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Jackie Robinson, the Anatomical Record, and the Gift of Building Bridges

2017; Wiley; Volume: 301; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1002/ar.23704

1932-8494

Jeffrey T. Laitman,

Sports Analytics and Performance

In 1956, when I was not yet 5 years old, my dad took off on a Friday in August to take me to Ebbets Field. It is hard for me to convey to my kids today what this rickety, small, magnificent, oasis in Flatbush meant to us; part shrine, part park, part holy place. We went this day courtesy of tickets given to my brother-in-law, Fred, a noted Brooklyn high school athlete, from a former local high school star who now actually played for the Dodgers. Everyone knew Fred's benefactor—a skinny, quiet, neighborhood hero named “Sandy” (Sandy Koufax, later recognized as one of, if not, the, greatest pitcher of the 20th century.). But I, like so many others on this beautiful day, was not focusing on Sandy or any other Dodger. I was here hoping to see my idol: Jackie Robinson. I'm writing this essay on the 70th Anniversary of Jackie's breaking the “color barrier” in modern baseball in April of 1947. For those of you who don't follow baseball (and that is very sad, as Baseball is America, warts and all) the above event was arguably the most meaningful one in all of American sports history. It changed our national game forever, and helped change our nation as well. Overcoming the color wall was, of course, a cataclysmic event. But what did Jackie actually do that was so monumental, so altering? He was a great player, without a doubt, but his records do not match those of Babe Ruth or Lou Gehrig, other New York City baseball behemoths. (New York City is, was, and always will be, the unrivaled center of the baseball universe; as example, between 1949 and 1958 a New York team was in every World Series winning all but 1957. I thought teams from outside the City were “practice squads.”) Indeed, other baseball heroes like Ty Cobb, Rogers Hornsby, Stan Musial, or Ted Williams had records that eclipsed Jackie's as well. What, then, was so key, so great, about him? It was the bridges. Jack Roosevelt Robinson, in the midst of hurricane-force winds of hate and bigotry, built bridges to his teammates (Fig. 1) and to his fans. While fear and unrepeatable invectives often swirled around him like a snow blizzard in summer, Jackie calmly, resolutely, built those bridges. They were beautiful, and they were there for all to see. Jackie Robinson and Pee Wee Reese in the Brooklyn Dodgers Clubhouse. Images, such as this, of these two teammates and friends, were of great importance in changing the view of race relations in the 1950s. Indeed, the acceptance of Robinson as an integral part of the team by the Dodger Captain, Kentucky-born Reese, was a milestone for bridge-building in baseball. Fittingly, the two friends are forever together in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. In 1955, the Brooklyn Dodgers won their only World Series. While men and women danced in neighborhoods throughout Brooklyn, the Dodger's clubhouse was filled with the scene of black and white ball players hugging each other. Good ‘ol boys from the hills of North Carolina and the bluegrass of Kentucky high-fived Jewish and Italian players from the streets of Brooklyn, as our mixed-race catcher poured champagne on the heads of all. Brooklyn, you see, was the first “America's” Team in every way. While Branch Rickey, an Ohio farm boy turned baseball iconoclast, had been the enabler of this monumental movement, it was Jackie, indomitable Jackie, who built the bridges that allowed all to happen. As I flew out of New York en route to this year's American Association of Anatomist's (AAA) Annual Meeting in Chicago I could not help but think of Jackie and the bridges he built with his fans and teammates. Thinking of the bonds he created segued my thoughts to the AAA meetings at the multi-society Experimental Biology Conference I was to attend. As a Past-President, I take parental pride in my family's continued growth and the excellence of the science and education presented. But there is much more that brings me to smile. An aspect that I am most proud of is the international nature of our group and the camaraderie this has helped foster. This wonderful melding is demonstrated nowhere more strongly than in the Editorial Board of this august Journal, The Anatomical Record. This year's meeting was even more special than most as our Editor-in-Chief, Kurt Albertine, was to receive the Bodil M. Schmidt-Nielsen Distinguished Mentor & Scientist Award of the American Physiological Society (APS). The APS was founded in 1887, supposedly, some months before the official 1888 founding date of the Anatomists (we were probably too busy in lab to convene the meetings!). This discrepancy notwithstanding, anatomists and physiologists are peas in the same pod, and often work and teach closely together. So it has been with Kurt. At the presentation ceremony I looked around the large, well-populated room and saw the smiling faces of dozens of anatomists among those in attendance. Indeed, seven AAA past and current Presidents were there (you think he's