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Jackie Robinson is part of baseball’s holy triumvirate with Lou Gehrig and Roberto Clemente, each a towering symbol of skill and sacrifice, tinged with sorrow. They accomplished so much and have been gone so long that generations know them only as icons.
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For Robinson, whose 1947 debut for the Brooklyn Dodgers will be commemorated Monday on MLB’s annual tribute day, the role was almost preordained.
“From the beginning, Life Magazine photographed him as a hero,” said Paul Reiferson, a prolific collector of vintage baseball photographs. “It was kind of like being one of the Mercury astronauts: just because you’re chosen, before you go to (space), you’re a hero. And you see that in all the images. Robinson is always photographed from a low angle or in some celebratory way.”
Robinson surpassed even those grand designs, on and off the field, and MLB retired his number 42 in 1997, on the 50th anniversary of his arrival in Brooklyn. The number is displayed in every ballpark, and all players now wear it each April 15.
An orchestrated salute, however noble, can only go so far. It is best, perhaps, to view Jackie Robinson Day as an invitation, a chance to study and understand the complexities and nuances of a man who was much more than a surface-level hero. In that spirit, we offer three ways to do it — through art, writing and film.
Reiferson’s collection will be presented as an exhibit, “Jackie Robinson and the Color Line,” from Monday through May 24 at the Gitterman Gallery in New York. The photos and artifacts, including telegrams and letters, comprise more than Robinson’s journey and stretch back to the integrated teams of the late 1800s.
Pioneers like Sol White and Effa Manley, and Negro League stars like Willard Brown and Mule Suttles — all Hall of Famers — are also featured, as well as fan letters to Dan Bankhead, Robinson’s teammate on the 1947 Dodgers and the first Black pitcher to appear in a World Series (as a pinch-runner).
There is also a 1949 letter from a local scouting source, Joe Press, to the Yankees’ lead scout, Paul Krichell, imploring the team to consider signing Black players, including Willie Mays. Press indicates that the Yankees had been given reports on a bounty of Negro League stars for years.
“You could have had practically all of them,” the letter says, “just for the asking.”
The Dodgers’ Branch Rickey marked the moment when he signed Robinson to the then-largest deal in team history in 1950 with a carefully choreographed photo that is featured in the exhibition.
“You’ll see this one image of Branch Rickey and Jackie Robinson signing a contract, and Branch Rickey has very deliberately placed a photograph of Abraham Lincoln over his own head and removed all the other photographs from the wall,” Reiferson said. “So the photographers almost have to photograph him the way he wants to be seen, which is as the next Lincoln.”
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Robinson played 10 seasons for the Dodgers, retiring in December 1956 when the team tried to trade him to the New York Giants. By then, he had begun to demonstrate a passion for correspondence with politicians, editors, civil rights activists and labor and business leaders that would continue until his death in 1972.
“That man was no joke,” Doug Glanville said.
Glanville, a broadcaster and former major-league outfielder, is an adjunct faculty member at the University of Connecticut’s Neag School of Education. He has used the book “First Class Citizenship: The Civil Rights Letters of Jackie Robinson” as research material and a text for his students.
The book, edited by Michael G. Long and published in 2007, is a riveting compilation of Robinson’s exchanges with major figures of his time: Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X; Robert F. Kennedy and Hubert H. Humphrey; Barry Goldwater and Nelson Rockefeller; Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson and Nixon.
“It documents how much he engaged through one of the more patient forms of expression we know — methodical, unafraid to put words to paper knowing the permanence of such an effort,” Glanville said. “For us, it frames time, an evolving perspective. Shifting alliances and evaporating boundaries that can be rebuilt if need be. I felt close to him, his story, his family in many ways.
“It also challenges his passivity and the terms of his barrier breaking. He did agree to be quiet for a while but then that stopped and his voice was heard. It echoed even. It gives us power to know we can evolve and change, yet inside of that we can still be consistent in our principles.”
