Among my boyhood friends growing up in Brooklyn, New York, was a dark-skinned, Irish-Italian boy by the name of Robert that we nicknamed ``Jack.''
Of course, we never called him ``Jack'' when talking to our parents about
him, and to teachers and strangers he was always Bobby. On the streets,
however, and especially during ball games, he was ``Jack.''
He probably didn't particularly like the nickname, but he also probably
recognized that in our familiar appellation there was a large degree of
admiration.
As a maturing teenager, Bobby prevailed upon us to call him ``Duke'' after
his favorite baseball player, ``Duke'' Snider, the classy centerfielder
at that time for the Brooklyn Dodgers. Oddly enough, in critical moments
of big games of softball or stick ball, where we often played for money
against teams from other neighborhoods, we reverted to calling him ``Jack.''
Bobby
was probably the best ballplayer among us. He wasn't the biggest or the
strongest hitter or the fastest runner, but he had the surest hands of any
of us in fielding a ball, and he could throw a ball faster and farther than
any of us. He also had a savvy for the game that many of us lacked and a
way of making key plays or getting key hits in big games.
Because of his outstanding skills as a ballplayer, we had nicknamed him
``Jack.'' Without any pretensions and certainly without any racial overtones,
we simply connected Bobby's exceptional ball playing skills with his dark
Mediterranean complexion and called him ``Jack'' after the best ballplayer
in the world who also had dark skin: Jack Roosevelt Robinson of the Brooklyn
Dodgers.
Throughout this year of 1997, Americans, especially those who watch baseball
games on television, will be reminded again and again that 50 years ago
the racist color line of the major leagues was broken by the Brooklyn Dodgers
when they signed Robinson to play first base (He later played second base,
third base and left field in his ten-year career with the Dodgers).
A special patch commemorating Robinson's historic achievement graces the
sleeves of the uniforms being worn by all players and umpires in the majors
this year.
Spot
promotionals recur between innings of broadcast games that repeat thanks
to Robinson: Thanks from Vin Scully, voice of the Los Angeles Dodgers, saying
thanks for Henry Aaron's 755 home runs, which would have been impossible
without Robinson's pioneering; thanks from Richie Ashburn, the former Phillies
All-Star, now also in the broadcasting booth, saying thanks for teaching
us; thanks from several Negro League players; thanks from Ken Griffey Jr.
for not giving up.
Even basketball Hall of Famer Bill Russell has acknowledged a personal-achievement
debt to Robinson.
At New York City's campus of Long Island University, a three-day seminar
was conducted addressing the racial and sociological significance of Robinson's
success as the first black man to play in the majors.
Jackie Robinson tributes are planned at ballparks around the country throughout
the season. May 15 will be Jackie Robinson Day in Brooklyn.
A special commemorative video will be released.
A special gold coin commemorating Robinson has been struck.
On April 15 -- the 50th anniversary
of the day Robinson played in the opening day game in 1947 -- President
Clinton took part in ceremonies at New York's Shea Stadium, where the Mets
hosted the Los Angeles Dodgers.
This year will prove a truly fruitful and meaningful remembrance of a great
athlete and leader.
In 1947, Arthur Daley, sports columnist for the New York Times wrote of
Robinson's historic debut, ``Robinson almost has to be another DiMaggio
in making good from the opening whistle. It's not fair to him, but no one
can do anything about it but himself.''
From that ``opening whistle'' until the day he was carried to rest by pall
bearers that included his infield partner, supporter and friend, Pee Wee
Reese, in October 1972, Robinson ``made good.''
At one session of the LIU seminar held in New York in early April, Robinson's
widow, Rachel, said of her husband, ``As people discuss Jack, it's often
as a martyr. They overlook the joys he had, the exhilaration of winning,
the joys of his children and his home.''
Robinson,
his wife said, would be pleased that 1997's celebration will not be a ritual
remembrance but will focus on the present and ``where the residue of racism
still exists and its impact.''
Many who recall Robinson's prowess as a ballplayer dimly remember he was
a social activist after his baseball career ended. In fact, his career ended
with him taking a stand on a proposed trade to the New York Giants. Rather
than accept the trade on principle, Robinson announced his retirement in
a magazine article.
After baseball, Robinson was an executive with a lunch-counter coffee firm,
and insurance company, a food-franchising operation, and an inter-racial
construction company. In all those posts, he championed black enterprise.
He
was an outspoken supporter of Richard M. Nixon in 1960, but by 1968, when
Nixon ran for president with Spiro T. Agnew, Robinson had abandoned the
Republican ticket as ``racist'' and went on the campaign trail for Hubert
H. Humphrey.
Had he lived, Robinson would be 78 this year. His combative, controversial
and conquering nature would have certainly kept him in the forefront of
the continuing struggle for civil rights against the ``residue of racism''
that remains apparent in American baseball and American life.
This is the year to remember and recommit to the ideals of Jack: a great
ballplayer, a great American -- and a great nickname.
allan.andrews@reporters.net