In honor of last year’s Major League Baseball All Star Game in St. Louis, Missouri, home of the St. Louis Cardinals, I thought I’d tell the story of one of the most famous contracts of all time, the signing of Jackie Robinson by the Brooklyn Dodgers to break baseball’s color barrier, and the Cardinal Players’ planned attack that never happened, a ghost from another era.
Atop the wide expanse of a crimson hood, the two hallowed outfielders smiled for photographers on opening day of the 2009 season. With smiles on their faces, they rode a red car through the bowels of Busch Stadium and out onto the light of the open air of the field, greeting the fans and chatting with each other while enjoying the applause and the reflected glory of each other.
Who knew this day would be possible Maria decades ago? It may have been hard to imagine Stan Musial, the greatest Cardinal hitter of all time, playing for the mighty Cardinals in the early 1940s, a team made up of all white players, in a league full of whites, without a single black or black player. dark-skinned player to tarnish the supremacist ideals of the time. But today, on this Opening Day, Musial, the white-skinned Pennsylvanian, is riding in the car with Albert Pujols, a dark-haired Dominican and the best Cardinal hitter since Musial. Pujols is so good, he may actually be better than Musial, as Cardinals fans will no doubt debate endlessly for years to come when Pujols racks up more hits and honors in our long-awaited future imagination. But for now, forget about the unknown future, because this day, today, brings a future that we already know, a future that we can surprisingly see from the tense past of 1947.
What we see? We see Musial and Pujols smiling at each other, storming for the cameras, praising each other’s hitting prowess, Pujols asking Musial for hitting tips, Musial joking in response, as beloved as ever by Cardinals sponsors, for always his Stan “The Man”. . “Pujols holds such respect for Musial that he rejects the nickname “The Man” put to him by the St. Louis clerks, saying there is only one man, Stan Musial, and the press should not ferment any other with that appellation.
Seeing this respect, this torch, passed down from the class of 1947 to the class of 2009, must be an inspiring sight to behold through the eyes of 1947. Branch Rickey, general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, had hired Jackie Robinson, who in that year he took over second base and, more importantly, became the first black player in Major League Baseball. Many writers have detailed the numerous death threats, curses, slights, and horrific humiliations Robinson faced, and James Giglio provides an account of Cardinal’s reaction in the biography, “Musial: From Stash to Stan the Man.”
Giglio llamó a 1947 “un año problemático”. And the troubles were many. Dixie Walker, the Dodgers teammate in Robinson, led the vitriol among southern fellow players inside the Dodgers Club House. When the star campocort of the Dodgers, Pee Wee Reese of Kentucky, challenged this Confederation making Robinson’s friend, Walker’s support vanished. However, Walker knew players from other teams who felt the same way. Chicago puppies opening launches received instructions to tear down Robinson. Alabama Phillies manager Ben Chapman encouraged his players to hit Robinson with pitches and dunk him on the bases. It’s important to note, however, that not all Southerners were unfair to Robinson, who recalled that Cardinals and South Carolina second baseman Marty Marion “was always nice to me.”
Many teams even considered voting on whether or not they would be willing to play the Dodgers. Several key factors set the stage for the Cardinals’ strike speech. St. Louis boasted one of the largest contingents of players from the NL South. St. Louis was the home of Sporting News, the self -denominated baseball Bible, which had previously been against integration. The cardinals and the Dodgers were two of the preeminent teams of the 40s, with a strong rivalry that generated great enmity. And Dodger manager Leo Durocher previously played for the Cardinals, starring in their great “Gashouse gang” teams of the 1930s. Worse yet, Dodger general manager Branch Rickey used to be the general manager of the Cardinals.
