Negro Leagues players set a world-class example of determination
Like many, I watched in sheer horror the merciless and brazen murder of a Black man, George Floyd, at the knee of a white police officer on a Minneapolis street in broad daylight. For a week or so, I could not get the traumatic image out of my head.
Like most, my emotions have spanned the gamut since then. There were immediate feelings of disbelief, outrage, despair and fear. The fear stems from the natural parental angst that comes with having three young adult Black male children. Yes, we have had the talk. It is the same talk that my parents had with me as I came of age. It is the same talk, I dare assert, that most Black parents have with their children, particularly their male children.
Actually, the talk is more a directive. It is, in no uncertain terms, a stern lecture on what to do if stopped by the police. It is a survival skills class. My parents, Clara and Roger Kendrick, were never concerned about my pride or dignity being compromised by what I might consider being disrespected or treated as less than a man. Instead, their only concern was for their child coming home alive.. Sadly, that fear was, and still is, real.
I am the youngest of six boys. Growing up in Crawfordville, Georgia, in the 1960s, my mother and father did so much to shield me from the racism and hate they had experienced growing up in the rural South. It was only after I was old enough to leave the nest that I began to fully understand what they had done.
In recent days, I have reflected on the many trips I took with them to Atlanta to see one of my brothers. My recollection goes back to about age 5, well before Interstate Highway 20 cut through the outskirts of Crawfordville providing freeway access. Back then, the route took us up old U.S. Highway 78, a winding but scenic two-lane road that weaved through a bunch of small towns.
The trips were memorable for me because my mother would always cook something special. The menu would typically consist of fried chicken, potato salad and yellow cake with chocolate icing. It was all packed in a wax paper-lined shoebox. I’m not sure what it was about that shoebox, but the chicken just seemed to taste so much better coming out of it. As I got older, I realized she did this because there was no place along the route where my parents felt comfortable stopping to get something to eat until we reached Atlanta.
I draw strength from those experiences. It is disheartening that there are those in positions of authority who lack the cultural sensitivity to perform their jobs, difficult or not, without racial bias. While it saddens me that we still live in a society where people teach hate, I refuse to allow the somberness of those painful reminders to override my belief in humanity.
I have a renewed spirit and sense of hope. I am energized and proud of the many young people, of various ethnicities and all walks of life, who are passionately raising their voices to invoke positive change. I am an eternal optimist. Perhaps it is the spillover effect from the boundless optimism that exuded from my late friend, John “Buck” O’Neil. And perhaps it comes from my role as the leader of the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, a place that Buck dedicated so much of his life to build.
The compelling history of the Negro Leagues is more important today than ever before. It is an awe-inspiring story of sheer determination and courage. It is a story about strong-willed, dedicated athletes who simply refused to accept the notion that they were unfit to share in the joys of our national pastime. They forged a glorious history during an inglorious era of American segregation. Their love of baseball would not only change the game, but would change America, too.
When the Negro National League was formed in Kansas City in 1920, it did not begin as a social statement. It began because talented athletes, shunned from the game because of the color of their skin, required and deserved a forum to express their world-class baseball abilities. The museum was founded in 1990 with that same kind or defiant resolve and determination.
The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum is so much more than just a great attraction. It is a place where our children gain an understanding of the path others have blazed in a still-enduring fight for justice and equality. The many life lessons that stem from this powerful story of triumph over adversity transcend race, age and gender. It is a place to learn about history, heroes and home runs. But more importantly, it is a place where humanity touches home.
Bob Kendrick is president of the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum.
This story was originally published July 21, 2020 at 5:00 AM.