“Extraordinary people reveal
extraordinary truths,” so said historian Jules
Tygiel. Today, we have to celebrate three
“extraordinary” people who through their actions
revealed character flaws in our ideals and, by
their presence and courage, helped to make us a
better people in the advancement of those
ideals. Indeed, our entire history as a nation
is one awash in ideals. Ideals such as fairness,
tolerance, and justice; ideals such as freedom,
privacy, and expression; we are the “City Upon a
Hill” pronounced John Winthrop in 1630; a beacon
of opportunity. Our ideals are found in our
Declaration of Independence, our Constitution,
and even at the bottom of the Statue of Liberty
where, on a plaque, it reads, “Give me your
tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning
to breathe free.”
Baseball, too, has been a
symbol of those ideals. In pursuit of
patriotism, its aficionados in the 19th
century promoted the game in nationalistic
terms. Touted for the first time as our
“national game” during, oddly enough, the 1860
presidential election, the game gravitated in
its popularity driven both by its attraction as
a “fast” game and its model of American
democracy, fairness, and integrity. After all,
so they said in this era, “it is not whether you
win or lose, but it is how you play the game.”
And baseball, former Pennsylvania governor John
K. Tener proclaimed during World War I, was “the
very watchword of democracy.” But reality, I
submit, has a nasty habit of trumping our myths
and ideals. And as fair and as tolerant and as
“democratized” as we were apt to promote
ourselves, the historical record indicates
otherwise.
Black Americans, for the better
part of our history, for instance, lived outside
of the American ideals. Democracy was there for
them, as long as they “stayed in their place.”
Indeed, even after Jackie Robinson’s heralded
achievement of 1947 – breaking the major league
color barrier – for many blacks outside of
baseball, Jim Crow, not Communism, was a direct
threat to their security.
And much was the same for people of
Japanese heritage living in the United States,
particularly in those years prior to World War
Two. For many of them, America was a land of
broken promise, or as one scholar noted, “[they]
lived underneath America.” Victimized by
nineteenth century Asian prejudice, Japanese
Issei – first generation – could live in the
United States, just as long as they did not
purchase land, vote, and otherwise try to make a
living outside of the narrow scope of their
enclaves.
Moreover, Mexican Americans and
Mexican nationals, too, encountered barriers.
School segregation, limited opportunities in the
workplace, stereotypes depicting them as being
lazy and non-progressive, and national policies,
like a 1930s repatriation program and 1950s
“Operation Wetback,” all spoke to the notion
that these contributors to our national picture
were nothing more than unwanted stepchildren.
And what of baseball’s role?
The so-called “watchword of democracy,” in
reality, did little to advance it when it came
to these aforementioned groups.
To be sure, baseball’s segregated
policies are well known. For many young black
ballplayers born well before 1947, thoughts of
participation in the major leagues were not even
realistically considered. As such, their
America, in all respects, was that of a
secondary nature.
Japanese American baseball fortunes,
at the amateur level, were not much different.
Scouts from around the country never seriously
considered Issei or Nisei as professional
prospects. The prevailing notion was that they
were too small, inexperienced with the game,
etc. And in the eyes of many, they simply were
not “American.” Mostly, the ignorance of
mainstream Americans when it came to the
Japanese bled over to their misconceptions of
the Japanese baseball prowess.
And while Latinos did find
opportunities in the major leagues, the media
ridiculed them, organizations did little to
acculturate them, and the baseball echelons
ignored their concerns. Standout players like
Orlando Cepeda, Felipe Alou, and the great
Roberto Clemente fought hard to overcome the
myths that had burdened both they and their
brethren, but with few satisfactory results. As
such, in spite of their accomplishments, by
1981, Latins in the major leagues were, in the
words of Carey McWilliams, a “forgotten
people.”
But three extraordinary people,
through their actions, revealed extraordinary
truths. Josh Gibson toiled in a baseball world –
the Negro Leagues – that existed not because of
lack of merit on the part of its members. But
because of the racial discrimination which spoke
not of American ideals, but of an American
truth.
Kenichi Zenimura promoted and advanced
America’s national pastime because he loved the
game and he believed in its ideals. But, in
truth, the “Dean of the Diamond” promoted the
American myth of opportunity while denied the
right to attain citizenship, solely because of
his Japanese birth.
And Fernando Valenzuela, who
personified the classic Horatio Alger figure – a
person of humble origins who, through hard work
and perseverance, found success in the land of
opportunity – also had to overcome questions
about his age, criticisms of his physique, and
the general American stereotypes that any Latin
success in the United States was fleeting.
But these extraordinary ballplayers –
men who played the game with dignity and grace,
and whom conducted themselves with integrity –
undermined the stereotypes, myths, and
misconceptions about their people.
Josh Gibson’s legendary dominance in the black leagues
transcended his life and helped to unleash the
truth about race and taught us about the courage
to overcome it. Kenichi Zenimura’s prominence in
the world of Japanese American baseball not only
provided guidance to the younger Nisei in the
pre-war period, but his baseball activities
helped to give his people needed inspiration
while they endured an unjustifiable
incarceration in America’s concentration camps.
And Fernando Valenzuela’s success in 1981 – a
success that sparked “Fernandomania” – proved to
be instrumental in bridging gaps between
mainstream Americans and the Mexican Americans
and Mexican nationals. Jaime Jarrin was right,
“Fernando [was] the pole to whom everyone
gravitated.”
Extraordinary people do reveal
extraordinary truths. And as a result of these
three extraordinary players who are to be
enshrined today, we, as a people are, because of
them, a much better society. |