In honor of last year’s Major League Baseball All Star Game in St. Louis, Missouri, home of the St. Louis Cardinals, I thought I’d tell the story of one of the most famous contracts of all time, the signing of Jackie Robinson by the Brooklyn Dodgers to break baseball’s color barrier, and the planned Cardinal players’ strike that never happened, a ghost from another era.
Atop the sweeping expanse of a crimson hood, the two dedicated outfielders smiled at photographers on Opening Day of the 2009 season. With smiles on their faces, they rode a red car through the bowels of Busch Stadium and out into the open. outside the field, waving to fans and chatting amongst themselves as they basked in the applause and reflected glory of each other.
Who knew this day would be possible many decades ago? It may have been hard to imagine Stan Musial, the greatest Cardinal hitter of all time, playing for the mighty Cardinals in the early 1940s, a team made up of all white players, in a league full of whites, without a single black or black player. brown-skinned player to tarnish the supremacist ideals of the time. But today, on this Opening Day, Musial, the white-skinned Pennsylvanian, is riding in the car with Albert Pujols, a dark-haired Dominican and the best Cardinal hitter since Musial. Pujols is so good, he may actually be better than Musial, as Cardinals fans will no doubt debate endlessly for years to come when Pujols racks up more hits and honors in our long-awaited future imagination. But for now, forget about the unknown future, because this day, today, offers a future that we already know, a future that we can see surprisingly from the tense past of 1947.
What we see? We see Musial and Pujols smiling at each other, storming for the cameras, praising each other’s hitting prowess, Pujols consulting Musial for hitting advice, Musial joking in response, as beloved as ever by Cardinals sponsors, always his Stan “The Man”. “Pujols maintains such respect for Musial that he rejects the nickname “The Man” given to him by the St. Louis clerks, saying there is only one man, Stan Musial, and the press should not refer to any other by that name.
Seeing this respect, this torch, passed down from the class of 1947 to the class of 2009, must be an inspiring sight to behold through the eyes of 1947. Branch Rickey, general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, had hired Jackie Robinson, who in that year he took over second base and, more importantly, became the first black player in Major League Baseball. Many writers have detailed the numerous death threats, curses, slights, and horrific humiliations Robinson faced, and James Giglio provides an account of Cardinal’s reaction in the biography, “Musial: From Stash to Stan the Man.”
Giglio called 1947 “A turbulent year”. And the problems were many. Dixie Walker, Robinson’s Dodgers teammate, led the vitriol among her fellow Southern players inside the Dodgers’ clubhouse. When the Dodgers’ star shortstop, Kentucky’s Pee Wee Reese, defied this confederation by befriending Robinson, Walker’s support fizzled out. However, Walker knew players from other teams who felt the same way. Starting pitchers for the Chicago Cubs were instructed to take down Robinson. Alabama Phillies manager Ben Chapman encouraged his players to hit Robinson with pitches and dunk him on the bases. It’s important to note, however, that not all Southerners were unfair to Robinson, who recalled that Cardinals and South Carolina second baseman Marty Marion “was always nice to me.”
Many teams even considered voting on whether or not they would be willing to play the Dodgers. Several key factors set the stage for the Cardinals’ strike speech. St. Louis featured one of the largest contingents of Southern players in the National League. St. Louis was home to the Sporting News, the self-proclaimed bible of baseball, which had previously been against integration. The Cardinals and Dodgers were two of the preeminent teams of the 1940s, with a fierce rivalry that spawned a great deal of enmity. And Dodgers manager Leo Durocher previously played for the Cardinals, starring in their great “Gashouse Gang” teams of the 1930s. Worse yet, Dodgers general manager Branch Rickey used to be the general manager of the Cardinals.
In 1917, the Cardinals were a second-rate team in their own city, behind the St. Louis Browns in revenue and popularity. Branch Rickey took over as General Manager that year and built the Cardinals into the best team in the National League with his innovative minor league farm system. But in 1942, after a falling out with Cardinal President Sam Breadon over his contract renewal (the two apparently had a good relationship over the years, albeit with mutual respect), Rickey jumped to Brooklyn, leaving St. Louis. back (Rickey was apparently particularly upset that his contract had not been renewed even though his Cardinals had beaten the Yankees and won the World Series that season). The gulf between the Dodgers and the Cardinals was deep and wide. Jackie Robinson wasn’t just Dodger black, he was also Dodger blue, in the face of Cardinal anger, a Cardinal red ember.
