Don't Fight Back

This message comes from Bayer. Science is a rigorous process that requires questions, testing, transparency, and results that can be proven. This approach is integral to every breakthrough Bayer brings forward, innovations that save lives and feed the world. ScienceDelivers.com May 13, 1963 Roughly 2,000 people are gathered for a silver right to meeting at a Birmingham church. The mood is exhausted. For the last few weeks, these activists have been on their feet, marching for silver rights. Today, they have a chance to sit down and regroup. One week earlier, thousands of children took to the streets of Birmingham to protest for equality. While their fierce activism may have moved President John F. Kennedy to voice his support for the Silver Rights Act, that doesn't change much on the ground in Birmingham. But now, someone has come to town to show his appreciation for the activist's hard work. I came down here today just to thank each and every one of you for your tremendous inspiration. A legend in the world of baseball and silver rights, Jackie Robinson. The man who broke baseball's color barrier had been out of the sport for seven years. And in the time since, Robinson had been criticized for not doing enough for the Silver Rights Movement, and for supporting Republican candidate Richard Nixon's run for President in 1960. But when Robinson saw the images of the children's crusade, hundreds of young people arrested and abused by Bull Connor's Police Department, he was horrified. He knew he had to come to Birmingham to lend his support to the city where he played countless games on his way north from spring training, and to play his own part in Alabama's Silver Rights Movement. But something happened just two days before Robinson's visit, giving this gathering a new sense of urgency. "I don't think you realized out here in Birmingham what you mean to us up there in New York. And I don't think that quite Americans understand what Birmingham means to all of us throughout this country." The Gaston Motel, a Silver Rights meeting hub, was bombed. "By this time Birmingham has their famous name of Birmingham, and so it is not unusual that this space was bombed a lot like many other spaces in Birmingham." That's Tracy Jones, park ranger at the Gaston Motel Historical Landmark in downtown Birmingham, and my high school classmate. "The center of this courtyard area right here." Tracy took us around the building, which is now a museum and memorial. "That's known as the War Room. That's Room 30. That's where the magic happened." Tracy is pointing out the corner bedroom of the Motel's second floor. Those were civil rights leaders like Fred Shuttle's birth, and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. did their planning. "You see the bomb scar? Those are the bomb scar, so it was with intention that they're trying to get Room 30, right?" On May 11, 1963, Clansman Planet Dynamite right beneath the so-called War Room. The explosion blasted a hole through the Motel's brick wall, debris went everywhere. And yes, you can still see the evidence today. "I always tell people to take pictures of that. That's a huge part of history." If Dr. King happened to be in the room at the time, he could have been killed. Luckily, he wasn't, and incredibly no one was even injured. But some were hurt in the rioting that followed. Between that and the children's crusade days before, the city is on edge. This is the Birmingham that Jackie Robinson is coming to. "I would imagine that for Jackie Robinson, it was a big deal for him to come here. The space of Birmingham, the work that they were doing on a world stage, was something unique." After the bomb goes off, Jackie Robinson's planned speech goes out the window. When he arrives in Birmingham, his first stop is the Gaston Motel. He wants to see the damage for himself. Then he hits for a local church, and when he takes the mic, Dr. King is standing by his side. "I think the first steps that were made here by the Birmingham business, and with Dr. King and the other leaders down here, is an indication that perhaps the conscious of Birmingham was beginning to awaken. The only thing that we're demanding is that we be allowed to move ahead to it like any other American city." From W.N.O. and W.R.K.F., I'm Roy Wood Jr., and this is The Roe to Rickwood. But the early 1960s, the civil rights movement is in full swing in Birmingham, protests are routine and scary enough, so are bombings. According to Tracy Jones, there's a reason for that. Birmingham had the resources, literally. "A lot of people don't understand the relationship between bombing and Birmingham. It was the only place you could find the components to make steel." Many of those components are used in more than 40 unsolved bombings that take place in Birmingham from the late '40s to early '60s. And so it made things really easily accessible for people who wanted to commit those atrocities." Many of the targets of civil rights activists, including NAACP Attorney Arthur Shores and AB King, Martin Luther King Jr.'s brother. One neighborhood by Sinister Street is bombed so frequently, it becomes known as Dynamite Hill. While there's no evidence that Bull Connor is directly involved in the bombings, as the city Commissioner of Public Safety, he wasn't doing anything to stop them. Here's Jim Baggett, historian and archivist for the city of Birmingham. "We don't know how much Connor was involved with the bombings, but he knew the people who were doing them. He was protecting them." The people who are doing them are largely members of the Ku Klux Klan, and all this violence is scaring both Birmingham's black and white residents. The white men who controlled the economy here understood it and were seeing that Connor's approach to defending segregation was bad for business. Delta Airlines was founded here in the state of Alabama, but Delta Airlines decided that they were going to integrate their terminals. When they decided that they were going to do that, Bull Connor went to war with them. Very McNle, historical constant expert