How A White Kid From South Jersey, Born Too Late To See Him Play, Comes To Love Jackie Robinson
I. Philadelphia
I am connected to Jackie Robinson
through this unbrotherly city
happy friendly Philly
from which we both
escaped.
II. Misodelphia, 1968
Nothing Robinson heard
in 1947
from Ben WhiteSheet Chapman & Gang
was much different
from what I remember hearing
that night
and so many countless times
when I was seven and going
with my neighbor friends and their dad
to my first game at the ballpark
Old Connie Mack Stadium
on our way through car-lined city streets
seeing brown-skinned people
kids touching car fenders
roll up your windows, they’re out in force tonight
III. South Jersey, 1970
Gertrude Cunningham, 4th Grade Teacher,
at Mary Roberts Elementary School
lone black woman in that simmering suburbia
those Pine White Barrens
accomplished something robinsonesque
to have inspired Freddie Floyd (believe it! Freddie Floyd!)
who ran outraged, in tears, shouting Mrs Cunningham,
Mrs Cunningham, look! On the map of Africa,
they printed something terrible; look right there,
they call that country N – I – G – E – R!
She laughed a bit at his misreading but she
was proud of him for his caring and protest.
IV. Willie Montanez, 1971
Crusader or not, Guillermo,
glove flipping, bucket stepping
Willie The Phillie
became my inadvertant Jackie Robinson
when I was modeling his batting style
yelling Willie Mon-tan-yez drives one deep
when one white kid laughed at me
for the kind of person I was emulating:
the way Willie didn’t suit him
and an older white kid–
insulted, fiery, righteous–
punched that budding racist in the face.
It was a learning time
on those all-white but dividing playgrounds
V. Emmett Ashford Was My Butch Henline *
Anchorage, Alaska 1982
I was the only white guy on the field for my team when
I met Emmett Ashford on the shouting end
of a close play at second,
my tag on the runner’s foot
in front of the bag
but Emmett’s arms stretched wide,
flashy and major league and incorrect
so I said “you blew that one, blue, c’mon
umps have to hustle too”
so he said to the 2B man “obviously,
he doesn’t know who I am, better tell him”
so I said “well I know you blew that call”
and the 2B man told me shut the hell up
before you blow the game
you were right but now you’re wrong
I know today what a jerk I was,
arguing with Emmett Ashford,
Emmett Ashford!
and I knew enough then to apologize
and the great thing I felt then
for the first time in my life
through the racists I’ve known, the opportunities I’ve had
on that ballfield, that equalizer of people,
I was just another guy
the 2B man was just another guy
Emmett Ashford was just another ex-major-leaguer-status guy
we were all just another guy
playing ball
loving that fight to win.
*from JR’s chapter, “Just Another Guy”
VI. Reading I Never Had It Made, 1997
It wasn’t all in his dancing off third,
not in his crabclaw running,
his “football shoulders”
his intimidating temper
It was after his career, THERE, page 282,
“being real isn’t qualified by skin color
but by character”
Because more should be said of
Jackie Robinson as social philosopher
who thought ahead of his time
who might have had the urge to hate
a random Anglo
but would not condemn one
for his whiteness
who had the grace to assess
a person’s character
by that person’s character,
the actual thing
making respect
respectable,
& brotherly love
Van Zant has taught near-dropouts for 14 years and has written many other poems related to students in his alternative school–white, black and Hispanic (dysfunctionality knows no racial boundaries).
Copyright © 2000 Frank Van Zant. All rights reserved. {jos_sb_discuss:9}