On May 9, New York Herald Tribune writer Stanley Woodward informed the baseball world of a threatened strike by Cardinals players against the Dodgers. According to Woodward, Sam Breadon had none of that. He flew to Manhattan for an audience with National League president Ford Frick. As the meeting ended, Frick told Breadon that prospective strikers should remember this:
“If you [strike], you will be suspended from the league. You will find that the friends you think you have in the press box will not support you. You will be marginalized. I don’t care if he hits half the league. Those who do will find quick retribution. Everything will be suspended and I don’t care if he ruins the National League for five years. This is the United States of America and one citizen has as much right to play as another… You will find if you go ahead with your intention that you have been guilty of complete insanity.”
Woodward’s story may have encouraged other team owners to pressure their players not to hit as well.
The Cardinals and the legendary St. Louis sportswriter were horrified by these allegations, arguing that while there were complaints among some Cardinals players, nothing had come close to the level of anguish described by Woodward.
What was Musial’s opinion on the matter? He apparently confided in another Tribune writer, Roger Kahn, that Robinson’s conversation between the Cardinals was “harsh and racial,” but nothing worse happened. Musial also denied the existence of any strike vote. Decades later, at a mid-1990s St. Louis event promoting one of Kahn’s books, Musial strangely found himself sitting between Kahn and Broeg, who argued vehemently about the degree of fervor against Cardinal Robinson. Musial tried to stay on top of it all, but in 1997, at an event honoring the 50th anniversary of Robinson breaking baseball’s color barrier, Musial argued that the Cardinals didn’t even discuss a strike. Giglio wasn’t so sure, openly wondering if Musial made that statement so as not to embarrass too many of his fellow southerners who ended up on the wrong side of history. Still, Musial told Kahn that he “didn’t have a problem with integration” and took the time to honor Robinson.
Despite Musial’s respect for Robinson, Musial paid the price for Robinson’s detractors. If a Cardinals pitcher deliberately threw to Robinson, then Durocher would order the Dodgers pitcher to retaliate by throwing to Musial. When Musial complained, Durocher apparently said, “You’re the best guy I know on the Cardinals. [Robinson] If you get one, I think you’ll get two.” Durocher felt that this kind of retaliation prevented the Cardinals from hurting Robinson. Cardinals manager Eddie Dyer at the time may have helped convince his players to treat Robinson fairly. fair manner., as Robinson recalled his first visit to the Cardinals’ stadium, Sportsman’s Park, where Dyer stopped Robinson in full view of the Cardinals and said, “He was glad to see me and wished me luck.”
Robinson said that “Musial always treated me with courtesy.” In one game, enraged after Cardinals outfielder Enos Slaughter shot him, Musial heard Robinson say how much he wanted revenge. Musial allegedly told him, “I don’t blame you. You have every right to.”
Thinking about our rights is perhaps the most appropriate way to end this story. The foundation of our entire economy and way of life is represented by the concept of a contract, an agreement between two parties, one who wants nothing more than the meritorious services of the other, and the other who wants nothing more than the opportunity to pursue a trade, whether it be working in a coal mine, waiting tables, running a major corporation, or even playing baseball. When you make an agreement with someone, you generally expect it to be honored, your expectations met, and your rights honored. Robinson’s breakout season represents the true achievement of this contract right, as he fulfilled his dream of playing in Major League Baseball, no matter who tried to stop him from dealing with the Dodgers.
In this sense, 1947 dissolves into 2009, leaving us alone with Musial and Pujols, sitting in a car, gliding through a stadium, embraced by faithful cardinals, happy but perhaps unaware of the racial tensions that would make such a noble encounter inconceivable for many. . years ago.
(This article relates to James Giglio’s excellent coverage of “Musial: From Stash to Stan the Man”)
