Few names in all of sport have become as synonymous with history. To think of trailblazers, barrier-breakers, those who opened doors kept locked too long, is to think of Jackie Robinson.
It’s been nearly eight decades since Robinson first strode out in front of the crowd at Ebbets Field in a Brooklyn Dodgers uniform, carrying the weight of millions on his back and rewriting history with each step. And for the past 21 years, Major League Baseball has marked the anniversary of the day Robinson broke the league’s colour barrier — April 15, 1947 — with an annual celebration of his greatness, his No. 42 worn by every player and coach on the diamonds and in the dugouts.
But this year, the day feels different, the celebration shadowed by the Trump administration’s continued attacks on anything connected with diversity, equity or inclusion.
A part of Robinson’s own legacy was even briefly blotted out: Last month, an article detailing his military service history was taken down from the Pentagon’s website. Public outcry prompted the return of the page. A week later, it was reported that Robinson’s biography was among the books suggested for removal from the US Naval Academy library.
It would be a profound failing of ours to see any trailblazer’s legacy politicized and diminished in this way. But it should feel particularly troubling when it comes to Robinson, who fought for decades against the type of ideologies currently looking to erase aspects of his story. So, on this particular Jackie Robinson Day, it’s important to reflect not only his legacy, but on the need to preserve and respect his story in full.
Bob Kendrick knows a thing or two about that. The president of the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, Kendrick has played a central role in the preservation of Robinson’s legacy for years, and remains moved to carry that legacy forward.
We spoke with Kendrick about what Robinson’s story means to him, why we must appreciate its every chapter, and why No. 42’s legacy is particularly poignant in this current moment.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
SPORTSNET: Given all you know of his life and his importance to the game of baseball, given your own role in preserving his legacy, when you hear the name “Jackie Robinson” today, what does it make you feel?
BOB KENDRICK: Proud. It makes me reflect on one of this nation’s greatest heroes. And I’m tremendously proud by the fact that one of the nation’s great heroes came from the great city of Kansas City, and the Negro Leagues. Because his professional baseball career began with the Kansas City Monarchs in 1945, so there is a deep-rooted connection between his story and the Negro Leagues, and it’s one that is oftentimes overlooked. His Negro Leagues story hasn’t oftentimes been talked about in the light that it should. But this story doesn’t happen without Kansas City. And it certainly doesn’t happen without the Negro Leagues.
To truly understand and appreciate Robinson’s legacy, there of course has to be an appreciation for all that came before his barrier-breaking moment. With that in mind, how do you view your role, and the Museum’s role, in preserving and carrying forward his legacy?
Well, it’s getting a better grasp on his incredible barrier-breaking story, which is so multifaceted. It actually begins in 1942, when he was stationed at Fort Riley in Kansas, right up the road from where the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum operates today. And you know who else was at Fort Riley at the same time? Former heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis. So, little bitty Fort Riley, Kansas had two of the most iconic sports figures — certainly in American sports history — both stationed there at the same time.
Fort Riley was not admitting Blacks into its officer training school program. Jackie and other African-American enlistees had the necessary qualifications, but they simply were not being admitted. Well, Joe Louis, who had been doing exhibition prize fights to raise money for the military, he calls in a favour — and that’s how Jackie ultimately gets into officer training school. He completes OTS, he’s then reassigned to Fort Hood in Texas, and as you probably know, he was court-martialed from the U.S. Army for refusing to give up his seat to a white person on the bus there at Fort Hood. He wins his court-marshal trial. He is honorably discharged. And that’s when he writes to Kansas City Monarchs owner J.L. Wilkinson and asks for a tryout.
He played his first game here in Kansas City on May 6, 1945. There was absolutely no fanfare surrounding Jackie. He was just another ballplayer trying to make the great Kansas City Monarchs roster. But they knew he was different than they were. And my friend, the great John Jordan ‘Buck’ O’Neil, the founder of this Museum, would say that we had “become acclimated to segregation.” But not Jackie Robinson. You see, Jackie was from Pasadena, California. He was UCLA. So, this whole Jim Crow thing didn’t sit well with him whatsoever. Five months later, he was meeting with Branch Rickey, and the two of them would make the monumental decision that he would become the chosen one to break Major League Baseball’s six-decade-long, self-imposed colour barrier.
Here at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, we make the rather bold assertion that Jackie’s breaking of the colour barrier wasn’t just a part of the Civil Rights Movement in this country — it was actually the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement in this country. Because this is 1947. It predates those more noted civil rights occurrences. This is before Brown v. the Board of Education; this is before Rosa Parks’ refusal to move to the back of the bus. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., as my friend Buck O’Neil would so eloquently phrase it, was merely a sophomore at Morehouse College when Jackie signed his contract to play in the Dodgers organization. And our very own President Harry S. Truman, born right up the road from where the Negro Leagues Museum operates, would not integrate the Armed Forces until a year after Jackie [stepped onto Ebbets Field].
So, for all intents and purposes, this is what started the ball of social progress rolling in this country — baseball.
You’ve spoken in the past of Jackie’s first steps into Major League Baseball being akin to Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon. How do you view Jackie’s moment in that context, in terms of all he was carrying on his shoulders at that time?