In 1917, the Cardinals were a second-rate team in their own city, behind the St. Louis Browns in revenue and popularity. Branch Rickey assumed the position of general manager that year and turned the cardinals into the best team in the National League with its innovative minor league farm system. But in 1942, after a falling out with Cardinal President Sam Breadon over his contract renewal (the two apparently had a good relationship over the years, albeit with mutual respect), Rickey jumped to Brooklyn, leaving St. Louis. Behind (Rickey was apparently particularly upset because his contract had not been renewed despite the fact that their cardinals had defeated the Yankees and won the world series that season). The gulf between the Dodgers and the Cardinals was deep and wide. Jackie Robinson wasn’t just Dodger black, he was also Dodger blue, in the face of Cardinal anger, a Cardinal red ember.
On May 9, New York Herald Tribune writer Stanley Woodward reported to the baseball world about a Cardinals player being threatened against the Dodgers. According to Woodward, Sam Breadon had none of that. He flew to Manhattan for an audience with National League president Ford Frick. As the meeting ended, Frick told Breadon that prospective strikers should remember this:
“If you [strike], you will be suspended from the league. You will find that the friends you think you have in the press box will not support you. You will be marginalized. I don’t care if half a league hits. Those who do will encourage Quick Payback. Everything will be suspended and I don’t care if he ruins the National League for five years. This is the United States of America and a citizen has both the right to play as another … You will find if you move forward with your intention that you have been guilty of a complete madness. ”
Woodward’s story may have encouraged other team owners to pressure their players not to hit as well.
The Cardinals and the legendary St. Louis sportswriter were horrified by these allegations, arguing that while there were complaints among some Cardinals players, nothing had come close to the level of anguish described by Woodward.
What was Musial’s opinion on the matter? He apparently entrusted another Tribune writer, Roger Kahn, that Robinson’s talk among the cardinals was “rough and racial”, but nothing worse happened. Musial also denied the existence of any strike vote. Decades later, at a mid-1990s St. Louis event promoting one of Kahn’s books, Musial strangely found himself sitting between Kahn and Broeg, who argued vehemently about the degree of fervor against Cardinal Robinson. Musial tried to stay on top of it all, but in 1997, at an event honoring the 50th anniversary of Robinson breaking baseball’s color barrier, Musial argued that the Cardinals didn’t even discuss a strike. Giglio wasn’t so sure, openly wondering if Musial made that statement so as not to embarrass too many of his southern teammates who ended up on the wrong side of history. Still, Musial told Kahn that he “didn’t have a problem with integration” and took the time to honor Robinson.
A pesar del respeto de Musial por Robinson, Musial pagó el precio de los detractores de Robinson. If a cardinal pitcher deliberately threw Robinson, then Durocher ordered the Dodger pitcher to retaliate by throwing Musial. When Musial complained, Durocher apparently said, “You’re the best guy I know on the Cardinals. [Robinson] Obtiene uno, me parece que vas a conseguir dos. , as Robinson recalled his first visit to the Cardinals’ stadium, Sportsman’s Park, where Dyer stopped Robinson in full view of the Cardinals and said, “He was glad to see me and wished me luck.”
Robinson said that “Musial always treated me with courtesy.” In a game, enraged after the gardener of the Cardinals, Enos Slaughter, shot him, Musial heard Robinson say how much he wanted to take revenge. Musial allegedly told him, “I don’t blame you. You have every right to.”
Thinking about our rights is perhaps the most appropriate way to end this story. The basis of our entire economy and way of life is embodied by the concept of a contract, an agreement reached between two parties, one wanting nothing more than the meritorious services of the other, and the other wanting nothing more than an opportunity to use a trade, whether to work in a coal mine, wait tables, run a major corporation, or even play baseball. When you make an agreement with someone, you generally expect it to be honored, your expectations met, and your rights honored. Robinson’s breakout season represents the true achievement of this contract right, as he fulfilled his dream of playing in Major League Baseball, no matter who tried to stop him from dealing with the Dodgers.
In this sense, 1947 dissolves into 2009, leaving us alone with Musial and Pujols, sitting in a car, gliding through a stadium, embraced by faithful cardinals, happy but perhaps unaware of the racial tensions that would make such a noble encounter inconceivable for many. . Years ago.
(This article relates to James Giglio’s excellent coverage of “Musial: From Stash to Stan the Man”)