at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. He used his authority to have the price of the fuel raised through taxation, and Delta took those big beautiful planes and they flew to Atlanta, and today Atlanta has the busiest airport in the face of the earth, whereas Birmingham's airport not so much. Right up with all the costs of segregation, voters begin looking for a way to dilute Connor's power. There was a movement to put Connor out of office because they had lost control of him. Connor was in office in a three-man city commission. The voters approved a city council mayor for the government to replace that. Back in August of 1962, a lawyer named David Van began collecting signatures to support changing Birmingham's leadership from a three-person governing body that allowed Connor to rule to a traditional mayor and a city council. In November of that year, a vote made it official. According to the Birmingham age, Harold, the changes narrowly approved. 11% of the voters are black, and they provided the winning margin. Mayor will now be the top job in the city. Although Connor campaigns for it, but the promise to close Birmingham schools rather than integrate them, but he loses to a man named Albert Boutwell, whose platform includes the desegregation of schools and wins 60% of the white vote. When Connor closed the parks, just how much close in the schools, I think the average white person here realized how much they were going to have to give up to defend segregation and decided it wasn't worth it to him. The voters of Birmingham have spoken, they're done with Bull Connor. In reality, Bull Connor, in April of May 63, was out of power, but he refused to relinquish power. That's Reverend Arthur Price, pastor of the 16th Street Baptist Church. Although Connor loses the race for mayor, he's still the safety commissioner. Yes, the role is now essentially meaningless, but he wasn't going to loosen his grip that easily. So Bull Connor becomes this looming figure that wants to be just like George Wallace, standing in the doors of the college, saying segregation now, segregation the day, segregation forever because he didn't believe that the races should come together. In fact, when the University of Alabama's officially set to integrate in spring of '63, Connor speaks out against it on the school grounds. You can never whip these boys if they don't keep you and them separate. I found that out by me here. You've got to keep the white and the black seven. But as Connor is just barely clinging on to power, some of Birmingham's black residents are finding themselves with more and more influence. There's a lot to be said about A.G. guests and who lived 103 years old, but the short version is a man-born-ass property goes on to a mass, a multi-millionaire estate. A.G. Gaston, Alabama's first black millionaire, he was born a sharecropper in 1892, while not technically enslaved. His early life wasn't that different from his enslaved ancestors, but as he amassed his fortune through investments in business, he became a local celebrity. According to Barry McNillie, Gaston's philosophy was simple, find a need, and fill it. Segregation provided many needs. He's going to begin lonely his co-workers' money to pay debts. He's going to open a shill in the home. In time, he's going to acquire a cemetery, and people in Birmingham are going to start saying that Gaston had you from the cradle to the grave. As a successful black business man, A.G. Gaston had plenty of good relationships with white professionals in the early days of his career. But he put all that at risk to support the growing civil rights movement, including opening up the radio station W.E.N.N., one of the stations that employed legendary radio personality, activists, and occasional blackbearance lefty pitcher, Shelley Stewart. "A.G. said, 'We were troublemakers.' 'Our A.G. said mine was a troublemaker.' 'But they come together because there's a need to point. 'We, us, and the others can make one idea work.' Activists were ready to organize, but they needed a place to come together, the Gaston Motel. Mr. Gaston wanted a space of luxury, all 30 rooms complete with air conditioning, carpet, and so, absolutely, for the black community, it is a source of empowerment. But what many people don't know is that many of the white journalists that documented the civil rights movement, they were welcome to stay here as well." According to Tracy Jones, the Gaston is also where many traveling, eagerly team stay when they come to town, no sleeping on the bus in Birmingham. Baseball players might even find a friendly face there. Piper Davis, former player manager for the blackbearance, keeps the books for the Motel in the early '60s. "And so, this base becomes the meeting hub for the movement of the '60s." "And as one of the wealthiest men in town, Gaston often puts the bill for Birmingham civil rights movement." "But if I understand the movement wasn't free, attorneys needed to be brought to bear, to take on the city of Birmingham for the things that we're doing. Somebody had to pay those attorneys when people were arrested here in Birmingham." He said that his sole responsibility was to make sure that nobody had to fill a night in jail who didn't want to. Ultimately, E.G. Gaston is going to post Dr. Martin Luther King's bail in the historic moment when Dr. King had ridden the letter from Birmingham jail. Much like the church, much like Rick Woodfield, the Gaston Motel is a space for Birmingham's black community to exhale. When the Motel is bombed by Klantman just before midnight on May 11th, the explosion is heard throughout town. It interrupts the singing of children in the juvenile detention center, most of whom have been arrested during the children's crusade just days earlier. That's when Jackie Robinson comes to Birmingham, adding his speech to the calls to change the city's leadership. Despite losing an election, despite the backdrop of violence and protests, Bull Connor is still refusing to relinquish power. But the Alabama Supreme Court has seen enough. Two weeks after the bombing of the Gaston