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Palo Alto, California Two generations ago I was only 10 years old, barely aware of the South beyond stories of my father's arrest in Jacksonville, Florida when he went to the wrong side of town while he served in the Merchant Marine in the 1920s. Though I avidly read the New York Times sports page, I heard nothing of the "Jim Crow" segregation visited upon Jackie Robinson as he experienced his first big league spring training with the Brooklyn Dodgers that spring of 1947. When the Dodgers arrived in New York in April to play the traditional subway series against the Yankees, my father, previously unfocussed upon baseball, began the dinner conversation thusly: "Robinson knocked one in today." For us, nothing was quite like this advent of the first black American baseball player in the 20th century. Called up from Montreal on April 10, 1947 in the wake of Brooklyn Manager Leo Durocher's year-long suspension, Robinson's long anticipated promotion was obscured by the events of the previous day. On Opening Day of the regular season, the talented and sagacious Johnny Sain of the Boston Braves handcuffed Robinson. He worried that it would be difficult to stick in the majors if all pitchers were comparable to Sain. Fortunately they weren't. Ahead lay the racial vitriol of the Philadelphia Phillies manager Ben Chapman. The St. Louis Cardinals' purportedly threatened not to play on the same field with Robinson – both Enos Slaughter and Joe Garagiola spiked him when they did play.  Dodger GM Branch Rickey was smart enough to phase Robinson into his ML debut by having him spend a year in AAA Montreal where the home Canadian fans were a little more welcoming to a black face. True to his promise to Brooklyn G.M. Branch Rickey, Robinson would not respond in kind. He even consented to Chapman's request to have a photo taken together once it became clear to the Phillies skipper that his racially abusive language was unpopular with the general public. With incredible diligence and talent Robinson played first base, a position unfamiliar to him and which made him vulnerable to the taunts and cleats of his detractors. By season's end he was a household name not only among blacks, but throughout the country where he will forever be synonymous with pioneering audacity and courage. The Dodgers won the pennant in that 1947 season, a feat that could not have been accomplished without Robinson. Race aside, he also transformed the way the game was played with daredevil running that produced not only stolen bases but opposition errors and balks. Other black stars were to follow in his wake – first Larry Doby with the Cleveland Indians who suffered equal insult with little of the recognition. Then his own Dodgers, Dan Bankhead and catcher Roy Campanella, with his superb pick-off throws to first base, plus the stalwart hard-throwing ace hurler Don Newcombe. In the years to come, standouts such as Cardinal first baseman Bill White and his centerfielder teammate Curt Flood joined in Robinson's legacy. Flood later challenged baseball's reserve clause before the United States Supreme Court and never played the game again, though in his wake, a new generation of millionaires was born. These men and successful player-managers like Frank Robinson and Dusty Baker were to all benefit from Robinson's sangfroid that '47 season. Robinson's baseball legacy was to prove indelible. In the process, MLB appropriately retired his number a decade ago. But it is often forgotten that once he was free from the imposed 1947 constraints, he fought back on the field. But more importantly, he remained the independent speaker, the baseball outsider for whom baseball had no position when he retired in 1957 or thereafter. Robinson was one of the few ex-players with the courage to testify against the baseball establishment on Flood's behalf in the antitrust proceeding.
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