GREATNESS

Growing up as a Dodger fan, some of my strongest memories and greatest love for a ballplayer was for Jackie Roosevelt Robinson. The irony of his breaking the color barrier and subsequent torment he received once he did join the Dodgers was that he did so much for all the players of the game at the time, his talent, daring and uniqueness put fannies in the seats of the National League and money into every player's pocket. Fans were curious and came in droves, especially the Blacks, pride in their race and Jackie.

The first ballgame I attended at Ebbets Field I remember well. Having watched the Dodgers up to that point on the TV, they existed in black and white on the tube as well as the newspapers.  The thing that impressed as it must have you too attending your first game, was emerging from under the stands and seeing that magnificent lawn that stretched forever, the green so uniform and beautiful, sitting under the dusk of Brooklyn as the sun was setting behind the surrounding buildings as it went down, the lights turning the sod into emerald gold. The foul lines, crisp and straight, accentuated the beauty of it all like a giant ruler was laid down for precision since the game is a game of inches. A little boy, burning the moment in perpetuity into his mind. My dad never said a word, just let it all sink in for me.

I remember the Dodger uniforms, so white, so patriotic looking with the whiteness, the red chest numbers and the blue ‘Dodger’ written across the chest. But their spiked shoes as they took the field were so shiny and black, leaving their tracks in the manicured skin that made the infield.

But it was Jackie, who was the star of the night in a losing cause to the St. Louis Cardinals, electrifying the 33,000 faithful, the flock, ‘dem bums’. Jackie got the first Dodger hit, smashing a double off the centerfield wall and stood on second base, the delirium high, excitement running wild through the crowd, in uncontrolled bedlam. A grounder moved Jackie to third, there was the event we all hoped we would witness and weren’t disappointed.

The Cardinal pitcher stood on the mound studying the catcher’s signs flashing while casting quick glances to third base where Jackie had him in his sights. Dancing, moving quickly, sudden jerks that disturb the concentration of the receiver and the pitcher, Jackie’s arms spread outward at his sides, the crowd roaring. Would Jackie steal home? Would he cause a balk? The catcher calling time would run-up to the pitcher and try to settle him down. But the gods of fate would prevail as pressured by number 42, he gave up a hit to the batter and Jackie score the only Dodger run.

There was one more highlight I witnessed. The highlight happened about every series the Cardinals played in Brooklyn, and that was the great Stan the Man Musial sending one over the right-field wall into Bedford Avenue.

What I wouldn’t do to go back to Ebbet’s Field!