I hope that some day the pendulum will swing back to the time when America seemed ready to make an effort to be a united state. When and if this happens, it will be because many people of various races and religions have decided it has to be.
I honor the young blacks of sports who have chosen to be deeply involved. Arthur Ashe who, in his cool way, has chosen to storm the barriers; Floyd Patterson, a gentleman who shared a trip to Mississippi with Curt Flood and me. Floyd, I recall, showed a rare, publicly mischievous side. In plain sight of the press and some very uptight Southern rednecks, Floyd sampled water at two fountains—one marked “for colored” and one “for white,” and observed loudly, “Don’t taste no different to me.” When Floyd and I went to Birmingham, at Dr. King’s request, we encountered some local types who acted as though they wanted to do something violent about our visit. But there were brothers—both nonviolent and the other kind—who assured us that everything would be under control and it was.
I honor Archie Moore for his awareness and Kareem Abdul Jabbar, who, after he became a success, never forgot the ghetto from which he came.
There are so many others, and they aren’t all black. I’m not buying anti-white attitudes. Too many people who are not black have proven to me that being real isn’t qualified by skin color but by character.
Whimsical memories!
The one and only time Rae and I were invited to the White House. It was during LBJ’s administration, and my lady was radiant in her beautiful gown. I knew she was awfully pretty and LBJ seemed to think so also. He danced one dance with his former schoolteacher and one with Rachel and then disappeared upstairs to his quarters. There was a certain look in his eyes that made me know how much he appreciated Rachel.
Remembering how a riot nearly broke out with several hundred young black kids up in Harlem. I saw a white man punched and knocked down and left on the street, and a friend and I picked him up, found a policeman, and helped him into a cab. I returned to where the kids were, to be challenged as to whose side I was on. I didn’t back down or show any fear (maybe because I didn’t really feel any then) and I told them exactly how I felt about violence. I used some of the language of the street to communicate with them. And I heard one of them, evidently a cooler head than some, saying that you don’t attack a brother. After the danger point was over, I began to realize that I had done something which could have jeopardized my life. When I described it to David, he gravely ordered me not to ever do anything like that again.
Memories! Of David, after Jackie’s death, going through with his plan to take out a year from school and travel, virtually hitchhiking around the world. Knowing he didn’t want to leave us at that time but realizing that he knew, and we knew, that he had to go. His letters, so full of the excitement and growth he was experiencing.
Of Sharon being capped as a nurse at Howard University in 1971. And hearing Rachel say I acted as if it were a coronation of a queen. Realizing that Sharon had kept her family identity to herself at school. Believing that happiness will be hers because she feels her achievements are proof that she is worthy and can do something on her own.
Of Mother Isum, Rachel’s mother, whose love and devotion have helped us all.
A memory of recent date, when Sport magazine honored me as most “significant athlete” of the past quarter century, and the way the tears rose to my eyes when Bill Russell, whom I hold in great esteem, said that paying tribute to Jackie Robinson was his only reason for being at the kind of affair he didn’t usually attend.
“I never saw him play ball,” he said. “But I would go halfway around the world to honor him because he was and is a man.”
I had a speech to make that day, but I had to just talk instead. What Bill had said threw me completely off-balance. I could not have appreciated those words more from anyone.
Finally, as the time draws close to publication date of this book, one of my personal problems has become intensified. I have been having some very serious problems with my eyes, apparently a direct result of my diabetic condition. As has been reported in the press, there was fear among family and friends—and, of course, my own apprehension—that I was on the way to total loss of my sight. Although I have lost one eye and have impaired sight in the other, there has been a remarkable improvement recently.
I’ve always been a fighter, but this is one fight I could never have won alone. I am amazed and grateful for the skill of the doctors helping me at this time. But it is something more than just skill; each doctor has taken a personal interest in me, supported me and given me hope. There has been my family—Rachel, Sharon, David, and Mother Isum—surrounding me with love, care, concern and encouragement. And there are the people. People in every walk of life who have written, telephoned, sent telegrams, and spared no effort to let me know that I was not a forgotten sports hero, but I am a man whose personal struggle has reached many, black and white, and given them the courage to go on with their struggles. It seems like they have been trying to share some of the strength they feel they got from me by responding now to me in my time of need. A telegram sent to the editor of the New York Times from a black woman in Detroit left me speechless.
I AM TRYING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH JACKIE ROBINSON THAT ONCE PLAYED WITH THE BROOKLYN DODGERS. WILL YOU PLEASE PRINT THIS AND WHATEVER IT COSTS SEND ME THE BILL AND ILL PAY YOU. “JACKIE I READ IN THE FREE PRESS THIS MORNING THAT YOU’VE LOST SIGHT IN YOUR RIGHT EYE AND IS VERY BAD IN THE LEFT. DO YOU THINK A TRANSPLANT WILL HELP. I WILL BE GLAD TO GIVE YOU ONE OF MINE. YOU CAN CALL ME AT WORK BETWEEN 8:15 AND 5:30 PM.”
Fortunately, a recent operation has given me hope and I could decline this beautiful offer.
There have been some meaningful public demonstrations recently that have made me realize people see that I have attempted to make a contribution beyond the world of sports. I have always fought for my principles and spoken out for my ideals. Recognition coming at this time has given me the determination to live as many more productive years as I can.