Robinson pulled on the levers of power, as Glanville put it, praising and cajoling, calling out hypocrisy, demanding accountability and trading ideas on advancing the cause of equality. He supported Nixon for President in 1960 and maintained a close relationship for years, yet opposed him for Humphrey in 1968, doubting Nixon’s commitment to civil rights.
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“If we are to survive as a nation, we must do it together,” Robinson wrote to Nixon in 1969, two days after his inauguration. “Black people will work for one America if we are given hope. Without hope, the present feeling of despair will lead to worse problems. This, Sir, is the most important role that your administration must play.”
Robinson never fit neatly into an ideology. He supported the Vietnam War effort and feared that King’s opposition to it would undermine the civil rights agenda. Robinson was on good terms with King but drew disdain from Malcolm X for, among other things, supporting Nixon.
“I must confess that even today you still display the same old ‘speed,’ the same ‘cunning’ and ‘shiftiness,’” Malcolm X wrote to Robinson, in a letter published in the Amsterdam News in late 1963. “You are still trying to win ‘The Big Game’ for your White Boss.”
Robinson replied with a denunciation of Malcolm X’s “sick leadership” and said he was proud of the White men he had worked for, including Rickey with the Dodgers and William Black at Chock Full O’ Nuts, where Robinson was a vice president.
“I shall always be happy to associate myself with decent Americans of either race who believe in justice for all,” Robinson wrote in his reply.
Yet while that comment highlighted a certain optimism, by 1969 Robinson had perhaps felt the weight of a turbulent decade. In a New York Times article published that July 4, Robinson said, “I wouldn’t fly the flag on the Fourth of July or any other day. When I see a car with a flag pasted on it I figure the guy behind the wheel isn’t my friend.”
He never stopped fighting, though, and nine months before his death, of heart failure brought on by diabetes, Robinson visited “The Dick Cavett Show.” The host introduced him as “a highly combative man” who “speaks his mind,” but the interview, from Jan. 26, 1972, is a frank, intriguing talk that packs a lot into just 15 minutes.
As we watch major-league players wearing Robinson’s number on Monday, it’s worth hearing some of the things the man himself stood for, in his own words, near the end of a brief and momentous life.
The moon, the sun and Stephen Strasburg
Stephen Strasburg retired two days before the solar eclipse, which comes around about as often as a pitcher with his talent. Few pitchers had a more eventful first decade than Strasburg, from his 14-strikeout debut in 2010 to his MVP award in the 2019 World Series — and a whole lot in between.
It’s ironic that Strasburg is the last starter to pitch in the ninth inning of a World Series game, because part of his legacy is so tied to fragility. He had just three seasons with 30 starts, and his overwhelming arsenal foretold both the irresistibility of power pitching and the damage it can do to your arm. Those are the defining modern traits of the craft.
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Those pitches, though — that’s what I’ll remember most about Strasburg, who broke down shortly after his World Series triumph and never recovered from thoracic outlet syndrome in 2022. At his best, he might have been my favorite pitcher to watch, because everything was so crisp and definitive: that’s the heater, that’s the curve, that’s the change.
Strasburg learned that changeup, which he sometimes delivered at 90 miles an hour, from Rusty Filter, his pitching coach at San Diego State. But he came to admire the pitch as a teenager, watching from the left field seats at Petco Park, where he could see Trevor Hoffman work on it in the Padres bullpen.
“He let it fall off the fingertips and almost, like, paintbrush it down,” Strasburg explained, when I asked him about the changeup for my book on pitching. “You have to have a tremendous feel of the baseball to be able to do that, and for me, I have to throw everything off of my fastball. I have to throw everything as hard as I can.”
That philosophy made Strasburg very wealthy and helped the Nationals win their only championship. It also heralded a new era for pitching, in extremes as distant as the moon and the sun.
Gimme Five
Five bits of ballpark wisdom
Mauricio Dubón on five tips for versatility
This mentality, Mauricio Dubón says, will give you the best chance to play lots of positions: “I’m going to hit my way into the lineup.”
