By: Mike Carter
There are many names that may spring to mind when we talk about the vaunted legends of baseball: Babe Ruth, Cy Young, Hank Aaron, Ken Griffey, Jr. All made significant contributions to the game and are rightly remembered for their legacies.
But the most important legacy in the history of baseball is Jackie Robinson. There were other men before him who attempted to break the color barrier in MLB, but Jackie was the first to do it and have his sacrifices and talents stick in the game.
On April 15th, 1947, when my grandmother was pregnant with my father, Robinson took his position at first base for the then Brooklyn Dodgers. I point out my dad being in utero because he is still very much alive, and I would like to point out that this means 1947 was not that long ago. It’s a travesty that it took that long for MLB to break this barrier. But I guess when you look at MLB, even in 2022, it’s easy to see how behind the times they are, specifically, the owners and their mouthpiece, commissioner Rob Manfred. We won’t get started there tonight.
I have often tried to imagine, as a middle-aged white man who grew up in a large city and now lives in the comfort of suburbia with all of its comforts, what it would be like if I had been born with a different color skin. It’s not that I haven’t worked hard to get where I am in my life; it’s that I never once had to worry about skin color as I tried to make my mark in my life and my career. It’s an incredible gift that I didn’t realize I had until a few years ago. I never had to worry about being judged by the color of my skin, and I still do not.
I have often tried to imagine what Jackie Robinson went through in these years of brutal experience, an educated, brilliant man, athletically talented enough to letter in four sports at UCLA in the late 1930s and early 1940s, but born with brown skin color. A man with the patience of a saint to live through being spiked, being slurred and slandered, being threatened, a family man who was trying to do his job and get home to them safely each night. No different than most family men.
The thing is, I can’t imagine it. My temper would have gotten the better of me. I would never have been able to do it. I would have lashed out, been unable to take it, taken matters into my own hands. Jackie didn’t do that. He seethed and was angry, but knew that if he acted in vengeful fashion, the experiment and likely his career would be over. Imagine for a minute not being able to be the full person you are right now because of this fear. Because you were the symbol of the movement with exorbitant pressure on you. Because of the color of your skin and millions of people hating you without knowing anything about you. It hurts to think about. I have never had to do that.
I think about Jackie Robinson when I watch the standout minority players in the game today. As a White Sox fan, my beloved team is full of men who look nothing like me, who don’t speak my language, but speak the language that I love: baseball. Luis Robert. Eloy Jimenez. Jose Abreu. Yoan Moncada. Tim Anderson. Anderson is my favorite by far, the heart and soul and guts of a team with deep playoff aspirations. He exudes confidence and passion in his play, day in and day out. He plays the game with child’s mentality. He flips his bat and celebrates, he is brash, he has swagger, whatever you want to call it. I get excited watching him play. There are dozens of minority players you could choose here, including the players that grace your fantasy teams.
And the thing is, as I sit here on the eve of the 75th anniversary of Jackie Robinson finally and fully breaking the color barrier in MLB, none of this joy I feel watching my favorite players on my favorite team would be possible without the humility, service and sacrifice of Jackie Robinson.
But only did he have those qualities, he was one hell of a baseball player. During his 10-year MLB career, Robinson won the inaugural Rookie of the Year Award in 1947, was an All-Star for six consecutive seasons from 1949 through 1954, winning the National League Most Valuable Player Award in 1949—the first black player so honored. Robinson played in six World Series and was a key contributor to the Dodgers’ 1955 World Series championship. He was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1962. His number 42 is retired by EVERY MLB team.
His career stats are outstanding. In 11 seasons, Robinson had 1563 hits, 141 home runs, a .313 career batting average, 761 runs batted in, and 200 stolen bases. Put it altogether, and that was good for a 63.8 WAR. On average, he was good for 5.8 wins above replacement every season of his career. That’s All-Star, legacy level stats there.
Did you know that he also went on to become the first black baseball analyst on TV? Or that he was the first black man in the country to be elected to the vice presidency of a major corporation? In the 1960s, after his playing days, Robinson was able to start a financial institution that helped secure loans for black businesspeople and those seeking home loans. And recall that he used his name and stature to visit places in the deep, segregated South to fight for civil rights for all Americans.
I’ve seen the movies about him and read books about him, but still can ever know how he was able to do what he did, keep himself on an even keel, and excel the way that he did. Looking at his example, it makes me want to be a better human being and man. To try and understand people at a deeper level. To be compassionate and empathetic to those around me, to be kind to all people regardless of their upbringing, their creed, their skin color, their sexuality, their preferred gender, or those that are gender fluid. I don’t always understand but I can learn. As the poet Maya Angelou said so eloquently, once you know better, do better. And that’s a lesson every single person on this planet can and should learn.
Today, I tip my hat to Jackie Robinson, who died in 1972 at the age of 53 from complications for his diabetes. Do the same. Think about him and his legacy in a quiet moment. And think about trying to be a better person of character based on his legacy of perseverance in the face of almost insurmountable odds.