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For the second week in a row, the Blurbz won’t be in its usual multi-topic format. I can’t say whether the old-school style will return next week, or ever, but this week I found another cause that I feel strongly about.
As I was trying to figure out what to write about this week, it occurred to me that with Black History Month coming up, a column about the Negro Leagues would be appropriate, especially because its museum is located in my beloved hometown, Kansas City.
I began writing a story on the basic history of the Negro Leagues themselves and some of the personalities and players that drove its success before Jackie Robinson’s integration into the majors. I was rather pleased with its entertainment value, but, when I came across an article by Doug Tucker from the Canadian Press outlining the Negro Leagues Museum’s financial trouble and internal turmoil, I knew I needed to change gears a little.
Though it was built on the collective hard work and dedication of hundreds of people through their archiving, searching and donations, one man was truly the driving force behind the growth and expansion of the museum: old Negro Leaguer, MLB manager and scout, Buck O’Neil.
O’Neil was a solid player in his day. He was a successful scout for the Cubs (signing the likes of Ernie Banks) and became the first black coach in the majors. But he won the hearts of people everywhere while canvassing the U.S. to promote the Negro Leagues. He didn’t do it to talk himself up or to guilt America into always remembering the players society said weren’t intelligent or talented enough to play with whites. He did it to make sure that people didn’t forget the players themselves, that they wouldn’t forget that they were just as good as the white players of the era who did go into the history books.
Buck was never bitter about his lot in life. He wasn’t bitter about never getting a chance to get national attention or even to be viewed on the same level as the white players. He was just happy he was able to play the game he loved. He wanted to make sure the players who played with the best of them got their due. He was eventually elected as a member of the Veterans Committee, and helped former Negro Leaguers like Leroy “Satchel” Paige and “Cool Papa” Bell get into the Hall of Fame.
Eventually, he was added to one last special Hall ballot for Negro Leaguers and executives in 2006. Despite a huge swell of public support due to his role as a baseball ambassador for the majority of his elderly life, he fell just short of the nine (out of 12) votes required to gain admission. In the irony of ironies, Buck was still the keynote speaker at the induction for the 17 Negro Leaguers who were voted in. And instead of expressing his disappointment, he celebrated the 17 with humility.
“I’ve done a lot of things I liked doing,” he said. “But I’d rather be right here, right now, representing these people that helped build a bridge across the chasm of prejudice — not just the ones like Charlie Pride and me that later crossed it. This is quite an honor for me. […]And I tell you what, they always said to me ‘Buck, I know you hate people for what they did to you or what they did to your folks.’ I said, ‘No, man, I – I never learned to hate.’ ”
O’Neil passed away a few months later of heart failure and bone marrow cancer. He won the Presidential Medal of Freedom posthumously and the Hall of Fame named a lifetime achievement award after him. He is still a beacon of hope for not only the Negro Leagues but also for the civil rights movement.
Now, the museum has moved away from identifying itself with Buck and has been the victim of managerial disagreement and fighting. In part because of that fact and the tough economy, the museum has come upon hard times. When the final accounting for 2009 is complete, the loss could total up to a quarter of a million dollars.
This column isn’t trying to call attention to the Negro Leagues or its woes, nor is it to pique your interest in the life of Buck O’Neil. But, in the true spirit of Black History Month, this column aims to remind you to remember the unseen heroes of the world and in civil rights. It’s easy to remember the Jackie Robinsons, Josh Gibsons, Willie Mays-es and Hank Aarons, Negro Leaguers who got their chance in the majors and are now Hall of Famers. Just like it’s easy to remember the Martin Luther Kings and the Rosa Parks-es of the civil rights movement.
In the museum, there is a replica baseball field with life-sized statues of old Negro Leaguers called the “Field of Legends.” There are a few recognizable names on the field, such as Paige on the mound, O’Neil surveying the field from the dugout, putting his best manager face on, and Gibson manning first base. But most of them, Pop Lloyd, Ray Dandridge and Leon Day are great players that most people never hear about.
What we need to do this and every Black History Month is — in the true Buck O’Neil spirit — remember everyone who was there during segregation in America and who worked to change it. We should remember the nameless protestor who marched on Washington D.C. and the nameless shortstop who was told he didn’t have the right color of skin just as much as the leaders of the movement. We should be thankful for the sacrifices they made to make the country we live in today.
“God’s been good to me,” Buck said the day the Hall turned him away. “They didn’t think Buck was good enough to be in the Hall of Fame. That’s the way they thought about it and that’s the way it is, so we’re going to live with that. Now, if I’m a Hall of Famer for you, that’s all right with me. Just keep loving old Buck. Don’t weep for Buck. No, man. Be happy, be thankful.”
Be happy, be thankful.
Nathan Lurz is a sports editor
nlurz@luc.edu
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