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From an award-winning writer, the first linked history of African Americans and Latinos in Major League Baseball
After peaking at 27 percent of all major leaguers in 1975, African Americans now make up less than one-tenth—a decline unimaginable in other men's pro sports. The number of Latin Americans, by contrast, has exploded to over one-quarter of all major leaguers and roughly half of those playing in the minors. Award-winning historian Rob...
From an award-winning writer, the first linked history of African Americans and Latinos in Major League Baseball
After peaking at 27 percent of all major leaguers in 1975, African Americans now make up less than one-tenth—a decline unimaginable in other men's pro sports. The number of Latin Americans, by contrast, has exploded to over one-quarter of all major leaguers and roughly half of those playing in the minors. Award-winning historian Rob Ruck not only explains the catalyst for this sea change; he also breaks down the consequences that cut across society. Integration cost black and Caribbean societies control over their own sporting lives, changing the meaning of the sport, but not always for the better. While it channeled black and Latino athletes into major league baseball, integration did little for the communities they left behind.
By looking at this history from the vantage point of black America and the Caribbean, a more complex story comes into focus, one largely missing from traditional narratives of baseball's history. Raceball unveils a fresh and stunning truth: baseball has never been stronger as a business, never weaker as a game.
2012 PEN/ESPN Award for Literary Sports Writing Runner-up
"One of our greatest historians of sport has given us a gift for the ages: a history of baseball that captures its multicultural dynamics in original and profoundly illuminating ways."—Marcus Rediker, author of The Slave Ship
"A profound look at why Latinos have replaced African American baseball players, helping the reader understand the game as a business. Definitely a must-read for those who love the game, regardless of origin, race, or ethnicity."—Juan Marichal, MLB Hall of Famer
"Some are well-versed when it comes to the Negro Leagues. Others are aficionados about the rise of Latinos in baseball. But Rob Ruck is one of the few writers who can be called an expert in both fields. Perceptive and insightful, Raceball is a pleasure to read."—Tim Wendel, author of The New Face of Baseball and High Heat
“One of our greatest historians of sport has given us a gift for the ages: a history of baseball that captures its multicultural dynamics in original and profoundly illuminating ways. Synthesizing a lifetime of pathbreaking research, Raceball presents a brilliant new account—in black, white, and brown—of what can no longer be regarded as merely the national game.”—Marcus Rediker, author of The Slave Ship
An exploration of the changing nature of race in baseball, and the political, social and cultural events driving that change.
During the past few decades, Major League Baseball has seen a marked decline in the number of black players while simultaneously witnessing an explosion of Latin American players. Ruck (History/Univ. of Pittsburgh; The Tropic of Baseball: Baseball in the Dominican Republic, 1991, etc.) delves deeply into baseball history to explore the inextricable link between the two phenomena, starting with the struggles of black and Latin players in the segregated pre–Jackie Robinson era, continuing through the painful but inspirational period of integration and into the apex of African-American participation in the 1970s (when more than a quarter of players were black), before exploring the current state of a game dominated by Latin Americans. Backgrounding the sea change of dynamic on-field progress are cultural developments, including the civil-rights movement in the United States and the struggle for social and economic rights in Latin America and the Caribbean. The author excels in his discussions of the incredible struggle of black and Latin players to find equal footing with their white counterparts, both as ballplayers and as citizens, and when he highlights the ways in which baseball was more than a diversion, but rather an institution that supported black and Latin communities financially and socially. In waxing nostalgic about the deleterious effect of baseball's decline on the black community or its endangered status as a key piece of community infrastructure in the Latin world, however, Ruck stops short of fully exploring how other activities have helped fill the void. For example, he seems to attribute baseball's fall-off in the black community almost solely to baseball's own faults rather than thoroughly investigating the ways in which other sports, like basketball, have superseded it in ways more appealing to modern youth.
Compellingly weaves together disparate threads of racial and sporting history, but fails to tie up all the loose ends.
