The color barrier

With seemingly half the Major Leagues prepared to wear #42 in tribute to Jackie Robinson, here's a little history on how close we were to talking about #39...


Up in my room, Jackie was dealing the cards. We finished the first hand. I pulled out a cigar and lit it. Jackie said he didn't smoke.

"I hear you went to see Mr. Rickey last week," he said, casually.

The surprise showed on my face. "Yeah, that's right," I said after a while. "How did you know?"

"I was over there myself," he said. "What happened with you?"

"Nothing much. We talked, or rather, Mr. Rickey did. Man, he's the talkingest man I ever did see."

"Did you sign?"

"You mean did I sign to play for him?"

"Yeah."

"No. I didn't. I did agree that I wouldn't sign with any other team before next season, but I let him know right quick that I didn't want to play for no Brown Dodgers. Heck, Jackie, I'm an established star in our league. I've put in a lot of years, and I'm not going to give it up to take a chance on something that's just getting started and might not last. No sir, not me."

"Did Mr. Rickey tell you he wanted you to play for the Brown Dodgers?"

"No, come to think of it," I said. "He didn't even mention them. He didn't mention signing with anybody in particular. But I told him I wasn't interested in signing. I told him I was making three thousand for six months with Baltimore and two thousand more playing winter league ball. I told him I got a bonus of two or three hundred at the end of each season, too. And Mr. Rickey said, 'that's good money,' and I told him, 'darned right it is.' And then he started talking about something else. I don't know what. He talked about everything. How about you?"

"I signed," Jackie said quietly. "But it's a secret. Mr. Rickey told me to keep it quiet, so you got to promise me not to tell anybody."

"Sure, okay, I won't say anything. It's okay for you, I guess. You've only been in the league one year. I'm a little younger than you, but I've been at it longer, and I'm established. And I've got kids to think about. You can take a chance with a new league, and it don't make much difference. But it's like I told Mr. Rickey, I can't afford to."

Jackie waited until I was finished. Then he picked up the cards from the table and shuffled them idly.

"I didn't sign with the Brown Dodgers," he said quickly. "I'm going to play for Montreal."

Jackie wasn't calm now. His voice was loud with excitement. He knew he was revealing something important, something eventful. He watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction.

"What do you mean, Montreal?" I asked.

"I'm going to be the first Negro in organized baseball," Jackie said. "I'm flying up to Montreal tomorrow for the official signing ceremony. It's going to be a big thing - cameras and everything. Mr. Rickey says that in a year or two I can make the big leagues. Do you realize what this means, Campy? It's the end of Jim Crow in baseball. I'm all excited. I'm proud, and I'm scared, too."

I sat dumbfounded. My cigar went out, but I didn't realize it and kept puffing away. For the longest while I didn't say a word. I just sat and stared at Jackie. He didn't seem to notice how I felt. His face was still all lit up. His eyes were looking past me. He was a picture of happiness. Then he grinned at me. I grinned back, and broke into a laugh.

"I'm really happy for you, Jackie," I said. I know you'll make it, and I wish you all the luck in the world. Now take a good look at yours truly. You're looking at a dumb boy. Man, you're looking at the all-time prize. So that's what it was all about. Well, I'll be darned." ...

Jackie got up to leave. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm glad for you, Jackie, real glad. Don't you be afraid of nothing. You're a good ballplayer, you'll make it. It won't be as rough as you think. I've played with white teams, lots of them - with them and against them. They're men, just like us. There's nothing to worry about."

"I hope so," he said. "I sure hope so."

-Roy Campanella, "It's Good to be Alive", 1959


For people of my race this was a heroic saga, and I was the hero. For years it was my name that was in the headlines, but the real hero of the story was Branch Rickey. It may seem like an overstatement, but I really believe that in breaking down the color barrier in baseball, our "national game," he did more for the Negroes than any other white man since Abraham Lincoln. He helped bring about a new national outlook on race relations. ...

In his crusade to smash the color barrier, Mr. Rickey needed every talent of his complex character, plus the foresight of a chess master. Long before I entered the picture, he spent $150,000 scouting the United States, Latin America, Cuba, for promising Negro players.

When he signed me to play with Brooklyn, he consulted a New York sociologist to gauge Negro reaction, and addressed a group of thirty prominent Brooklyn Negroes. "This step we have taken in organized baseball," he said to the group, "is certain to benefit greatly every Negro in the nation. But one big risk to Jackie Robinson's success is - bluntly - that the Negro people themselves could ruin it. So I'm here tonight to beg you to do what you can to see that no Negro adds to the burdens of Jackie Robinson. We don't want Negroes to strut, to hail his entrance into the Major Leagues as a victory by Negroes over white people. We don't want brawling in the stands. We don't want any premature Jackie Robinson Days or Jackie Robinson Nights - you must remember that white ballplayers are human beings, too. We don't want what can be another great milestone in the progress of American race relations turned into an ultimate tragedy."

-Jackie Robinson, from "The Most Unforgettable Character I've Met", 1961

With Robinson celebrations planned all over baseball, it's crucial to remember that Jackie wasn't the only one involved in integrating baseball. He wasn't in a position to demonstrate the initiative of Curt Flood, who battled the reserve clause all alone and sacrificed his career in the process, but he had the strength of character to handle the greatness that was thrust upon him. And if Branch Rickey and Happy Chandler aren't prominently mentioned when all the ceremonies are going on, it will be a serious disservice to the others who fought so hard to integrate the game of baseball.