Motel, they ordered Connor to leave office immediately. The summer ushers in a wave of hope. Segregationist ordinances are being repealed, including the checker's law, which once banned integrated sports. There are no reported bombings in June and July, and lunch counters, restrooms and department stores are slowly starting to integrate. But on September 15th, 1963, Birmingham suffers one of its most devastating and life altering attacks in the city's history. Road to Rick Wood is supported by Explorers St. Louis, more at Explorers St. Louis dot com. NPR comes from NPR member stations, and Eric and Wendy Schmidt through the Schmidt Family Foundation, working toward a healthy, resilient, secure world for all on the web at the Schmidt.org. NPR has been an American tradition for more than 50 years. Now, it's up to you to help pass it on, ensure its future with a donation today. Visit donate dot NPR dot org. On this American life, let me tell stories about when things change. Like for this guy David, whose entire life took a sharp, unexpected and very unpleasant term. And it did take me a while to realize that it's basically because the monkey pressed the button. That's right, because the monkey pressed the button. Sprising stories every week, wherever you get your podcasts. This week on up first, it's the last work week of the year for Congress anyway. That means time is running out for action on healthcare before premium skyrocket for millions of Americans. We'll keep you updated on the 11th hour scramble on Capitol Hill. This week on up first, now a Golden Globe nominee for best podcast. Listen on the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. That morning was you Sunday, the youth will be a charge of service. They're going to be a charge of singing, the praying, the scripture reading. Again, Reverend Arthur Price, pastor of the 16th Street Baptist Church. At the end of the Sunday school hour, five girls with the bathroom get ready to sing and acquire. But then an explosion. Sticks of dynamite planted by the Ku Klux Klan blast a hole through the church's entrance. The brunt of the damage is in the basement bathroom. And when the bomb went off on that day, at 1022, after that lesson for the girls were killed, Adamick Collins and he's picked near, Cynthia Wesley and Carol Robinson. And Sarah Collins was blinded in one eye and she was the lone survivor. Yet another bombing. And once again, Birmingham is at the center of the National Spotlight. The Associated Press reports from the scene, but the tone is detached. And they died in Birmingham at the 16th Street Baptist Church, rallying point of the Negro Drive in the nation's most segregated big city. Dynamite exploded on a Sunday morning, killed four little girls in Sunday school, injured 20 other Negroes. While the AP doesn't capture the sense of the tragedy, they do highlight the resistance that followed. And we'll keep marching and marching and marching until one day you'll look around and we'll all be marching together. It was a day where people watched wept and became weak over what went on here at 16th Street Baptist Church because no one could believe that you would ever bomb a church or place of safety, a place that's supposed to be a sanctuary, a place that's supposed to be secure. And for some of those involved with the Birmingham Black Barons, the attack is personal. Fay Davis, Piper Davis' daughter, marries the brother of Carol Robertson, one of the girls killed. A photo of the church still hangs in her home. And Bill Greason, former Black Barons pitcher, had been a church member. The bomb went over right in that area where we usually were. Greason heard about the bomb while he was playing in a baseball game just outside of Birmingham. And we were about 20 miles out of down to a vessel room and we heard that the bomb had gone off at the church and then when I went to take a look, it was the same area where I would have been. The initial investigations into the bombing are inconclusive. For suspects, all clan members are quickly identified. But it takes until 1977 for a single one to be convicted. Two more are convicted in 2001 and 2002, while a fourth is never tried. The community was angry, but they turned their anger into activism and they turned to activism at the action. Just as the late is not denied, the whole society has hoped that the lives of these four little girls were not in vain, and that their lives actually mattered. The bomb in here, galvanized the generation and motivated a movement, and it also became a catalyst of change in the city of Birmingham. As laws upholding segregation failed, it was enforced only by fear and violence. But maybe there are other ways to push back against fear and violence and support integration, alongside protest and political action. Businessists could step in to feel that void, and owning a baseball team was definitely a business. His name was Albert Belcher. He had been the owner of the team before, and he wasn't exactly a civil rights activist. He was just a businessman who made millions of dollars in the timber industry. Larry Colton, author of the book Southern League, about the integration of professional baseball in Birmingham. In 1961, Major League Baseball required that all minor league teams integrate. Little Conor's reaction, quote, "We cannot allow the mongrelization of our great national pastime." Back then, Conor convinced the owner, Albert Belcher, to shut down baseball in the city rather than integrate. So in '62 and '63, the teams moved. The barons played out of Mobile, the black barons out of Champaign, Illinois. But with Conor now ousted from power, Belcher was ready to return and start the city's first integrated sports team. He saw an economic opportunity by bringing him back, and he thought that it would be a good way to get some positive publicity for the city. Belcher faces pushback from some local businessmen, but if he could get the backing of a Major League franchise, that might change things. And so he lobbied, he went to almost every Major League team to see if they would set up a minor