The Ground Ball That Changed America
When Jackie Robinson made the putout on Dick Culler's bouncer, the beginning of a game became the beginning of segregation's end.
Wars can change the world. So can elections, revolutions and great inventions. But sometimes all it takes is a little ground ball to third base.
On the warm afternoon of April 15, 1947, at Brooklyn's Ebbets Field, the Boston Braves' Dick Culler led off a baseball game with a soft bouncer to third. The Dodgers' Spider Jorgensen fielded it and, with a slight hesitation that perhaps was an unconscious nod to posterity, threw to first.
Waiting there in the speckled light, about to leap into history, crouched a pigeon-toed, 28-year-old rookie. The color of his crisp opening-day uniform was the same as Jorgensen's. But unlike the 49 other players, three umpires, two batboys, and handful of coaches, all of whom were white, the rookie's skin was a dark, regal ebony.
The 25,263 fans, many of whom also were black and until that instant had had little reason to trumpet that fact, inhaled as he stretched for the toss. The ball smacked into the rookie's mitt. Umpire Al Barlick snapped a thumb past his right ear. A great roar was unleashed.
The long wait, baseball's public disgrace, was over. The rookie, a handsome, intense Army veteran named Jack Roosevelt Robinson who had been carefully groomed for this pioneering role by Dodgers president Branch Rickey, had become the first black man to appear in a major-league baseball game in the 20th century.
Though he would continue to endure the racist taunts of fans and opponents, a boycott threat by some Dodgers teammates and discrimination in virtually every city he visited - including Philadelphia - Robinson's appearance had transformed a crusade into a reality. Yes, certain teams were slow to integrate, including the Phillies, who broke their own color barrier on April 22, 1957, with the signing of John Kennedy.
The little-used third baseman, who has but five major-league games to his credit, is all but forgotten.
Not so Jackie Robinson.
By playing with a daring dignity that day and for another decade, he would elate and empower blacks, help trigger the seismic changes of the civil-rights era, and force all Americans - even those with no interest in sports - to confront their nation's most confounding problem: race.
"Robinson," said his biographer David Falkner, "was a link, and a crucial one, between despair and a movement."
Now, 60 years later, Robinson's debut is recalled alongside the Emancipation Proclamation and the Supreme Court's Brown v. Board of Education decision as a civil-rights monument.
"Its greater importance might be in how it opened eyes," said Jonathan Eig, whose new book, Opening Day, attempts to strip away some of the accumulated mythology about the man and the event. "Factory workers suddenly saw that they could work alongside a black man. White kids began to root for Robinson without even considering his race. And fans at ballparks who experienced those kind of racist taunts for maybe a first time were forced to examine their own views."
Next Sunday, 10 years after Robinson's No. 42 was permanently retired by every big-league team, baseball will mark the 60th anniversary with a VIP-filled ceremony at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles. That same day, in Philadelphia and the 13 other cities where games will be played, pregame commemorations of Robinson's achievement will take place.
"Jackie's legacy has inspired so many of our players over the last 60 years," baseball commissioner Bud Selig said, "and I believe that his influence will continue to be felt for decades to come."
Major impact
In 1947, baseball was so thoroughly embedded in America's psyche that Robinson's landmark example quickly reverberated from coast to coast. A man whose motto was "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives" would have a major impact on future generations, black and white."In terms of baseball," said Hank Aaron, baseball's home-run king, "Jackie Robinson was our Dr. King."
Looking to Robinson's courageous example, other big-league teams, some more rapidly and more willingly than others, followed Brooklyn's lead.
By July of 1947, Larry Doby of the Cleveland Indians had integrated the American League. By 1959, when the Boston Red Sox at last yielded, there were no more all-white teams. In the 16 seasons between Robinson's debut and 1962, black players would win the National League's Most Valuable Player Award 11 times. Robinson, the rookie of the year in 1947, won it in 1949.
It was as if he had set a row of dominoes tumbling. Basketball, football, tennis and other sports soon featured black stars. The Supreme Court officially outlawed segregation in 1954. A year later, Rosa Parks refused to move to the rear of a Montgomery bus, and Martin Luther King, a young Baptist minister who idolized Robinson, organized a boycott.