From chapter 2, “Blackball’s Heyday”
On many a Sunday afternoon in the 1930s, Greenlee Field atop the Hill District in Pittsburgh was the crossroads of a black baseball world that stretched over a thousand miles southward into the Caribbean. The Hill, perched above downtown, had long been the traditional destination for Europeans and African Americans coming to Pittsburgh. Now, with Cool Papa Bell blazing around the base paths, Josh Gibson swatting balls farther than anybody had ever seen before, and Satchel Paige telling his fielders to sit down and watch while he struck out the side, it witnessed black baseball’s renaissance. Baseball fans were seeing a similar rebirth in Kansas City, where jazz bandleader Count Basie sat elbow-to-elbow with ministers and slaughterhouse workers at Muehlebach Stadium, home to the Kansas City Monarchs. Back East, forty-five hundred paying customers routinely packed the Dyckman Oval in upper Manhattan; on game days there, the staccato cadence of Caribbean migrants mixed with southern dialects, Italian, and Yiddish. But nowhere was the rise of black baseball more obvious than during the East-West Classic, when tens of thousands of African Americans gathered at Chicago’s Comiskey Park to celebrate what had become black sport’s biggest event, an annual all-star game featuring baseball’s best black players.
As far as Major League Baseball was concerned, these hotspots for black baseball bubbling up across the country hardly existed. The National and American Leagues had established themselves as the major leagues after the Pittsburgh Pirates and Boston Americans inaugurated World Series play in 1903. Their power depended on eliminating competitors in the most lucrative markets and controlling an all-white labor force. By the 1920s, the major leagues had fended off would-be rivals, instituted a reserve clause that bound players to clubs, and smashed efforts to unionize. Major league executives like White Sox owner Charles Comiskey, who bullied his own players so much that several agreed to fix the 1919 World Series, and Branch Rickey, who was building a minor league farm system for the Cardinals so that he could monopolize as much talent as possible, dominated baseball. Other leagues collapsed or accepted minor league status, while the players, chastened by repeated defeat, acknowledged that owners held the whip hand.
Although major league executives aggressively sought dominion over all of white professional baseball, they felt no compulsion to control black ballplayers or fight for their fans. Nor did they or their players protest African Americans’ exclusion from the major leagues. White players benefited from segregation, which relieved them of competition for the mere four hundred jobs available in the majors. It also eliminated owners’ worries of alienating white fans, especially in southern cities like Washington, D.C., and St. Louis.
Moreover, white players and owners profited directly from black baseball. White major leaguers took advantage of black ballplayers’ drawing power by competing against them in lucrative postseason barnstorming games. Major league owners gained by renting their ballparks to black teams on days their facilities would have otherwise stayed shut. The Caribbean leagues, meanwhile, were far enough away to pose little competition for players or fans. But like black baseball, they offered Major League Baseball a source of income. Major league clubs profited by playing in the islands, especially Cuba, during the winter. These trips were often the difference between making or losing money for the year. Some major league ballplayers also headed to the Caribbean on their own to play for island teams and make a living doing what they did best.
But while Major League Baseball clung to its color line, African Americans were rebuilding a vibrant baseball domain in their rapidly growing northern and midwestern beachheads. Resonating as far away as the Mis sissippi Delta and San Pedro de Macorís in the Dominican Republic, where fans knew of Oscar Charleston, Satchel Paige, and Josh Gibson and longed for the chance to see them play, organized black baseball was rapidly establishing the race’s sporting bona fides.
These ball clubs did more than display African American sporting excellence against segregation’s backdrop. They helped knit black America together, giving African Americans teams and heroes of their own. Sport offered a cultural counterpoint to the discrimination African Americans encountered at work and in politics. It became an arena affirming their business competence and athletic artistry. Yet baseball was also a bridge to white communities, as black teams played thousands of games against major league barnstormers and white semipros. Though whites participated in black baseball as opponents, spectators, promoters, and owners, this was a realm that black America created and sustained largely on its own. It rebuilt a baseball world that African Americans had first established in the aftermath of World War I, only to see it collapse during the Great Depression.
. . .
