[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 153 (2007), Part 7]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 9294-9295]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                    RECOGNIZING JACKIE ROBINSON DAY

                                 ______
                                 

                         HON. CHARLES B. RANGEL

                              of new york

                    in the house of representatives

                       Wednesday, April 18, 2007

  Mr. RANGEL. Madam Speaker, I rise today to recognize and celebrate 
Jackie Robinson, a sports trailblazer, civil rights activist, veteran, 
and great American and to enter into the record an article from the New 
York Daily News by Lisa Olson entitled ``Barriers Still Need Breaking--
Up to us to complete Robinson's great work.''
  Long before Jackie Robinson stood up to racism and smashed through 
the barriers of segregation in Major League Baseball on April 15, 1947, 
he was fighting for equality. He enlisted in the Army in 1942 and rose 
to the rank of Second Lieutenant. In July of 1944, he refused to sit in 
the back of a segregated military bus and although a court martial was 
issued for insubordination, he was found not guilty and honorably 
discharged in November of that same year. The courage displayed during 
this incident, as well as his commitment to the Army, helped prepare 
him for the battlefield of discrimination he would encounter on the 
baseball diamond.
  Despite the hostility of opponents and even teammates, on April 15, 
1947, Jackie Robinson had the courage to join the Brooklyn Dodgers and 
became the first Black man to play in baseball's major leagues. He knew 
that excellence was the calling and he proved his skill and talent on 
the baseball field. With tremendous pressure and opposition from fans 
and even some teammates, he handled himself with grace on and off the 
field. Because of his commitment and determination to be the best in 
the face of prejudice, African American and other minority athletes 
have been afforded the opportunity to compete in professional sports 
today.
  Jackie Robinson received numerous awards and honors during his 
extraordinary career, and was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. 
His legacy and outstanding contribution to Major League Baseball and 
America is representative of what America is all about. This country is 
about opportunity, diversity, and humility. I applaud Jackie Robinson 
for leaving a legacy of excellence, breaking down segregation, and 
inspiring people to strive for the best.

                         [From the Daily News]

  Barriers Still Need Breaking--Up To Us To Complete Robinson's Great 
                                  Work

                            (By Lisa Olson)

       They don't have to dress in the broom closet. They can 
     drink from the same water fountains, eat at the same buffet, 
     stay in the same ritzy hotels, swim in the same pools.
       It's almost incomprehensible to imagine the America that 
     greeted and jeered Jackie Robinson 60 years ago yesterday, 
     when he bounded out of the dugout at Ebbets Field and became 
     the first African-American Major League Baseball player of 
     the modem era.
       There were racial slurs and despicable letters, flying 
     cleats and death threats, opponents who turned their back on 
     him and Brooklyn Dodger teammates who wouldn't sit near him. 
     We blithely toss around the

[[Page 9295]]

     words ``courage'' and ``hero'' far too often these days, but 
     they can't be used enough to describe Jackie Robinson. MLB 
     retired his No. 42 on April 15, 1997, the 50th anniversary of 
     Robinson's major league debut, and temporarily suspended it 
     yesterday, a serendipitous gesture that coincided with yet 
     another hit to the American conscience.
       Ken Griffey Jr. was the first contemporary player to push 
     for the movement, to ask commissioner Bud Selig for 
     permission to honor Robinson by wearing No. 42. Griffey, who 
     donned six different jerseys in the Reds' game against the 
     Cubs, told reporters, ``I think a lot of people wouldn't be 
     in this locker room if it wasn't for what he did.''
       More than 200 players and managers joined the tribute, and 
     there was No. 42 on the back of every Dodger last night, and 
     on the Cardinals' Albert Pujols as he tipped his cap, 
     Robinson-style, while crossing the plate after belting a home 
     run, and on Arizona's Tony Clark as he swatted two of his 
     own, and on Cleveland's C.C. Sabathia as he struck out 10 
     White Sox and then talked about how he wanted to make sure he 
     represented Robinson's legacy with grace and class.
       There was Dontrelle Willis, an All-Star, a 20-game winner, 
     saying wearing No. 42 was ``the highest honor I've ever 
     received in my life.'' There was Chris Young, Padre starter 
     and Princeton graduate, recalling how he wrote his senior 
     thesis on Robinson while sitting in the back of the bus as 
     his Class A team, the Hickory Crawdads, traveled the South 
     Atlantic League roads.
       Young took America's pulse by analyzing newspaper reports, 
     both before Robinson broke the color barrier and after. ``I 
     observed there was significant improvement in the attitude of 
     the media toward African-Americans. Not from negative to 
     positive so much as negative to neutral,'' Young told ESPN 
     The Magazine. ``I excluded sports, but prior to Robinson 
     breaking the color line, you'd see reporters frequently using 
     expressions like `a Negro hoodlum' in their stories. I 
     noticed coverage that was much more neutral after the 
     integration of baseball.''
       And there was the Twins' Torii Hunter, pulling his black 
     socks high and dropping into a curling slide as he safely 
     nailed home on the same day his op-ed piece appeared in the 
     Pioneer Press. ``You don't have to be African-American to 
     know what (Robinson) went through. You've just got to be a 
     smart person or a person who knows what pain is like,'' 
     Hunter wrote. ``For the past 10 years, I've been called the 
     N-word, like, 20 times. Not in Minnesota. In Kansas City. In 
     Boston.''
       Clearly we haven't yet demolished the racial barrier, or 
     wiped out negative language. Sixty years after Robinson 
     authored the most seminal moment in American sports history, 
     Hunter is still called the N-word, and the Rutgers women's 
     basketball team gets bombarded with hateful E-mails simply 
     because it had the misfortune of being caught in the 
     maelstrom created by Don Imus' nasty mouth.
       In August 1945, in a conversation now cemented in American 
     lore, Dodger president Branch Rickey told Robinson, ``I know 
     you're a good ballplayer. What I don't know is whether you 
     have the guts.''
       ``Mr. Rickey,'' Robinson asked, ``are you looking for a 
     Negro who is afraid to fight back?''
       ``Robinson, I'm looking for a ballplayer with enough guts 
     not to fight back,'' Rickey said, and thus an unspoken pact 
     was sealed.
       Robinson altered the complexion of our pastime and forced 
     Americans to understand blacks could be equal with whites. 
     How shocking, how depressing, that 60 years later, not 
     everyone seems to get it.
       ``The course of history probably would have changed had he 
     quit because he was the smartest of the Negro League 
     players,'' Hunter wrote. ``This was a guy who went to UCLA 
     and played four sports in college. He had an education. If he 
     had quit--the guy who was supposed to be the strongest of the 
     Negro League and the smartest of the Negro League--why go get 
     the others? They wouldn't be able to handle it if he couldn't 
     handle it.''
       They took No. 42 out of retirement and put it on their 
     backs yesterday, black and white and Latino and Asian players 
     proudly wearing the digits. In clubhouses and stadium seats 
     all across the land, stories were repeated about how Pee Wee 
     Reese, a white shortstop from Louisville, once draped an arm 
     over Robinson's shoulder in a silent show of support. It 
     ought to be Jackie Robinson Day every day.

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