Indeed, if you can hit, chances are your team will find somewhere to stash you on the field. Once you’re out there, of course, you can’t be a liability — and Dubón, who played seven defensive positions last season for the Houston Astros, sure isn’t.
He appeared at every position except pitcher and catcher in 2023, earning an American League Gold Glove for his efforts. Dubón got it in the utility category, a role first recognized by Rawlings in 2022, but he doesn’t see himself as a utility player. That’s among the five tips Dubón shares for how to be a versatile fielder:
1. Be fearless. “Sometimes when you get put in a new position, you’re timid or afraid, embarrassed to make a mistake. But don’t be afraid to fail.”
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2. Learn from the best. “See how people play that position and try to emulate their movements. Outfield, look at Mookie Betts. Shortstop, look at Brandon Crawford. You’re not going to look like them out there, but you can emulate their movements.”
3. Don’t worry about equipment. “When I played first base last year (for two games), I had to borrow a glove from Yainer Diaz. But I’ve got two gloves, infield and outfield. I use one size for the infield positions and one size for the outfield. It’s just about catching the ball. You catch the ball, you’ll be fine, no matter how big the glove is.”
4. Fundamentals matter most. “The hardest thing is just catching a ground ball the right way. Some outfield reads are tough, but you have more time out there. Basically, just be an athlete. People think playing different positions, you’ve gotta make the spectacular play. But if you just make the routine play 10 times in a row, you’re gonna be good at it.”
5. Forget the utility label. “People say all the time, ‘Utility,’ but that’s outside the field. When I play today, I’m a center fielder, not a guy who plays center field and shortstop. Tomorrow I’ll play second base, so tomorrow I’m a second baseman. I study everything really well so I can be prepared.”
Off the Grid
A historical detour from the Immaculate Grid
Jeff Banister, Pittsburgh Pirates/.300 average in a season
The young fan hoped to snag an autograph from his favorite player, Corbin Carroll, but the star outfielder had yet not appeared. This was at spring training last month, on the back fields while the Arizona Diamondbacks practiced. I was standing nearby and waved over Jeff Banister, the affable Arizona bench coach, as he walked by.
“You should get his autograph,” I told the fan. “This guy has the best batting average in the history of baseball.”
Banister smiled and signed. It’s true: as a member of the Pittsburgh Pirates on July 23, 1991, Banister pinch hit for Doug Drabek in the seventh inning and beat out an infield single against the Atlanta Braves’ Dan Petry. That was his entire major-league career, a perfect 1.000 average — and a perfect fit for last Sunday’s Grid, which asked for a Pirate who hit .300 in a season.
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Baseball-Reference credits 114 players with a 1.000 career average through 2023, including a dozen mystery men known only by one name: Smith, Jones and so on. Banister is the fifth, and most recent, to appear only as a pinch-hitter.
It’s a miracle he made it that far. Banister had bone cancer in high school and endured seven left ankle operations. In junior college, he needed surgery to relieve pressure on his spinal cord after a collision at home plate.
“Jeff, let me tell you something: you’re not going to play baseball again,” Banister once said, recalling what his doctor told him. “You need to concentrate on another profession, something that’s a little less physical, because if you get hit again, we’re going to zip the bag and put you in the ground.”
“And I smiled at him and I told him, ‘Doc, I’m going to play in the big leagues.’ He said: ‘Well, best of luck to you. You’ll do good to run.’”
Banister missed a year, but persisted to become a 25th-round draft choice by the Pirates three years later. It was fitting that his only big-league chance turned out the way it did.
“Touching first base and seeing the umpire give the safe call, it was complete satisfaction,” Banister said. “Everybody goes, ‘Oh, don’t you wish you hit a home run?’ Now, no. Then, no. Because it was such a challenge, so difficult to get there, why would I want it easy?”
I don’t know if that fan on the back fields ever got Corbin Carroll’s autograph. But I hope he knows the story of the coach who signed his hat.
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(Top photo of Jackie Robinson signing autographs in 1947: Unidentified photographer / Courtesy of Gitterman Gallery)