league affiliate in the town. And they all turned him down because it was just not a place that was conducive and because they were so worried about, you know, blacks and whites fighting in the stands on the field or anywhere. But there's one Major League team owner who decides to take a chance because he has a vested interest in the community. Charlie Finley, who is owner of the Kansas City Athletics, and he convinced him. And because Charlie Finley was from Birmingham, he was a native of Birmingham, and he thought well, I can do some good for my hometown. In the past, the barons teams mostly operated independently, not tied to any Major League club, but now, for the first time since the 40s, the barons would serve as a minor league affiliate. This time, as the double-a team for the Kansas City A's, in previous years, black baseball players in Birmingham were mainly from Birmingham or somewhere else in the deep south. Now, more players would be coming in from across the country and the world. And A's owner, Charlie Finley, wanted to make sure the players of color could handle it. These in a way were minor league renditions of Jackie Robinson who in 1947 was the first ever to enter great baseball and branch Ricky, the owner of the Dodgers at the time. They wanted somebody who would not fight back. Don't fight back. That was the Jackie Robinson model. But this could be stifling for black players. Remember, Robinson was from California, played four sports at UCLA, was a commission lieutenant in the army, and only spent one year in the Negro leagues. Part of the reason many believe he was chosen to be the first black player in MLB is because he'd spent a lot of his life around white people. They wanted people who would be gentleman and dignified and not cause a ruckus or a fan jail down them. They wanted players that would absorb the abuse that they took. Tommy Reynolds was the case in point, and that's one of the reasons he went there. Tommy Reynolds, a power-hitting outfielder with a similar background to Robinson. Both black, both Californians, both veterans, both familiar with integration, except Reynolds wasn't the first black player in Major League Baseball. Less pressure, but also less guidance in navigating segregation. Tommy Reynolds was a star prospect and he was from San Diego, and so he'd been promoted to the Big League roster, and he was driving across country by himself in a Chevy Super Sport to go to spring training in Bradenton, Florida. At the time, this is 1964, he couldn't just fall off into a holiday in and the south and stay there because there was no blacks allowed. Instead, he pulls off the side of the road and falls asleep with a gun under his seat. Then someone smashes his window and runs away. Freaked out, Reynolds starts driving again, but without much sleep, he drifts off at the wheel and goes off the road. Shaking up, bruised, battered, but alive, he makes it to Birmingham. It was for him and Waking because he'd never been in the south. He was from California, which had their own redlining segregation policies, but it was a rude awakening, and he did not want to go to Birmingham, he wanted to go somewhere else. The 64 barons are stacked with a diverse and dynamic roster. There's a quick footed shortstop, who even defected from Cuba, barely spoke English. Burk Campanero, they call me Campy. Burk Campaneros, or Campy. He remembers how well he was received by fans. "This is a real good, and I'm glad they changed to the black and white going through the ballpark, and I'm so happy that I'm happy." And helping him navigate Birmingham, and the English language, was catcher Woody Hoytie. "I started his trip right and they sent me down right away because they had a young Campy, Campaneros." There was also starting pitcher Paul Sites, originally from Ohio. Sites, like many white ball players, never played on an integrated team until he was sent south. But as Sites remembers, any prejudices players may have had, were ignored to focus on the larger goal. They could take it to the big leagues. "We weren't worried about the aggression or any willing politics, you know, we were just baseball players." That might have been true for some ballplayers, but for Baren's owner Albert Belcher, the problem was outside his door. The night before the owner Albert Belcher got a knock on the door, and there was a member of the Ku Klux Klan, and Belcher thought, "Well, he's going to tell us they're going to shoot everybody or do something horrible." That's right. The Klan is standing at Belcher's doorstep the night before opening day. By this time, the Klan is still waging attacks on Birmingham's black community, but they no longer have the same backing from the city government, and their national reputation it tanked. The Ku Klux Klan guy said that they would not do anything drastic for the season, which Belcher didn't really believe him, but it was semi reassuring. The Klan's message, "We'll let the game happen, but we'll be watching." Keith A. Bear, professor of Southern history at Auburn University, thinks that by this time, realistically, in a losing war against integration, baseball was a battle the Klan wasn't going to fight. "For say they decide to bomb a baseball stadium, okay, that's about as dumb as you can get as far as public opinion. You can be racist, as I'll get out, but we all love baseball." Despite the promise not to interfere, Belcher isn't convinced. But the next morning, April 17, 1964, he and A's owner Charlie Finley hit to the field for opening day. This is almost 17 years to the day since Jackie Robinson integrated the major leagues. Eight years after he retired, more than 6,500 fans arrived at the field, the largest attendance at Rickwood in almost a decade, and the ballpark had just undergone a huge renovation, fresh paint, new lights, and. When Belcher decided to integrate the team, he also integrated the stance, and he took down the chicken wire fence in a very symbolic move by removing that fence. The Chicken Wire. It's never actually been verified, but some fans remember this physical boundary separating