As long as 90 percent of all African Americans lived in the South, as they did at the end of the nineteenth century, the chances of a viable black baseball league emerging were slim. The wrenching poverty of rural southern blacks, for whom segregation and sharecropping had come to replace slavery, left them little with which to build much of anything.
When conditions in the South deteriorated even further during the 1890s, thousands headed northward during the onset of what would become known as the Great Migration. They left behind Jim Crow laws, lynchings, and plunging cotton prices for the better jobs, educational opportunities, and relative freedom of the North. Most of these early migrants came from the upper South, especially Virginia, Maryland, and the District of Columbia. Often from bigger towns and cities, these upper South transplants were somewhat better off and better educated than African Americans from the rural black belt that swept across the Deep South from Georgia to Texas. Decades later, World War I triggered a far more sizable exodus. As wartime demand for labor increased, the supply of available white workers fell due to the influx of men into the military and the dwindling number of European immigrants arriving from their war-torn continent. That allowed African Americans to enter factories and workplaces previously off-limits. Most of these newcomers were from the rural Deep South.
By the 1920s, the Great Migration had carried well over a million African Americans north aboard the “exodus trains,” on the Illinois Central, the Erie, and New York Central lines. Although New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia were the top destinations, black communities also grew substantially in Cleveland, Detroit, and Pittsburgh. Chicago became the “bronze metropolis” as its black population more than quadrupled between 1910 and 1930 to over 225,000. With black professionals, merchants, and politicians establishing a power base on the city’s South Side, Chicago became black baseball’s capital and Andrew “Rube” Foster its mayor.
A Calvert, Texas, native, Foster left school after the eighth grade and pitched his way northward, starring for teams in Chicago, New York, and Philadelphia. Fans began calling him Rube after he outpitched future Hall of Famer George Edward “Rube” Waddell in a barnstorming duel. Foster established his reputation as black baseball’s top pitcher in 1903 by winning four of five games for the Cuban X-Giants in a series with the Philadelphia Giants billed as the “world’s colored championship.” But his enduring legacy would be founding the Negro National League, one of the first national black institutions to emerge after slavery.
After forming the Chicago American Giants in 1910, Foster set the bar for black teams by insisting that his squad receive at least 50 percent of the gate when playing white opponents. He partnered with White Sox owner Charles Comiskey’s son-in-law, John Schorling, who had refurbished the White Sox’s old ballpark on the South Side, near Chicago’s booming black community. Foster used South Side Park as his home field. Relinquishing playing for managing, Foster became a midwestern power broker, booking games for white semipro clubs as well as his own team, which toured Canada, California, and Cuba.
In 1917 the Freeman, a black paper in Indianapolis, made a public appeal for a “Moses to lead the baseball children out of the wilderness.”1 Three years later, Foster answered its call. The increasing vibrancy of black communities in the North created new possibilities, and Foster understood the benefits of a league with fixed schedules, high-profile rivalries, and championships. Unhappy with allowing white promoters to dictate the terms by which he played in the East, Foster gathered black club owners and sportswriters at the Kansas City YMCA in February 1920. They formed the eight-team Negro National League and elected Foster as the NNL’s first president.
The clubs were located in the Midwest, with two franchises in Chicago and one each in Dayton, Detroit, Indianapolis, Kansas City, St. Louis, and Cincinnati, where Cuban promoter Abel Linares based his Cuban Stars. There was one white owner among them, J. L. Wilkinson, who had earned his credentials with the All Nations ball club he founded in 1912. The All Nations had shattered accepted racial mores by fielding black, white, Native American, Latin, and Asian ballplayers, including future Hall of Famers John Donaldson, José Méndez, and Cristóbal Torrienti. The All Nations disbanded during World War I when several key players were drafted into military service. Afterward, Wilkinson added Kansas City sandlotters and players from the U.S. Army’s Twenty-fifth Infantry Wreckers, an allblack service team, to the core of his old All Nations squad and formed the Kansas City Monarchs.
One The Gospel of Baseball
Two Blackball’s Heyday
Three A Latin Challenge
Four The Winds of War
Five Integration’s Curse
Six ¡Viva México!
Seven New Caribbean Currents
Nine The Rise of the Academies