and, as Rachel later confessed, she was “the aggressor,” waiting for Jackie after games or work and otherwise doing whatever she could to increase the frequency of their contact. In November, Jackie invited Rachel to the school’s homecoming dance, and from that point on Robinson was committed to a relationship with this young woman from Los Angeles.
By the early winter of 1941, Jackie had exhausted his eligibility to play football for UCLA, and at that point—being a C student with no interest in academics—he decided to leave school without waiting for graduation. In March 1941 he accepted a position with the National Youth Administration, part of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal program, to help troubled youths in San Luis Obispo. The outbreak of war in Europe made that assignment a short-lived one, because the army decided to utilize NYA’s facilities.
Left to fend for himself, Jackie accepted an offer to play semipro football with the Honolulu Bears for the 1941 season. Although he enjoyed some memorable moments, the team was not very good, and he sustained a serious injury to his right ankle, which had already been damaged in earlier football exploits. He was glad to return home in December and was on a ship coming back to California when he learned of the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor.
Robinson received his draft notice in March 1942 and filed an application with the army for Officer Candidate School. His application was summarily dismissed at first, but Jackie knew all about racial discrimination and the importance of perseverance. And so, before long, his OCS application was accepted, and in time it was Second Lieutenant Jackie Roosevelt Robinson who occupied the army barracks at Fort Riley in Kansas.
Despite his success in overcoming the obstacles to become an officer, Robinson soon learned that army life was rife with racism. The most enduring experience occurred in July 1944. One evening Jackie took a bus to nearby Camp Hood, spent a few hours at the colored officers’ club and then caught an army bus to return to the hospital. As he was walking toward the rear, he spotted the wife of a fellow black officer seated in the middle of the bus, and he sat down next to her for the ride back. As more passengers boarded the bus, the driver left his seat to tell Robinson that he had to move to the rear. Jackie knew his rights and refused to move. The bus driver called the military police and, when they arrived, the driver pointed to Robinson, saying, “There’s the nigger that’s causing me trouble.”
The MPs took Robinson off the bus, held him in a room on a suspicion that he was drunk and trying to cause a riot (even though Robinson had never had a drink in his life), and ultimately had him arrested for “behaving with disrespect” toward the MP commanding officer (who had shown up at the scene) and for failing to obey the commanding officer’s order that he remain seated on a chair in the room to which he had been taken.
Always the fighter, Robinson wrote to the NAACP about the trumped-up charges, and the matter received considerable publicity in the press. By the time the court-martial proceedings convened in August 1944, the army was no doubt aware of the adverse publicity that would ensue if Robinson were convicted, and so, after four hours of testimony, Robinson was acquitted.
Although he may have won the legal battle, Robinson was not a welcome presence in the armed services. They took note of his ankle injuries and had him honorably discharged. Robinson immediately returned to his home in Los Angeles with one principal goal in mind: to marry Rachel Isum.
That was no small challenge. He had remained in touch with Rachel in the years after he had left UCLA, and, despite several separations, the relationship remained strong. But Rachel had another agenda that did not entirely coincide with Jackie’s. “I could see marriage suffocating me,” she later said, “and I really was
By the early winter of 1941, Jackie had exhausted his eligibility to play football for UCLA, and at that point—being a C student with no interest in academics—he decided to leave school without waiting for graduation. In March 1941 he accepted a position with the National Youth Administration, part of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal program, to help troubled youths in San Luis Obispo. The outbreak of war in Europe made that assignment a short-lived one, because the army decided to utilize NYA’s facilities.
Left to fend for himself, Jackie accepted an offer to play semipro football with the Honolulu Bears for the 1941 season. Although he enjoyed some memorable moments, the team was not very good, and he sustained a serious injury to his right ankle, which had already been damaged in earlier football exploits. He was glad to return home in December and was on a ship coming back to California when he learned of the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor.
Robinson received his draft notice in March 1942 and filed an application with the army for Officer Candidate School. His application was summarily dismissed at first, but Jackie knew all about racial discrimination and the importance of perseverance. And so, before long, his OCS application was accepted, and in time it was Second Lieutenant Jackie Roosevelt Robinson who occupied the army barracks at Fort Riley in Kansas.
Despite his success in overcoming the obstacles to become an officer, Robinson soon learned that army life was rife with racism. The most enduring experience occurred in July 1944. One evening Jackie took a bus to nearby Camp Hood, spent a few hours at the colored officers’ club and then caught an army bus to return to the hospital. As he was walking toward the rear, he spotted the wife of a fellow black officer seated in the middle of the bus, and he sat down next to her for the ride back. As more passengers boarded the bus, the driver left his seat to tell Robinson that he had to move to the rear. Jackie knew his rights and refused to move. The bus driver called the military police and, when they arrived, the driver pointed to Robinson, saying, “There’s the nigger that’s causing me trouble.”
The MPs took Robinson off the bus, held him in a room on a suspicion that he was drunk and trying to cause a riot (even though Robinson had never had a drink in his life), and ultimately had him arrested for “behaving with disrespect” toward the MP commanding officer (who had shown up at the scene) and for failing to obey the commanding officer’s order that he remain seated on a chair in the room to which he had been taken.
Always the fighter, Robinson wrote to the NAACP about the trumped-up charges, and the matter received considerable publicity in the press. By the time the court-martial proceedings convened in August 1944, the army was no doubt aware of the adverse publicity that would ensue if Robinson were convicted, and so, after four hours of testimony, Robinson was acquitted.
Although he may have won the legal battle, Robinson was not a welcome presence in the armed services. They took note of his ankle injuries and had him honorably discharged. Robinson immediately returned to his home in Los Angeles with one principal goal in mind: to marry Rachel Isum.
That was no small challenge. He had remained in touch with Rachel in the years after he had left UCLA, and, despite several separations, the relationship remained strong. But Rachel had another agenda that did not entirely coincide with Jackie’s. “I could see marriage suffocating me,” she later said, “and I really was
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