black and white fans. Others say the only chicken wire at the stadium was for netting behind home plate. Regardless, the stands are now integrated for the very first time. So you not only had blacks and whites playing together on the field, you had them sitting together in the stands, which was probably even more dangerous than having the players together. And it probably doesn't help that for the first integrated game, the fan giveaway item, a pack of razor blades. Yes, we all know that in these tense times what every fan needs is a razor blade. Fans are piling into their seats, filling up on popcorn and beer, and Charlie Finley is stepping out of the owner's office and into the role of Batboy, a job he once held for the barons as a kid in the early thirties. But before the first pitch is thrown, Albert Belcher gets the last call he wants to receive. Right before the game was to start, he was summoned to his office and he had a phone call, and it was a bomb threat, somebody called in a bomb threat. This is Belcher's biggest fear, that racism is too big a threat for integrated baseball. But he also thinks it might be a hoax. Now he has to make a choice. Do I vacuate the stadium, Rickwood Field, or do I ignore this? But if he cancels the game, he'll always keep him going to leave and he's going to lose all that money from buying the tickets and he took a risk. And so, with the threat of violence hanging overhead, Birmingham's first integrated team takes the field. Pitcher Paul Sites takes the mound for the season opener. I felt all the hype too with the integration, segregation, and the stands full. But even on this historic day, sometimes you just don't have it. The first pitch guy doubled the right center, more tiny left hand headers, and that old type guy took another strike after that. The Asheville Tourists get on the board fast, ahead of the barrens two runs to none. I got zero people out. I pitched through three or four headers on the lowest three, or the lowest four, throwing so hard. There was a couple wild pitchers involved. Sites gets pulled from the game by manager Haywood Sullivan, but the tourists stay hot, knocking in another run before the first inning is over. In the end, the tourists win four to two. It's a loss for the barrens, but the community comes out ahead. No bomb went off, the game was played, and the season is officially underway. Birmingham lawyer and longtime barrens fan David Weinerger remembers. A friend of mine was the policeman and charge of security at Rickwood. I asked him if he had ever had any trouble out there, and he said no. I think maybe we had a segment of our population that might have been terrible racists, but I think, for the most part, people were just fans. Birmingham fans do seem to support this integrated team. After all, this is their team, but when the barrens hit the road, it's a different story. In Columbus, Knoxville and other parts of the South, they are going to boo their own integrated teams either, so they pick on the opponents. They got unmercifully a yield at called monkeys or whatever it was. And no one is more relentlessly harassed than Tommy Reynolds. He was the darkest player on the team, and plus he played left field, so he was closer to the stands out there. He would come down right to the next to the playing field and yell at him. He probably took more verbal abuse than anybody. Like Jackie Robinson, Tommy Reynolds has been instructed not to fight back, and he does it. And some of his teammates, like Paul Sites, respect his cool demeanor. Tommy Reynolds is your good friend, you know, with his truck out. He just put the back of the rack like, okay, we're getting next time, and if he had a home run, he didn't come in with any genre, so he just put the back of the rack. But the Birmingham barons are about to be joined by a fiery young pitcher, who's more outspoken when it comes to dealing with injustices off the field. I said, if anybody in here eats, everyone had got to kick my, you know what, before you get on this bus. Still looking for the perfect holiday gift. The NPR shop is back with the logo to you love, the tiny desk hoodie you've been dreaming of, and new gear for everyone on your holiday gift list. Give the gift that supports independent journalism this holiday season. Shop now at shopNPR.org. On weight weight don't tell me famous actors remember their days of obscurity. Like when Pedro Pascal remembered the stress of being a waiter. The logistical labor of meeting everyone's needs in the right manner, the, you know, the act one, the water, act through the drink. Listen to weight weight in the NPR app, or wherever you get your podcasts. It's been a fantastic year for movies, and we know you can't see them all, so we're recommending some great films that might have flown under the radar to add to your watch list. And to pop culture happy hour in the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. On the Ted Radio Hour, for over two decades, Christa Tippett has been helping her listeners get through change, but she was going through her own life crisis when something unexpected happened. I fell in love at 64, and it's the greatest thing ever. Finding your bliss, listen to the Ted Radio Hour on the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. It's the spring of 1964. The Birmingham Barron season is well underway, but in Macon, Georgia, a high school student named John Blumoon Odom is having the senior year of his life. I guess my fastball was pretty dog going good. My curveball was great. I was 42 and 2 at eight, no hitters. One morning, he's watching his mom get ready for work. She used to do housework for this lady, and she was getting up to go to work. And I said, "Where are you going, mom?" And she said, "Well, I got to go to work." I said, "No, you don't." That's because Odom just signed a $75,000 contract with the Kansas City A's. The largest signing bonus ever given to a black athlete in any sport at that time. What you got to do is go out and tell her that you're not going to come to work anymore. That I was going to take care of