Beyond The Point Of No Return

Two other young black sportswriters who played critical roles also appeared at this time. Lacy, a persistent and perceptive critic of the baseball establishment, joined The Washington Tribune in 1937 and, after stints with that paper and The Chicago Defender, in 1944 became the sports editor of the Baltimore Afro-American, a job he still holds today at 77. In New York, Bostic was spearheading the integration campaign.

At a time when few whites thought of racial issues, these writers injected the integration controversy not only into the black press, but into the broader public arena. Smith interviewed National League players and managers about their attitudes regarding the entry of blacks into the majors. Lacy attended meetings of baseball executives, requesting—and often getting—the opportunity for blacks to plead their case. Bostic became a thorn in the side of the three New York teams by leading delegations to their offices and challenging them in his articles. One year Bostic wrote a Christmas column entitled "No Room at the Yankee Inn," criticizing that club for its failure to employ blacks. The piece garnered Bostic a writing award—and de facto banishment from the Yankee press box.

World War II, more than any other event, caused Americans to re-evaluate their racial attitudes. Many historians view the war as a watershed in the black struggle for civil rights, partly because the conflict against Nazi racism exposed the contradictions of racial practice in the United States.

The impact of both the world conflict and the nation's heightened racial awareness also affected baseball. Because the military draft quickly depleted major league rosters, teams soon consisted mostly of 4-F holdovers, retirement-age veterans and athletes of minor league abilities. Pete Gray, the one-armed outfielder who played for the 1945 St. Louis Browns, became a dramatic symbol of baseball's wartime manpower shortage. But Organized Baseball totally ignored two-armed, able-bodied Negro league athletes.

In 1942, Bill Veeck Jr., then 28, had presented a more potent challenge to the ban on blacks. Veeck, the son of the former president of the Chicago Cubs, would become a gadfly to the baseball establishment for the next ½ decades. In 1941 he had purchased a debt-ridden, last-place minor league franchise in Milwaukee. Through wildly imaginative promotions and shrewd player deals, he transformed the team into a profitable pennant winner. In late '42 he advanced a more audacious scheme. Veeck sought to purchase the foundering Philadelphia Phillies from owner Gerry Nugent and stock the team with blacks. "The only untapped reservoir of players was the blacks who were either older or for one reason or another had not been drafted," says Veeck. By fielding the cream of the Negro leagues, Veeck wrote in his autobiography, Veeck—As In Wreck, "I had not the slightest doubt that in 1944, a war year, the Phils would have leaped from seventh place to the pennant."

Veeck had little difficulty in attracting financial backers or reaching agreement with Nugent. He made just one error. "Out of my long respect for Judge Landis, I felt he was entitled to prior notification of what I intended to do," wrote Veeck. He traveled to Chicago and unveiled his scheme to the commissioner. Landis listened politely, revealing no reaction.

Veeck headed back to Philadelphia, confident that he had purchased the Phillies. When he got there the next morning, he discovered that Nugent had turned the club over to the National League. Shortly thereafter Frick sold the team to William Cox, a wealthy lumber dealer, for half the price that Veeck had offered. Did Landis block the sale of the Phillies to Veeck? "I have no proof of that," says Veeck. "I can only surmise." Several weeks later Veeck heard that Frick had boasted about stopping the young maverick from contaminating the league. In the end Frick and Landis became the victims of their sub rosa dealing. Within the year Landis had to banish the uncontaminated Cox from baseball for betting on his own team.

Landis had again protected the racial purity of the game, but even czars are mere mortals. Shortly after the 1944 season the craggy-faced jurist died of a heart attack. The death of Landis removed the symbol of baseball's integrity; it also eliminated one of the most implacable and influential opponents of integration.

In March 1945, Lacy sent a letter to each major league owner suggesting the creation of a committee to study "the possibilities and [find] the best way of ironing out the many ramifications" of bringing blacks into the majors. Lacy admitted in his letter that "this is a sort of compromise for me as a colored man in that it embraces the element of 'appeasement,' " but he felt "it will be a step in the right direction." Leslie O'Connor, who headed the panel replacing Landis until a new commissioner could be chosen, allowed Lacy to address the owners on April 24. Lacy presented his proposal and the executives agreed to his plan. A major league committee on baseball integration was established; it included Lacy, Rickey and Yankee President Larry MacPhail and Philadelphia magistrate Joseph H. Rainey. Despite repeated efforts by Rickey and Lacy to convene the group, it never met. "MacPhail always had some excuse," recalls Lacy. "Finally Branch Rickey said, 'Well, Sam, maybe we'll forget about Mister MacPhail. Maybe we'll just give up on him and let nature take its course.' " If Rickey was subtly revealing his intentions, Lacy didn't realize it. While Lacy struggled to bring the committee on integration to life, a new baseball commissioner was assuming office: A.B. (Happy) Chandler, U.S. Senator and former governor of the segregated state of Kentucky.

Shortly before the appointment of Chandler, Bostic had arrived unannounced at the Dodgers' wartime spring training camp at Bear Mountain, N.Y. With him were two Negro league players, Pitcher Terris McDuffie and First Baseman Dave (Showboat) Thomas, for whom Bostic demanded tryouts. "I'd decided I'd gotten all the mileage out of conversation I could," Bostic says. "The next thing was a concrete move, and this would be it." Bostic had previously appeared at the Dodger offices to plead his case. "Always," he recalls, "there was this smooth out that you can't accuse baseball of having a color line or prejudice because no black had tried out for the majors. Finally in '45 I took the bull by the horns."