Rickey and Robinson Read Free Page A

colonel in charge, “but you can’t control the quality of my performance.” Shortly afterward, Robinson was transferred to a tank battalion at Camp Hood, Texas.
    One blisteringly hot summer day in August 1944, the third and most potentially dangerous incident in Robinson’s army career took place. A bus driver ordered him to move to the back of the bus in direct violation of a federal ruling against segregated buses on army posts. Robinson refused. There was a heated exchange between him and the bus driver, followed by another argument between Jackie and a captain in the military police. The incident led to a courtmartial based on two charges : that 2d Lt. Jack R. Robinson behaved· insolently and impertinently to Capt. Gerald Bear, the military police officer; and that 2d Lt. Jack R. Robinson had disobeyed Bear’s order to remain seated on a chair on the far side of a receiving room. Robinson’s acquittal on the charges was a victory, but also another one in a series of humiliating incidents. He had simply demanded his legal rights, but those rights so freely given to others were rights he had to fight for. Because he demanded his rights, he was subjected to the ignominy of a trial.
    “I’ll level with you, Jackie,” Rickey now said to the young man he had met just that morning but knew so much about. “I heard about racial problems that you supposedly had. I made a thorough investigation. I know that if you were white, they would never call you a troublemaker. I’m satisfied on that count.
    “I know all about your battles, Jackie. I know all about your fighting spirit. It’s fine. We are going to use all those qualities.”
    For Robinson, the interview was becoming more and more astonishing—the plans being made for him, the questions being asked, the insights into his life, all from this legendary figure. A $400-a-month shortstop for the Kansas City Monarchs who thought what he was doing was “a pretty miserable way to make a buck,” he was excited at the opportunity being offered. Whatever it was, whatever it took, he thought, it was better than the segregated hotels, the two-day bus rides from Kansas City to Philadelphia for the long doubleheaders and the long bus ride the next day. He was confident of his ability to succeed in organized baseball. And yet there was doubt. He knew firsthand about opportunity seeming so close and then being pulled away.
    Rickey stood up. He took off the jacket of his dark threepiece suit. “Have you the guts to play the game? Have you the guts to play no matter what happens? That’s an answer I want to get from you today.”
    “I can play the game,” Robinson answered. Rickey moved next to him, his face very close to the black man’s. Rickey’s look was suddenly mean, antagonistic.
    “Let’s say I’m a hotel clerk, Jackie. I look up at you from behind the desk register. I snarl at you, ‘We don’t want any niggers sleeping here I’ What do you do then?
    “You’re standing in the batter’s box,” Rickey continued, before Robinson could answer. “It’s a very tense situation. I’m a beanball pitcher.” Rickey used his smudgy cigar as a weapon, pointing it toward Jackie’s chin. “I wing a fast ball at you. It just grazes your cap and sends you jumping back for cover. What do you do?”
    “It would not be the first time a pitcher threw at me, Mr. Rickey. I’d just pick myself up and dig in.”
    “All right—another game situation now. I am playing against you in a crucial game. I smack the ball into the outfield. I’m rounding first, and I come in to second. It’s close. It’s a very close play. We untangle our bodies. I lunge toward you.” Rickey lunged at Robinson, his big fist coming close to Jackie’s face.” ‘Get out of my way, you black son of a bitch, you black bastard!’ What do you do now?”
    Not giving Robinson a chance to answer, Rickey continued, shouting now: “You’re positioned at shortstop. I am at first base. I come down