you and which had to be it. And the tears just came out of my mom's eyes. Growing up black and making Georgia, Odom knows the segregated South very well. I got a chance to see some cross-burning there, at two bar from where I lived. You know, it was pretty rough back in those days. Even with his record breaking bonus, Odom would soon find out that money didn't make a black man any less of a target. I was on the freeway area, taking the off-round, and the police were going to fool me over the sheriff. And he said, "You know why I fool you, old boy?" And I said, "No." And he said, "You supposed to stop before you made that turn." I said, "No, you're not supposed to stop when you're coming out of the freeway to tax it." And he said, "Let me see your license." And he stopped and he said, "Well, whose car is this?" Odom is driving his brand-new bright red Ford Galaxy, courtesy of A's owner, Charlie Finley. And I said, "Mindy." He said, "Well, I can't afford this car. It's what Charlie Finley bought it for me." And he said, "Oh, you are those bonus babies, aren't you?" And I said, "Yes." And he said, "Well, I tell you what, I'm going to let you go this time." And I said, "All right, boy, I'm good. Okay. I will." And so he laughed. And he said, "Hold on. That was the spirit. I can't believe what happened." But more often than not, Odom isn't driving his expensive new car. He's on the bus with the rest of the team. Black and white players may travel together, but they can't stay at the same hotels or eat at the same restaurants. Let's stop Burke Campaneras remembers how white or white passing teammates would go into restaurants and order for those who weren't allowed in. Every time we go on the bus, after the game, we can go to the restaurant, I give some money, and they bring some chicken, they bring some food to the bus, and I eat it. No one is looking out for Campy more than Catcher Woody Hoytie. He's from Puerto Rico, but passes as white and speaks English. Remember, Hoytie was demoted at a level. He was supposed to be Campy's translator. Hoyt sent me down too. Be with him. I had to get him an apartment, and I had to take him to a park, company, and he little speak in English. He said, "No, I didn't. I used to break his contract with Charlie O'Figlia, back on 4th, I'm a human company." Although the non-black players can help their teammates navigate segregation, it's still ways heavily on some, like rookie pitcher Blue Moon Odom. We would stop and let all the white players up in OKO and Nate took us to Black Own, Motel. I can't help but don't want to remember, because you plan as a team and you got to be split up to go someplace else. So one time on the road, Odom takes a stand. I remember that we left Columbus, Georgia, going to Macon, Georgia, in my own town, and we stopped at this little downer on the road, and it was 22% of the time. We went inside to eat, and they took everybody's order, but mine. And one of the players said, "Are you going to take his order?" And the lady said, "No, he got to go around back, and then we'll take his order." My temple was getting ready to fly off the end of that, and I got up and I said, "Well, I want to go back to the bus and everything, but if anybody in here eats, every one of you got to keep mine, you know what, before you get on this bus. Watch out of that fighter there, the whole team followed me, and that missed a lot." Blue Moon Odom already has a target on his back. He's the youngest player, the highest paid player, and so far, he's not really delivering on the mound. He's throwing wildly, averaging one walk per inning, and consistently getting pulled from games. Still, he's starting to fight back, and his teammates respect him for it. They start off a little bit shaky, but then they start winning. Again, that's Larry Colton, author of "Southern League." After a rough first few starts, Odom finds his control, Reynolds struggles at Rickwood, but hits for power on the road, and Campy continues to dazzle the crowd with his base-stealing and fast-paced style of play. They quickly climbed in the first place, and so they led the league for like 90 days, and they just were steady, and they didn't have any long, long winning strengths, but they had good solid hitting and pitching. And the better the team does, the more they're accepted into an increasingly integrated Birmingham. Halfway through the season, the Civil Rights Act has passed outlawing discrimination. Comet worried this will cause a backlash, like the response to the Brown vs. Board decision, but the city is quiet, and Bommens, for now, seem to have stopped. It's a summer game against the Columbus Yankees. The barons are in first place, and Campy is a fan favorite. "It is a Bolivolo fan, the way they treat me well, that's so good, and so exciting." Then, he takes a fastball to the face. "I broke a machine, I bought my tray, and they took me to the hospital." It doesn't clear whether or not the hit was intentional, but Larry Colton says it wouldn't be surprised if it was. "Posing pitchers was with throw at them. They would try to hit them, and they did, multiple times." Regardless of intent, it's clear that Campanaris needs medical attention, and the team's general manager, Glenn West, insists that he be taken to the University of Alabama at Birmingham Hospital. When Campanaris arrives, the director of emergency services tells West that the hospital is for whites only. But West isn't phased, he says, "We're going to break that rule." "The only one player to be over there in the hospital, they're white hospital." And just weeks later, the barons break the rule again. Blue Moon Odom gets sick, and manager Haywood Sullivan wants him to check out. Blue Moon, he was there, and when Tommy Rims went to pick him up, the guards wouldn't let him in the hospital, because blacks aren't allowed in the hospital, so he drove around the block park a couple walks away, walked and came in the back door, and he went in and got him anyway and brought him home. That's right, that summer, barons players become the first and second people of color to desegregate