Particularly for Black folks. Yeah, for Black folks, Jackie Robinson was our Neil Armstrong. His breaking of the colour barrier carried the same level of euphoria that we saw collectively as a nation when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon — that’s the kind of impact that he had. And sometimes, lost in the tremendous social adversity that Jackie would have to shoulder, is that he was also carrying the hopes and aspirations of 21 million Black folks who were counting on him to succeed. He cannot fail. And as you know, baseball at its crux is a game of failure. But he cannot fail, because if the first guy fails, there is no second guy — who knows how much longer it may have been before another Black player would have gotten an opportunity to play in the major leagues? It could have been another 10, 15, 20 years or more. If It’s 20 years later, think about all the legendary major league stars we would have missed. We’d have missed Willie Mays. We’d have missed Henry Aaron, Ernie Banks, Roy Campanella. We’d have missed Roberto Clemente, Bob Gibson. Can you imagine our sport without those great stars?
Those who bear the weight of making history tend to see their legacies defined only by that one piece of their story. But Jackie was, of course, so much more than his one historic moment. When you think of who he truly was as an athlete, as a generational talent, do you feel the full weight of his accomplishments get overlooked at times because of his role as a trailblazer?
I do. I wonder sometimes. I remember asking his daughter, Sharon, years ago, I said, “Do you think your father really understood what he was about to embark on?” Because it’s so hard for me to believe that someone would willingly take on that level of consternation and angst, and just so readily accept it as part of what they were supposed to do. But seemingly that is what Jackie did. You know, like I said, he was not only going to be vilified by those who came to spew racial hatred — again, he had 21 million Black folks who were counting on him to succeed. So, he was getting it at him from both sides. There was no way to escape it. And he handled himself with such grace, class, and dignity in the face of tremendous social adversity. It is absolutely amazing how strong this man had to have been.
His life after his time on the field was no less impressive, breaking barriers on television, continuing to push for social justice. What stands out most to you when you think about those later chapters of Jackie’s life and his legacy?
He never left the struggle. We would have all given him a pass had he decided, “Okay, I’ve done my part, I’m going to bow out and I’m going to take it easy on the final chapter of my life.” I think we all would have said, “Jackie, you’ve earned that right.” But he never left the struggle. He went straight from that barrier-breaking baseball role right into the Civil Rights Movement — until his very last days on this earth, he was pushing Major League Baseball to create opportunities for Black managers and executives in this sport. He never ran from the assignment — he embraced it, and he took it on in even a greater capacity. I don’t know how he could not be admired for what he gave of himself, of his life. And his legacy certainly deserves to play on. We’re very proud that it plays on at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum.
You mentioned his military service. Right now, we find ourselves in a particularly divisive moment, and Jackie’s legacy has become wrapped up in that tumult, with an article celebrating his military service briefly taken down, his biography suggested for removal from the US Naval Academy library. What goes through your mind when you hear news like that? And what are your thoughts on the importance of respecting and preserving Jackie’s legacy in full?
You cannot pick apart Jackie Robinson’s story. It is an important story, and every aspect of his historic life has to be, I think, celebrated and shared, because it is that prolific. His military career is substantial. And please understand that Jackie Robinson served in a segregated military, so this is not even remotely attached to DEI. He was in a segregated U.S. Army. And everything that he got, he earned, in terms of his military career.
I was glad to see the information was restored. I don’t know what ultimately happened, but the fact that it was returned, that was something that was so important to all of us here at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum. Because you can’t pick apart his story — that military story is tremendously important in the grand scheme of that barrier-breaking moment when he took the field on April 15, 1947. And obviously, as a steward of his story, we want to be as protective of this history as we possibly can. That is why institutions like the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum are more important today than ever before. Because quite frankly, if we don’t tell these stories, who will? You know, you run that risk. And these stories should never be lost to time. And hopefully, they won’t be lost to being politicized. But we have to be as protective of these stories as we possibly can — our cultural institutions are to be, I think, even more valued.
It may be an impossible question to answer, but knowing all you do about Jackie’s activism and how important it was to him, how do you think he and the trailblazers who fought for equality alongside him would view these efforts to diminish that work?
Well, I can’t help but believe that they would be somewhat disappointed. Because, particularly as we look at what are the core values of this nation, the ability to learn from ourselves — the good, the bad, the differences — is vitally important. And once you start trying to manage or control those stories, you’re doing a disservice to those who could be greatly impacted in a positive fashion by having access to these kinds of stories. Particularly those stories that I like to refer to, as relate to the Negro Leagues, as ‘triumph over adversity.’
Because our story is not sad or sombre. It is a celebration. It is the celebration of the power of the human spirit to persevere and prevail. These athletes never cried about the social injustice, they went out and did something about it. “You won’t let me play with you in the major leagues? Then I will create a league of my own.” What’s not to love about that kind of story? So those kinds of stories deserve to be shared, and not only used from an educational vantage point, but I think as a tremendous tool of hope and inspiration for generations to come.
You’ve spoken in the past about sport’s capacity to be a space for us to move past the divisions we see elsewhere in society, past the barriers that are raised up elsewhere in society. How do you think returning to Jackie’s story, and reflecting on his legacy, can help us navigate what seems to be a particularly divisive cultural moment?
I think his day comes at a very opportune time, because it gives us an opportunity to reflect on his legacy. And I’ve always said, for those who subscribe to the belief that one individual can’t invoke change, you need look no further than Jackie Roosevelt Robinson. He changed things so dramatically in this society. And so, it’s nice that baseball through the years has made his story, that barrier-breaking moment in time, the focal point. So that it does perhaps allow us to just stop briefly, from the craziness of the world that we live in, such a cynical world that we live right now, and reflect on his legacy, which is still so pertinent to this day.
I think that what Jackie Robinson Day means to me — and I think to all of us at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum — is an opportunity to just pause and reflect again on this extraordinary human being, who in many ways sacrificed his life for the greater good, so that others would be able to benefit from that sacrifice.
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