popular or, at least, pretty important?). But what made me smile the most was seeing the gaggle of The Anatomical Record Editors all clumped together, smiling, and chatting (Fig. 2). You see, like science itself, our Editors hail from all over the globe, and it is not so easy any longer to travel from certain places to get to others. But there we were, from Spain, Belgium, Canada, Brazil, and China; from the beauty of Kurt's Utah; the center-lands of Ohio and Pennsylvania; and the Big Apple itself, New York City. Men and women, young and a little older than young. We all looked up with pride, smiles, and even a few tears as our leader received his well-deserved kudo. Kurt Albertine (with award) and The Anatomical Record Editorial Board. From left: Jose Luis Trejo (Madrid, Spain), Julian Guttman (Vancouver, Canada), Jeffrey Laitman (New York, USA), Kurt Albertine, Jean-Paul Timmermans (Antwerp, Belgium), Scott Miller (Salt Lake City, USA), Bo Foreman (Salt Lake City, USA), Tim Smith (Pittsburgh, USA), Katherine Yutzey (Cincinnati, USA). (Were there but missed the photo!: Valeria Fazan (Ribeiro Preto, Brazil), Ji-Cheng Li (Hangzhou, China.). While we knew of Kurt's scientific accomplishments and mentees (he always tells us; only kidding, sort of) what had he done to warrant all of his “teammates” being here? Kurt is, indeed, a fine scientist and scholar, but there are those with larger grants and even bigger labs. What is it that landed the spotlight on him? Like Jackie, it was the bridges that he has built. People don't go through the indignities of air travel, searches, custom's agents, and a convention center that's a nightmare, for a few soggy cookies and soda. Kurt's gift is his bridge-building abilities; he links people, he links ideas, he links their spirits and minds across the globe. He builds the bridges that allow and sustain international, scientific communication. And he teaches his editors—by example and lessons—the importance of building these bridges. Like some misplaced Norman Rockwell image, I stood outside the Dodgers dugout holding my Dad's hand on that warm August day in 1956. I can still smell the sweetness of the fresh-cut grass. All of a sudden, someone took off my little Dodger cap and rubbed my crew-cut head. “Hey, big fella, whatcha play,” said the voice. As I turned and looked up I could first see the red number “42” on the chest front of his crisp, white jersey. It was Jackie; he looked like a god, a stunning, perfect, baseball god. In shock, I stammered, “first base, sometimes.” “Me, too, sometimes. Hey, you gotta make it your own.” He rubbed my head and disappeared into the dugout from whence he came. “Daddy, that was Jackie!” I said, still in shock. Before I could digest my encounter, Jackie re-emerged, came over to me, and pinned a “Brooklyn” button with a little blue and white ribbon and a baseball dangling from it on my chest. “Here, big fella. So you remember you were here with your dad. Gotta remember the game!” He shook my dad's hand, patted my cheek, and trotted off tossing a ball to Pee Wee Reese as they ran to the infield. Within a few months Jackie played his last game for the Dodgers, retiring before the 1957 season. And when 1958 came around my beloved Dodgers were gone from Brooklyn as well. The team of my youth left for Los Angeles, a strange land where people ate fruits called “avocados” and never saw snow. Jackie built bridges over time, among peoples of different cultures and ways of life. His bridges brought people together so they could uncover their common love and passion in baseball. He changed a game, and by that, helped change a nation's history. My friend Kurt builds bridges. Through him, our journal links peoples of different cultures, ages, and views. He has used his bridge building to link his editors together, to span a physical world that enables scientists to cross wide divides to learn, and appreciate, each other's values and perspectives. Kurt's bridges allow the ideas of science to cross boundaries seamlessly and freely. I wanted to pen this editorial to remind us that in our world today it is not walls that we need but bridges. It is relatively easy to create a barricade to confine people or ideas from one another; to give a false sense of security, safety, even importance. But to build a lasting bridge, between people, between minds, between one's inner thoughts, that is a much more difficult reality to effectuate. One played ball in Brooklyn, the other unravels mysteries of science under the western sky. Jackie built bridges that linked people to baseball, his teammates together, and then his city, and soon his nation. Kurt's gift is building bridges too; amongst scientists, so ideas will always flow freely and vigorously. Let us be thankful for the bridge-builders, as they have, indeed, linked the goodness of our world Author would like to thank Mr. John Horne, Coordinator of Rights and Reproductions, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, Cooperstown, New York, for the photo in Figure 1 of Jackie Robinson and Pee Wee Reese; and The American Physiological Association for the photo in Figure 2 of Dr. Albertine and The Anatomical Record Editorial Board taken at the APS Award Ceremony.