a Birmingham hospital. Now, these players don't really see themselves as activists, yet simply by being on the city's first integrated team, they find themselves as de facto ambassadors for the civil rights movement in a changing city. Again, Barry McNally. Coming in the '64 and coming into the '70s, Birmingham is not the world we were walking down the street thinking cool and by young, but the structure of not being able to sit at a park bench, no longer existed. The structure of not being able to go to a public swimming bowl, no longer existed. Things are better, better but not perfect. As Birmingham seemingly becomes more accepting, and as the barons keep winning, the media begins to celebrate Albert Belcher's decision to bring back baseball. Local sports reporter Alf Van Hoose writes about Belcher in his column, quote, "When Birmingham's morale and perhaps basic moral standards had never been lower, Belcher stepped forward to bring back baseball to his city while there were yet echoes of marching feet and lawmen's clubs and bombs ringing out across a once peaceful valley. Don't worry about colored players in Birmingham, they'll be treated alright, sure we've had our troubles, but we need baseball, any city as great as Birmingham needs it." Baseball is back, and the team is doing well, too well, and when that happens, start players begin to get called up. After all, this is the miners. These teams are designed to get players ready for a big league promotion. Charlie Finley, when he went there, he had told Belcher and Sullivan, "I want this team to win. I'm not going to call anybody up because he was invested in Birmingham as hometowns and I won't touch this team." Finley breaks his word, and July, he plucks campinaries for the Major League Kansas City A's. The miners thought, "You're going tomorrow? So what's happening?" And this day, the morning I went to the Sunday, I went to the Major League, then comes a call for Blue Moon Otum. "The manager called me into his office, and I said, "Well, boy, what's going on now?" And he said, "Well, I call you in here because you're going to go to the Major League tomorrow. Oh, man, that was a big smile on my face. Thank God." Sure, these players are excited, but the promotion to a struggling A's team doesn't really make sense. They just couldn't believe that that happened because the Kansas City team was in last place. They weren't going to help them, they couldn't go anywhere, but last place. Finley promised that he wanted thebearance to be successful, but if that's true, why is he taking away their best guys to play for a team that has no hope of winning anything? And as expected, once those guys are gone, thebearance start to slip. They finally fell out of first place on the next the last day of the season, and so they ended up losing the pinnacle by one game. One believe Finley tanks the team because he doesn't want to pay for the trip to Hawaii he had promised them if they won. Others think he wants his flashy new players to debut for the A's, even if they won't really make a difference in the standards. But more likely than not, minor league wins just aren't really his priority. For many big league honors, they never are. But according to Larry Colton, the real victory of the 1964bearance season is just the very fact that it happened. What they should be most proud of was the fact that they were able to have a full season there in the worst time in civil rights history and have a team that had no violence or no bad things happen. And they captured the imagination of the city as they fought for the championship. The 1964bearance season limps to a close, but baseball in Birmingham is officially back. Soon, thebearance will be joined by even more stars like Pitcher's Vita Blue and Raleigh fingers. There's also a lefty with a huge swing who gets an even bigger nickname. That's former Negro Liger-Willie Powell. He means Mr. October. Reggie Jackson, yeah, he played here. Reggie Jackson, one of the most famous players of his generation, known for clutch hitting him in the postseason, hints the nickname. But in 1967, he's just a 21-year-old fresh out of Arizona State University. In the 2023 documentary Reggie, Jackson said he was scared to come to Birmingham. After all, he's from Philadelphia, and most of what he knows about the south is the hard-line segregation and violent acts of racism. Pitcher Paul Cites spoke to Jackson about his time in Alabama years later. Like his predecessors, Jackson has to navigate segregation. Even a few years after the Civil Rights Act assigned, teammates bring him food on the bus when he's not allowed into restaurants. And he can't even find anyone to rent him an apartment. It takes turn staying with teammates, Raleigh Fingers, Joe Rudy, and Dave Duncan until he claims the landlady threatens to burn the building down if he stays. After that, he moves to a hotel. While there was progress being made, we also had to think about the unsolved bombings in the city of Birmingham. One of the bombings took place in 1966, so this tension, it didn't start overnight. We thought we wasn't going to end overnight. But despite how difficult Birmingham is for him, Jackson still wows the fans when he takes the field. Gerald Watkins remembers watching from the stands of Rick Wood as a kid. Reggie Jackson was one of the biggest names that played at Rick Wood during my childhood. That was 1967, and he was a really big deal, even in the minor leagues. Reggie might strike out three times in a game and the next day hit two home runs. And speaking of Jackson's home runs, some say it was him who hit the longest home run at Rick Wood, not Babe Ruth launching the ball into a train. Here's Art Belated. The guy was just getting out of his car when the ball hit right by his feet, and the guy came to the press box and told Al Van Hoose's force rider about the ball, and he took Van Hoose back there and showed him where the ball landed and they measured it at 486. But so far back, it would have actually hit the railroad tracks behind the outfield. But not even Jackson totally believes