need not only the skills to excel on the field but also the fortitude to handle the inevitable abuse that would follow him wherever he went. Rickey intended to find that special player and dispatched Brooklyn scouts throughout the country to investigate Negro players who might be available.
Clyde Sukeforth was the scout designated to check out the Monarchs’ star shortstop at a game in Chicago and to bring him back if Robinson had the skills to play in the major leagues. Rickey did not want to advertise his true intentions, and he had circulated the notion among his scouts that the Dodgers were going to form a new Negro team—the Brooklyn Browns—to play in a new Negro league. But that subterfuge did not sit well with Robinson, and he kept pressing Sukeforth, “Why does Mr. Rickey want to see me?” Sukeforth tried to explain the situation as he understood it, and the young athlete finally agreed to take the train back to Brooklyn with the Dodger scout.
The meeting occurred on August 28, 1945, in Rickey’s office at 215 Montague Street in Brooklyn. Robinson was led into the office and saw a large man with bushy eyebrows and a cigar sitting behind a oversized desk. Rickey was given to long sermons (a quality that led sportswriters to refer to his office as the “Cave of Winds”), and Robinson soon learned that there was no topic more deserving of a sermon than integration in baseball.
Rickey no doubt startled Robinson with the opening question: “You got a girl?” It was not an idle question. A devout Methodist, Rickey was, according to one sportswriter, offended “by alcoholism, extramarital sex, and the word shit.” Robinson explained that he was indeed engaged. Rickey was pleased. “When we get through today,” he replied, “you may want to call her up, because there are times when a man needs a woman by his side.” Rickey then proceeded to reveal his true intentions. There was not going to be any Brooklyn Browns team. Rickey wanted to bring Robinson into the Dodger organization so that he could eventually play in the major leagues. “I know you’re a good player,” Rickey continued. “What I don’t know is whether you have the guts.” The Brooklyn GM explained that there would be many people in and out of baseball who would oppose Robinson’s presence on the field and who would do whatever they could to prevent the experiment or, failing that, try to make it an embarrassing disaster. “We can’t fight our way through this, Robinson,” Rickey intoned. “We’ve got no army. There’s virtually nobody on our side.” Robinson, always ready, if not eager, to fight discrimination wherever it appeared, did not understand. “Mr. Rickey,” he asked, “are you looking for a Negro who is afraid to fight back?” Rickey’s response made a deep impression on the young player sitting before him. “Robinson,” he said, “I’m looking for a ballplayer with guts enough not to fight back.” And so Rickey made Robinson promise that, no matter how vile the taunts or actions of other players, he would simply turn the other cheek and focus on his performance on the field.
Robinson left the meeting “thrilled, scared and excited.” He had an offer to play for the Montreal Royals, a Dodger farm team, which included a $3,500 bonus and a salary of $600 a month. He not only had a new future. He now had the means to marry Rachel.
The wedding was held at Independent Church in Los Angeles on February 10, 1946. Two weeks later, the young couple traveled to Daytona Beach, Florida, for spring training (where they learned that they could not stay with the rest of the team at the hotel—which did not allow blacks—but had to share a nearby private home owned by blacks).
As Rickey had predicted, spring training was filled with tension. Some of it was hard to ignore—threats from anonymous sources of what would happen if Robinson showed up on the field, games that had to be canceled because the particular town
Clyde Sukeforth was the scout designated to check out the Monarchs’ star shortstop at a game in Chicago and to bring him back if Robinson had the skills to play in the major leagues. Rickey did not want to advertise his true intentions, and he had circulated the notion among his scouts that the Dodgers were going to form a new Negro team—the Brooklyn Browns—to play in a new Negro league. But that subterfuge did not sit well with Robinson, and he kept pressing Sukeforth, “Why does Mr. Rickey want to see me?” Sukeforth tried to explain the situation as he understood it, and the young athlete finally agreed to take the train back to Brooklyn with the Dodger scout.
The meeting occurred on August 28, 1945, in Rickey’s office at 215 Montague Street in Brooklyn. Robinson was led into the office and saw a large man with bushy eyebrows and a cigar sitting behind a oversized desk. Rickey was given to long sermons (a quality that led sportswriters to refer to his office as the “Cave of Winds”), and Robinson soon learned that there was no topic more deserving of a sermon than integration in baseball.
Rickey no doubt startled Robinson with the opening question: “You got a girl?” It was not an idle question. A devout Methodist, Rickey was, according to one sportswriter, offended “by alcoholism, extramarital sex, and the word shit.” Robinson explained that he was indeed engaged. Rickey was pleased. “When we get through today,” he replied, “you may want to call her up, because there are times when a man needs a woman by his side.” Rickey then proceeded to reveal his true intentions. There was not going to be any Brooklyn Browns team. Rickey wanted to bring Robinson into the Dodger organization so that he could eventually play in the major leagues. “I know you’re a good player,” Rickey continued. “What I don’t know is whether you have the guts.” The Brooklyn GM explained that there would be many people in and out of baseball who would oppose Robinson’s presence on the field and who would do whatever they could to prevent the experiment or, failing that, try to make it an embarrassing disaster. “We can’t fight our way through this, Robinson,” Rickey intoned. “We’ve got no army. There’s virtually nobody on our side.” Robinson, always ready, if not eager, to fight discrimination wherever it appeared, did not understand. “Mr. Rickey,” he asked, “are you looking for a Negro who is afraid to fight back?” Rickey’s response made a deep impression on the young player sitting before him. “Robinson,” he said, “I’m looking for a ballplayer with guts enough not to fight back.” And so Rickey made Robinson promise that, no matter how vile the taunts or actions of other players, he would simply turn the other cheek and focus on his performance on the field.
Robinson left the meeting “thrilled, scared and excited.” He had an offer to play for the Montreal Royals, a Dodger farm team, which included a $3,500 bonus and a salary of $600 a month. He not only had a new future. He now had the means to marry Rachel.
The wedding was held at Independent Church in Los Angeles on February 10, 1946. Two weeks later, the young couple traveled to Daytona Beach, Florida, for spring training (where they learned that they could not stay with the rest of the team at the hotel—which did not allow blacks—but had to share a nearby private home owned by blacks).
As Rickey had predicted, spring training was filled with tension. Some of it was hard to ignore—threats from anonymous sources of what would happen if Robinson showed up on the field, games that had to be canceled because the particular town
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