The True Book of Mostly Unrelated Stories

Number 42
by John Mooy

When my wife sees this column, she is going to first say to me, “how do you remember all of that,” followed by, “who else but you would be interested?”  And my answer to this often, “the information is from my youth, and it’s important.”

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So, I thought back to my early years and those times when in Marcellus we could carry a baseball glove on the handlebars of our bikes and ride the streets of town looking for a pickup game of baseball. Most of the games we played as kids were never organized and didn’t include the uniforms like kids wear today. A white T shirt, blue jeans and a baseball cap were as close as we would come to looking like ballplayers. But that didn’t prevent us from having a wonderful time and often playing ball from morning until late afternoon.

The most prominent locations to play for all of us on the south side of town was at the lot between Welburn’s and Datemas’ on Elm Street. At one point in time, we groomed the lot so that we had a mound to pitch from, base paths on which the grass was mowed lower than the rest of the field, and white lime to mark the base paths. We were able to “borrow” the lime by taking some out of the big bucket which was kept at the high school baseball field at the end of the street. At one point, Floyd Bowers brought home his truck from the telephone company, which had a drill on the back that was used when they put up telephone poles.  Floyd drilled some holes behind home plate, and we affixed chicken wire to the telephone poles he donated. And with that, we had an official looking backstop and a field that we could almost call a diamond.

This was as close as any of us would get to the major leagues. But we loved every minute that we played ball there. We were always disappointed when the sun would go down and end that day’s game. But we knew there would always be another game.

Baseball card collecting went with the time as well and we all had a stack of cards held together with rubber bands. I remember so well the trips to Ingersoll’s Drug Store to purchase a pack of cards, open the package, take out the gum, and then go through to see if you had gotten any GREAT players. One card was a check list of all the players in a particular series, so you knew who you had and who you still needed to get to complete the series. Oftentimes you would get the same card which we referred to has having doubles and even triples of the same player. This created the situation in which you could “trade” cards with your friends.

Without looking on Google and only sorting through my mind, I’m going to create a list of black players who I recall, many of whom could be found in my card collection. Okay, here we go:  I do recall Jackie Robinson but I don’t think I had a baseball card of him. I did have a Hank Aaron, Jim Gilliam, Roy Campanella, Ossie Virgil, Elston Howard, Al Smith, and I’m also going to mention Minnie Minoso, although he may have been Puerto Rican [Editor’s note: Orestes “Minnie” Miñoso, nicknamed “The Cuban Comet” and “Mr. White Sox”, was a Cuban professional baseball player. He began his baseball career in the Negro leagues in 1946 and became an All-Star third baseman with the New York Cubans. Wikipedia.]

There were a number of players from Latin America and many other black players who played from the seventies until the present day.  Oh yes, Don Newcombe just came into my mind, and I had his card.  

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But it was Jackie Robinson who was the first black player who had been chosen by then commissioner of baseball Branch Rickey to be the first to take the field representing his race. Rickey selected him for a number of reasons; his obvious talent to play the game but even more importantly for his ability to withstand the difficulties that he would be asked to endure. He was booed, he was targeted with racial slurs, he received hate mail, and he was asked to do this without fighting back. And Robinson did all of this until it almost broke him.  But he endured. The stories about his character are now legendary. At long last, other players, first from his own team, and then others from around the league developed a respect for the character and poise exhibited by Robinson standing alone for what was right.

And the rest of the story, as they say, is history.  

And now, on each April 15, every player in the Major Leagues wears the number 42 on the back of their jersey as a way of not only thanking Jackie Robinson but also in respect for the character he displayed in the most difficult of times.

Have a great week, Marcellus.

You’re the best.

Batter up and play ball.