Three such events are outstanding.
First, there was my trip to Los Angeles early in the summer of 1972 to participate in the ritual of the retirement of my uniform number—Number 42—by the now Los Angeles Dodgers. Being elected to the Hall of Fame is a heartwarming thing. The retirement of your number—which is to say that it becomes uniquely yours from then on and can never be used by another player—well, that sort of caps the Hall of Fame honor.
Second, there was the Jackie Robinson Day—called a “Tribute to Black Excellence”—which was observed in Chicago under the sponsorship of Reverend Jesse Jackson and his organization, PUSH. Reverend Jackson’s organization brought our family out to Chicago as their guests for three days and extended us every conceivable comfort and courtesy. There was a special showing of the old picture—The Jackie Robinson Story—at one of the community’s black-owned theaters. It was a free showing and there was a fabulous reception of some three hundred and fifty professional, business, civic, and sports people in the home of Dr. T. R. M. Howard, a noted surgeon and huntsman. We made an appearance at a luncheon of youngsters at the Martin Luther King Boys Club on the West Side. The major event was held on Saturday morning at the regular weekly meeting of PUSH. This meeting, devoted entirely to a salute to my family and me, was one of the warmest, most moving occasions I have known. A parade of personalities took part in the Friday reception and the Saturday meeting. To my amazement, the entire Pittsburgh Pirates team turned out, from the top management down to the whole player roster. Some of the kind things they said made me terribly proud. There were recorded messages from many people who couldn’t be present.
One of the things which made me feel so wonderful was the recognition which was given to Rae. We’ve been part of so many affairs where people have uttered the old and well-meaning cliché about Rae being “the woman behind an important man.” But this time, Rae was honored as the woman who walked beside her man and shared his good and bad moments. Rae not only received flowers,
but she received a beautiful plaque. It was given to her by Dr. Howard and the staff of his new Friendship Medical Center. Dr. Ellis Johnson, a leading psychiatrist, presented it, and paid tribute to Rachel’s work in nursing psychiatry. The inscription said that she had given her life to healing “her man, her family, and her people.”
When Rae accepted the plaque she said, “We came to Chicago, proud of Jack’s achievements and your wish to honor him. But we came here, sad also because, just a year ago, we lost our son Jackie. The warmth and love which you have given us today are helping to fill up that big hole in our hearts.”
Her words brought tears to many eyes.
The third event took place in New York recently. The Virgin Islands’ government honored me in a wonderful affair at Mama Leone’s famous restaurant on July 19, which just happened to be Rae’s birthday. A surprise (to me) guest was Dick Young, the sportswriter for the New York Daily News, with whom I’ve had so many run-ins. Clyde Sukeforth, the Dodger scout sent out by Mr. Branch Rickey to bring me into the Dodger club, was there to reminisce. My old friend telecaster Mal Goode was on hand and Roger Kahn, another old friend and author of the best-selling Boys of Summer. There were members of my family from California. I was particularly thrilled to see my old teammate, Sandy Amoros, who made that sensational catch in the final game of the ’55 world series, giving the Dodgers their first world series victory. It was a wonderful night full of rich memories.
I have many memories. I remember standing alone at first base—the only black man on the field. I had to fight hard against loneliness, abuse, and the knowledge that any mistake I made would be magnified because I was the only black man out there. I had to fight hard to become “just another guy.” I had to deny my true fighting spirit so that the “noble experiment” could succeed. When it finally did I could become my own man; many people resented my impatience and honesty. But I never cared about acceptance as much as I cared about respect. In the business world I always strove to learn as much as I could so I would not be just a figurehead. I always believed in the utmost integrity. In politics I believed in following principle even if the man didn’t seem to offer outstanding possibilities. I never believed in backing out just because things weren’t the best they could be. In civil rights I worked hard to do as much as I could for my people. In everything I have experienced I have been blessed with the love of my family—my wife, Rachel; my children, Sharon, David, and Jackie; my wonderful mother; and my brothers and sister. I have always fought for what I believed in. I have had a great deal of support and I have tried to return that support with my best effort. However, there is one irrefutable fact of my life which has determined much of what happened to me: I was a black man in a white world. I never had it made.
About the Author
JACKIE ROBINSON shared the turbulent and triumphant story of his life with freelance writer Alfred Duckett, who contributed to the powerful speeches and sermons of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
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Copyright
I NEVER HAD IT MADE. Copyright © 1995 by Rachel Robinson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.
Photograph on p. iii from The Bettman Archive
The Library of Congress has catalogued the hardcover edition as follows:
Robinson, Jackie, 1919–1972.
I never had it made / by Jackie Robinson as told to Alfred Duckett.
p. cm.
Originally published: New York : Putnam, 1972.
ISBN 0-88001-419-9 (cloth)
1. Robinson, Jackie, 1919–1972. 2. Baseball players—United States—Bibliography. I. Duckett, Alfred. II. Title.
GV865.R6A3 1995
796.357’092—dc20
94-45279
ISBN 0-06-055597-1 (pbk.)
EPUB Edition © MARCH 2013 ISBN 9780062287298
03 04 05 06 07 BVG/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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I Never Had It Made: An Autobiography of Jackie Robinson Page 28