this. He confided in Jibril Weir, hit groundskeeper at Rick Wood when he visited the ballpark a few years ago. He asked me to go take a walk with him look for his furthest home run ball that they said he hit here. And he said, "I don't think I hit it this far, and I told him I said, "Well, if they said you hit it that far down, you hit it that far, so let's go find him." He told his home run or not that fans love watching Jackson play, but they're careful not to get too attached. Again, these are the minor leagues. Great players don't stick around. Well, he went up at mid-season and then they sent him back down and then he went up at again at the end of the season. But they knew coming in that he was not going to last because he was just too good. In 1968, the A's moved to Oakland and take Jackson with them. In California, he sees an entirely different world. He remembers interracial couples, black people in positions of power and of course, the black Panthers. Oakland was their birthplace. Jackson will continue on with the A's as the team becomes a powerhouse, winning three world series in a row in the 1970s. Many of the A's star players come from the balance, including Burt Campanaris, Blue Moon Odom, Vita Blue and Raleigh Fingers. In 1976, 13 of the A's have played in Birmingham. That's half the roster. Larry Colton believes the success of the team in Oakland may have had some residual effects in Birmingham. I talked to citizens down there and yes, I think that had an impact, imagine that they weren't somewhat proud because of the guys that went on to help the Oakland A's become a dynasty. Throughout Reggie Jackson's career, he's a polarizing figure. Some white fans think he complains too much. Some black fans think he complains about the wrong things, his own personal gripes rather than social issues. He can be feisty, outspoken and start arguments with teammates and managers. But when he does something extraordinary, like hit three home runs off of three pitches in a world series game for the Yankees and becomes Mr. October, fans can't help but cheer. Joe Delinot wasn't at that world series game, but he did see something else spectacular when he was seven years old at Rickwood Field. Birmingham is trailing six three to Knoxville, bottom of the night. Birmingham loaded the bases, there's two outs. Birmingham slam home run to win it, seven to six and it was nobody other than Reggie Jackson. All the words, everything Jackson's ever said, whether it was mad, bitter or whatever, none of that matters that home run does because he spoke louder that moment than anything he ever could say. Baseball is changing. Black athletes are pushing back against the expectation that they should simply be grateful to play on a white man's field. Instead, they're fighting for the kinds of treatment and payment that they deserve. And Birmingham is changing too. In 1966, the city desegregates its police force by 1979 voters elect the first black mayor. The city's only had black mayors ever since. But not every change is good, at least not for baseball. A modernized in city means more technology, fans have more access to major league sports from the comforts of their home, and the game at Rickwood seems less special or worth the cost of admission. By 1975, due to sagging interest, the team relocates to Chattanooga. In a few years, baseball will return to Rickwood, but in the years that follow, the sport will face a new problem. It's no longer how to integrate the game. It's how to keep it integrated. While global interest in the game is growing, specifically in Asia and Latin America, the number of black athletes playing baseball has been fading since the 1980s. And it's noticeable to fans watching the game today. So what's being done about it? I've recently just had a turnover of kids that they're going to focus more on football. I can't blame them, you know, and it's just too expensive. With a dream scenario, we'll be the, you know, get our own field. It would be great to have somebody that we call our own. I think that this game is going to be the singular, most important sporting event that ever has taken place in the Alabama. I hope this put Birmingham on the map and let them know that, like, don't leave out baseball here. That's next time on the road to Rickwood. You've been listening to the road to Rickwood. I'm Roy Witt Jr. This episode was written and produced by Alana Schreiber. Our executive producer is Alana Schreiber and our senior producer is Ben Dixting. Our producers are Jonah Buchanan and Al.com's Cody D. Short. Mixing and sound design by Joaquin Kotler and story editing by Ryan Vaskiz. Network by Xavier Murillo, original music composition by Squeak E. Clean Studios, voice tracking by Altnet Studio. Special thanks to Paul Masson, the Friends of Rickwood Field, Birmingham Public Library Archives, al.com, WBHM, and Major League Baseball. This podcast is produced by WNO and WRKF and distributed by the NPR Network. Road to Rickwood is supported by Major League Baseball and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, a private corporation funded by American people, and by Explorers Saint Louis. More at Explorers Saint Louis.com. Most of the time, people with prostate cancer don't have any symptoms. That was the case from Montel Jordan. There was nothing that I woke up one day and said, "You know what? I think I have, like, there was no indicator." That's why it's so important to get routine screenings. When the life kit podcast will talk about risk factors for prostate cancer and what you can do if you're diagnosed, listen on the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. Regular insurance is great for your standard day-to-day risks, but for those months in a generation catastrophes, countries like Jamaica have made other preparations. We all realize that hurricanes are inevitable and we can't just sit here and hope we have to be proactive. On Planet Money, how Jamaica weathered the worst hurricane in the country's history with a bet. Planet Money, listen on the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts.