Pomp May Be Over, Now What for Baseball?

The pomp and circumstance is over. The plastic bunting that adorned Shea Stadium for the Jackie Robinson 50th anniversary celebration has been folded up and put away. The president is back in Washington. The acting commissioner is back in Milwaukee.

So now what happens?

Robinson’s credo was that a life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives. Well, the Robinson ceremonies were not important unless they have some long-term impact on the sport he integrated a half century ago.

Baseball has some social conscience. It has dedicated the season to Robinson’s memory.

The players are wearing commemorative patches on their sleeves. There is a $1 million pledge to the Jackie Robinson Foundation, which provides scholarships for minority students and has a 92% graduation rate.

That’s all well and good, but the fact of the matter is that in the 25 years since a dying Robinson stood on the mound at the World Series in Cincinnati and reminded baseball of its social responsibility one last time, the progress has been limited.

Two general managers is not enough. Eight managers is not enough.

Had he lived, Robinson would have bristled at those numbers.

Given the opportunity, blacks have flourished in baseball’s positions of power. General Manager Bob Watson came to New York and the Yankees won the World Series for the first time in 18 years.

Cito Gaston managed Toronto to two straight World Series championships. Don Baylor took an expansion team in Colorado to the playoffs in its third season.

Dusty Baker won 103 games in his first year and had San Francisco bidding for the playoffs on the last day of the season.

Felipe Alou keeps Montreal viable despite constant cost-cutting that strips his roster.

Yet when there were seven off-season manager openings, all the jobs went to whites. And Watson, perched precariously on the George Steinbrenner hot seat, is the only black general manager baseball has had since Atlanta’s Bill Lucas died nearly two decades ago.

You can just see Robinson shaking his head at those numbers.

The progress has been painfully slow. The Robinson 50th anniversary could have been a benchmark opportunity for baseball to add minorities in high profile jobs. It has not been. Not yet.

Speeches are fine.

Actions are better.

The question is, Where does baseball goes from here? Does it finally discard the old-boy network and give a chance to people regardless of race? Does it seize the chance? Does the Robinson spirit spur real affirmative action?

Some of the people close to the Robinson celebration are less than optimistic.

Rachel Robinson, his widow, talks about the residue of racism in baseball.

Larry Doby, the second black major leaguer and one of the eight who managed, says there are still problems in 1997.

So does home run king Hank Aaron.

When Robinson finished his playing career in 1956, there was no rush to keep him in baseball, no manager jobs, no front-office jobs offered. He was allowed to leave the game without the least bit of resistance.

Aaron wonders if it will be the same way with this 50th anniversary celebration.

“Will they remember next year?” he asked. “That’s the thing that bothers me. Out of sight, out of mind. Next year, with all the patches and celebrations this year, I’m afraid this will be forgotten. And that’s the sad part.”