Beyond The Point Of No Return

When Rickey had investigated Robinson's background, some people cautioned him that in basketball Robinson's trouble was that he would argue with and talk back to white officials and players, and that as a youth Robinson had had difficulties with the police because he was always shooting off his mouth about his constitutional rights. "He wasn't the most popular man on the campus and off," wrote San Francisco Chronicle columnist Will Connolly. "Jackie had a genius for getting into extra-curricular scrapes." Both Rickey and Connolly dismissed this behavior as unacceptable only because of Robinson's race. "If he had done the things people are criticizing him for as a white player he would have been praised to the skies as a fighter, a holler guy, a real competitor, a ballplayer's ballplayer," explained Rickey. "But because he's black his aggressiveness is offensive to some white people."

In 1945 Robinson had joined the Monarchs, with whom he spent an unhappy season barnstorming through the nation. The educated Robinson, a nondrinker and nonsmoker, never quite fit into the boisterous life of the Negro leagues. Accustomed to the discipline and structure of intercollegiate athletics, Robinson found the loose scheduling and erratic play appalling. Nor did he hide his distaste for being relegated to a Jim Crow league. Though most black players resigned themselves to their segregated status, Robinson often spoke of impending integration. Teammate Othello Renfroe recalls, "We'd ride miles and miles on the bus and his whole talk was, 'Well you guys better get ready because pretty soon baseball's going to sign one of us.' " When faced with the indignities of Southern segregation, Jackie would grow livid. "We...pulled up in service stations in Mississippi where drinking fountains said black and white and a couple of times we had to leave without our change, he'd get so mad," Renfroe recalls.

At Rickey's behest, Sukeforth met Robinson in Toledo, where he had to scout another player. The two men then traveled together to New York, where on Aug. 28, 1945, Sukeforth ushered Robinson into Rickey's office.

Rickey told Robinson of his extensive research into his career and personal life. He then revealed the purpose of the meeting. Robinson was jolted—and a bit skeptical. "It took me a long time to convince myself that Rickey was not just making a gesture," he later told Smith. For three hours Rickey harangued Robinson on the responsibilities incumbent upon the first black player, graphically illustrating the difficulties that Robinson might face. He portrayed the hostile teammate, the abusive opponent, the insulting fan, the obstinate hotel clerk. Rickey challenged Robinson with racial epithets and verbally transplanted him into ugly confrontations. "His acting was so convincing that I found myself chain-gripping my fingers behind my back," wrote Robinson.

Thus began one of the most remarkable relationships in sports history, one which Rachel Robinson feels people have misunderstood. "The things that have been reported about it make it sound very paternalistic on Mister Rickey's part, as though he directed everything," says Rachel. "There was much more of an attitude of their being collaborators and conspirators.... There was an alliance between them and a kind of mutual respect."

Before leaving Rickey's office Robinson signed an agreement to accept a bonus of $3,500 and a salary of $600 a month, which would be offered by the Montreal Royals, the top Dodger farm club, by Nov. 1. Rickey swore Robinson to secrecy, with exceptions made for Rachel and his mother.

For almost two months Robinson kept the news bottled inside him. Only his family and fiancée knew that Rickey had tapped him. Then, with the signing one day off, he had to share his thoughts. Robinson was staying at the Woodside Hotel in Harlem, awaiting departure on a winter barnstorming tour of Venezuela with the American All-Stars. He knew that Campanella, one of his teammates, had met with Rickey the preceding week. The two athletes scarcely knew each other, but Robinson invited the catcher to his room to play cards. After the first hand Robinson questioned Campanella about his visit with Rickey. Campanella said he had no interest in playing for the Brown Dodgers.

"Did Mister Rickey tell you that he wanted you for the Brown Dodgers?" asked Robinson.

Campanella realized that Rickey had never mentioned which team he wanted him to join. Robinson then told Campanella that he'd signed. Suddenly he exploded with excitement. "I didn't sign with the Brown Dodgers," he told the startled Campanella. "I'm going to play for Montreal.... I'm going to be the first Negro in Organized Baseball. I'm flying up to Montreal tomorrow for the official signing ceremony. It's going to be a big thing—cameras and everything."

Rickey, the architect of the integration strategy, had carefully planned each aspect of the historic breakthrough, seeking to minimize the difficulties Robinson would face. Thus, he assigned Robinson to Montreal, a team that ventured no farther south than Baltimore during a regular season.