by William Taaffe

Eleven-year-old Jackie Robinson stared as Kirk Daniels warmed up at shortstop for the Sunset Street Seals.

“OK, Kirk, get two on this one!” he heard the Seals' coach shout during infield practice. Kirk backhanded the ball to his right and threw to second base to begin a smooth double play. Jackie had to admit the kid had skills.

But today really wasn't about baseball.

Sure, Jackie wanted to help his Pepper Street Panthers defeat the Seals and win the Pasadena, California, peewee championship. But Jackie had something more important on his mind: payback.

Unwelcome Wagon

Jackie's thoughts raced back to a terrifying incident eight years before. He was just 3 when his family moved into the home at 121 Pepper Street.

Southern California was much different from Georgia, where the Robinsons had lived. The air was drier, the sun always shined and the beach was nearby. But the main thing he noticed was that his was the only black family in the neighborhood.

Shortly after they moved in, someone had sneaked onto their property in the middle of the night and planted a wooden cross in the Robinsons' lawn. The intruder had then soaked the cross with gasoline and set it ablaze. This act was an old Ku Klux Klan message: We don't want your kind. Jackie could still remember his mom yelling and older brothers running to put out the fire in the front yard.

Payback

“Play ball!” the umpire shouted.

Jackie snapped back to the present. He stared at Kirk in the field. While playing a baseball game the previous week, Jackie heard rumors that the man who set fire to the cross long ago was Henry Daniels, janitor at Muir High. His son, Kirk, was the Seals' captain.

Jackie grabbed his bat and got ready for the game. Payback time.

With two runners aboard in the first inning, Jackie ripped a line drive to the fence in left-center field. He raced around the dirt diamond with his lightning speed for an inside-the-park home run, barely noticing Kirk standing near second. The Panthers quickly led 3-0.

In the fourth, Jackie tripled and stole home with a hook slide. In the bottom of the inning, he went deep into the hole at short, backhanded Kirk's grounder and threw him out on a bang-bang play at first.

Kirk hopped around behind first base and slowly shook his head to the sky, protesting the call. The umpire wouldn't budge.

“Got 'em that time!” Jackie chortled to his teammates when he reached the bench.

The Panthers held a 6-1 edge in the sixth inning and had the title safe in hand. Jackie took aside Tito Cordero, who batted behind him.

“Tito,” he said, “I'm going to fake them out by bunting this inning. You have good bat control. Hit the ball to second base to set up a double play. Got that?”

Tito looked a bit confused, but he nodded.

Jackie's plan worked perfectly. He bunted himself to first and watched as Tito hit a grounder to the right side of the infield. The second baseman flipped the ball to Kirk, who was covering second base for the force-out. Instead of sliding into second, Jackie threw a low body block at Kirk. Kirk tried to jump out of the way but lost his balance and came down hard.

“Hey, what's with you?” Kirk shouted.

“You go ask your old man what's with me!” Jackie yelled. “You tell him 121 Pepper Street is with me!”

Players from both teams pulled the two apart. Jackie was seething. Kirk was angry too, but even more puzzled.

Mental Tune

A week later Jackie was hanging out at Archibald Washington's garage.

Mr. Washington repaired cars. Jackie loved the musty, oily smells in the shop and enjoyed examining the new cars that came in. Most of all, he liked being around Mr. Washington.

The big, bald-headed man opened the hood of a Chrysler and started changing the oil. He knew Jackie often felt life wasn't fair.

“Heard about that dustup against Sunset,” he said. “Must have been interesting.”

“That kid had it coming,” Jackie said.

“You mean he was responsible for what his daddy did?”

“Well, not exactly. But it's one way to start evening the score.”

“You know, my daddy left my family — just like yours did,” Mr. Washington said. “Ain't no way I can be responsible for my daddy. Ain't no way you can be responsible for yours. And there's no way that boy you went after set fire to that cross all those years back.”

Jackie looked away.

“You hear what I'm sayin'?” Mr. Washington continued. “Sure, you want to lash out. But wild men don't achieve much. Strong men — wise men — speak the truth, stand firm and win in the long run.”

“What do you mean, 'stand firm'?” Jackie asked.

Mr. Washington wiped some oil off his hands with a rag. “I'm sayin' stand up for what's right,” he said. “But do it by your wits, your self-control — the stuff that's inside you. It's the weaker man who does it by shootin' off his mouth or markin' a score against somebody.”

“If you don't fight, they'll run you,” Jackie countered.

“No, there's a better way. The race ain't to the hothead. The race is to the one who's in the right — the one who can endure.”

Jackie would never forget that conversation.

Breaking Barriers

Years passed. Jackie was 26 and Pepper Street was far behind him. He had received a college scholarship to UCLA, where he became the first student to excel in four sports — football, basketball, track and baseball. After a brief stint in the Army during World War II, he had a hard time finding a job.

Desperate, he had joined a Negro League baseball team. The ballplayers, hired from around the country, went from city to city and charged people to watch their games. Sometimes the players slept on buses. They often ate scraps of food collected at the back doors of restaurants that served only white people.

Jackie stood out in the league. He didn't realize it, but Branch Rickey, the president of the Brooklyn Dodgers, was studying him. Mr. Rickey wanted to hire the best players. He believed that African-Americans should be allowed to play Major League Baseball. In 1945, no black athletes played professional baseball, football or basketball.

Mr. Rickey sent a scout to watch Jackie. He learned about Jackie's abilities, character and fortitude. Then he asked Jackie to come to Brooklyn, New York, for a meeting. During that meeting, Mr. Rickey asked Jackie to sign a contract with the Dodgers.

The plan was for Jackie to play the following year with the Dodgers' farm team in Canada. If all went well, Jackie would join the Dodgers in 1947.

Mr. Rickey knew Jackie had the athletic ability to make the major leagues. But he told Jackie that he would be subjected to racial hatred and abuse. Opposing players would taunt him and call him terrible names. Others would try to cut him with the metal spikes on their baseball cleats. They would insult his mom. They would send him hate letters. Even some of his own teammates might oppose him.

Finally, Mr. Rickey said Jackie could sign the contract under one condition: Never — absolutely never — could he fight back. If Jackie fought back against the name-calling and violence heaped on him, not only would he be dropped from the team, but he would hurt the chances of future black players to play in the major leagues as well.

Jackie imagined how proud his mom would be. He thought about how important it was to stand up for what's right, without becoming violent. He remembered Mr. Washington's advice and the Bible verse about turning the other cheek.

Jackie knew the road to breaking the color barrier in the major leagues would be difficult, but he was eager to get started.

“I get it, Mr. Rickey,” Jackie said. “I've got another cheek.”

	Q: What do you call a bag that’s asleep? A: A knapsack. Valerie L., 9, Wisconsin Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe