DATE: Sunday, April 6, 1997                 TAG: 9704040223

SECTION: CAROLINA COAST          PAGE: 02   EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: Editorial 

SOURCE: Ronald L. Speer 

                                            LENGTH:   68 lines

ONE MAN'S COURAGE HELPED FREE BASEBALL

As a longtime sports editor, I met some of America's finest athletes. It didn't take a genius to discover a lot of the richest and most famous were jerks, surly, selfish and spoiled.

Fortunately, that realization was tempered by the fact that often the very best athletes of all were good guys.

Henry Aaron was a wonderful man, with character. The home run king epitomized Teddy Roosevelt's advice to ``Speak softly, and carry a big stick.'' He never lost his cool, not even as a rookie when he had to stay in private homes when the touring Braves slept in ``whites only'' hotels, nor when racists threatened his life in his successful campaign to break Babe Ruth's home-run record.

Sandy Koufax had character, too. The Dodger pitching ace rocked the baseball world in 1965, refusing to take his scheduled start in the World Series against Minnesota, saying he didn't pitch on Yom Kipper, a high holiday for Jews.

That dedication to something higher than big-league sports doesn't come to light very often, although a great many prayers are given at sports events, usually veiled petitions asking God ``to be on our side.''

I once asked Alex Hawkins, a slow-footed, quick-witted pass receiver for the Baltimore Colts and Atlanta Falcons, why he didn't join in the pre-game prayers.

``I hope God has better things to do on Sunday afternoon than watch pro football,'' Hawkins replied.

But I like to think that even the Lord noticed that a black man was in a big-league baseball lineup for the first time in the modern era when Jackie Robinson took the field with the Brooklyn Dodgers 50 years ago.

It is hard to believe now that blacks weren't allowed on the professional playing fields of much of America until Robinson broke the color barrier.

Oh, Jesse Owens had become the world's best-known athlete of any color in 1936 when he won four Olympic gold medals in Germany. But when Owens returned to America he couldn't eat in many restaurants, couldn't stay in many hotels, and had to ride in the back of southern buses. His Olympic track triumphs didn't open the doors to other black athletes.

Jackie Robinson's determination and courage did. He was the right man at the right time.

And what courage he had. Most of his own Dodger teammates wouldn't speak to him. Opposing fans called him the vilest of names. Rival players and managers did their best to taunt him into a tirade.

Robinson let his legs, his glove and his bat do the talking. He ran the bases with aggressive abandon and led the league in stolen bases. He batted

Slowly he earned respect. When death threats came from fans of other clubs, teammate Gene Hermanski said all the Dodgers should blacken their faces and wear Robinson's number so they ``wouldn't know who to aim at.''

Before Robinson called it quits after a decade, he had won all kinds of trophies, carried a career batting average of .311, and had earned the grudging respect of even hardened racists.

And there were black players on all but three of the major league teams.

It is hard to imagine baseball without Aaron or Willie Mays or Roberto Clemente or Roy Campanella or Reggie Jackson or Barry Bonds.

I met Jackie Robinson after he retired. He was a bit pudgy. But his eyes still had that intensity that made rival infielders tremble when he got on base.

Those piercing eyes kept me from asking about the accuracy of one of the legends about his debut April 15, 1947, the one where he told his wife as he left for the ballpark: ``You'll be able to recognize me by my number - it's 42.''

Jackie Robinson was the right man for any time.

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