus.  I knew once he had been discharged from the Army, he began playing baseball for the Kansas City Monarchs of the Negro baseball Leagues.

I knew Brooklyn Dodger President and General Manager Branch Rickey was looking to sign an African-American to sign to a contract so he could integrate baseball.  But he wasn’t looking for just any African-American, he was looking for the one player who, as the movie pointed out, had the courage to walk away from confrontation.

I knew the story.  There was really nothing in the movie that I didn’t already know or had heard or read. 

But the movie brought the Jackie Robinson story to life.  It put racism, Jim Crow laws, the pure hatred of one human being to another right there in living color for the world to see.  The words that have filled so many books on baseball suddenly had more meaning than before.  It was real, it was scary, it was sad.

Brian Helgeland wrote and directed “42”, which is more about human relations than it is about baseball.  Helgeland brings to life the racism Robinson endured, from his own teammates signing a petition saying they don’t want to play with him, to opposing players and managers telling slurs and insults at him while he is in the batter’s box.  Opposing pitchers threw at his head, opposing players tried to spike him.  Through it all, Robinson did not retaliate.  Did it bother him?  Absolutely, Did he want to quit?  You bet.  But he never retaliated, he never stooped to their level.  He persevered, he fought on, he played baseball.

One of my favorite scenes, and certainly one of the more poignant ones, happened when the Dodgers were playing the Reds in Cincinnati.  The Dodger shortstop was future Hall-of-Famer Pee Wee Reese, who was also a Southener from Kentucky.  If you are familiar with the story at all, you know the abuse Robinson endured was particularly brutal from Southerners.  When the Dodgers played in Cincinnati and St. Louis, the barbs were personal and painful.

But in this scene, between innings, when the Dodger infield was throwing the ball around the infield, Reese comes over to Robinson to talk to him, eventually putting his arm around him as they talked.  Reese, in his own way, was showing the people in the stands, in the baseball world, and yes his own Dodger teammates, that he accepted Robinson for what he was, a teammate and a valued member of the Dodgers.

But the movie is also about Branch Rickey.  The man who took the chance and brought Robinson to the big leagues.  Rickey always had Robinson’s back, looking out for him, trying to protect him.  Yes, Rickey signed Robinson to a contract because it was the right thing to do, but he also did it because he wanted to win games, and knew Robinson would help the Dodgers be a better ballclub.  Indeed, the 1947 Dodgers, with rookie Jackie Robinson playing first base, won the National League pennant.  Just as they did in 1949, and 1952, ’53, ’55 and ’56.  Six pennant in 10 years, because Rickey integrated baseball.  In 1948, Robinson was joined by Roy Campanella, then Don Newcombe, Junior Gilliam and Sandy Amoros.

Chadwick Boseman does a good job as Jackie Robinson.  The smile, the way he held the bat and ran the bases, Boseman nailed Robinson’s character.  Harrison Ford also deserves recognition for portraying Branch Rickey.  When we got home from the movie, I showed Marilyn pictures from the 1950’s and ‘’50’s of Rickey.  He and Ford could have passed for twins.

I was born in 1957, and grew up in the suburbs of St. Louis.  From the time I went to kindergarten, we had African-American children in our classes.  We ate lunch with them, studied with them, had recess with them.  It was no big deal, in fact, we didn’t know it was a big deal in other parts of the country.  I am grateful I was shielded from that bigotry, and do not have to carry the burden of any racist actions today.

I doubt “42” wins an Academy Award for Best Picture.  But at the very least, it should challenge us to take a look at ourselves, where we have come from, and make us vow never to let racism gain a foothold in America again.

I knew the Jackie Robinson story before.  But now, thanks to “42,” I feel like I know the person who wore the number.

 

This column originally appeared in the May 30, 2013 edition of the Pocahontas Star Herald.