It was a day that fell between the cold of Winter's sting
And warming rays that indicated days of early Spring,
Not cold, not hot, a gentle breeze came rolling off the bay
That made it feel like paradise on that mid-April day.

I sat there with my baseball glove in my ten year old hands
Looking at the lines of people filling up the stands.
Ebbets Field was ready to begin another year.
I sat there, waiting patiently, for my Bums to appear.

I still recall I was surprised to hear my old man say,
"Grab your glove, son. Let's head down to watch the Dodgers play."
We seldom went to baseball games so it seemed strange to me.
My dad was always working to support the family.

But this time it was different, though I couldn't tell you why
As if there were a glint of some emotion in his eye.
Although it has been sixty years, his words live in me yet.
He said, "This is a game I want you never to forget."

So there I sat while waiting for the Dodgers to come out.
In my ten year old world this was what life was all about.
About three rows in front of me I saw a young black child
Around the same age I was and he looked at me and smiled.


The Dodgers took the field! The stands exploded with applause
(Though cheering for the Bums was normally a hopeless cause!)
Blacks outnumbered whites by more than double in those stands
And, to a man, they all stood up and wildly clapped their hands.

I must confess I was surprised to hear their mighty roar
As if they'd never chanced to see a baseball game before
And then I saw the reason for theirthundering outburst
For, out there on the field, was a black man playing first!!!

I'd never seen a black man in the Major Leagues before.
I had a stack of baseball cards that dad bought at the store
But everyone I had was white, not one with colored face
Yet there he was at Ebbets Field, standing at first base.

I'd heard about the Negro Leagues and WIllard "Home Run" Brown
Cool Papa Bell, I heard them say, had been the best around
And I recalled Ted Williams calling Satchel Paige by name
While saying he had been the best to ever play the game.

But in the major leagues? Wow! I thought that was really neat.
He stood there like a giant, smoothing dirt out with his feet.
I looked up at my dad and saw his eyes were shining bright.
He put his arm around me as he squeezed my shoulder tight.

Jackie was a BLACK man, not a caramel-colored, light-
Skinned, cream in your coffee negro that could almost pass for white.
He wore his blackness proudly as he stood out there on first,
A drink of water for a people suffering from thirst.

When Jackie came up to the plate the stands screamed out with joy,
" C'mon, Jackie!! Hit it outta here!! We're with you, boy!!"
With fingers crossed or hands in prayer, their pleas filled Brooklyn air
As, to a man, they stood and cheered their hero standing there.

In fairy tales or movies Jackie would have done just that
And hit a homer every time that he came up to bat
But, in the first he grounded out, third flied out straight away,
The fifth he hit a grounder turned into a double play.

It didn't matter, though. In days to come he'd show them all
That he was more than worthy to be out there playing ball.
The day was his, no matter what he did. They didn't care.
What mattered to the people watching was that he was THERE!.

The Dodgers won it, 5 to 3, and we got up to go.
I saw the black boy rising, too, down in the other row.
He smiled and stuck his thumb straight up and I did mine the same
For we both knew that what we saw was more than just a game.

The first time I saw Jackie was a day I won't forget.
The vision of him standing there on first stays with me yet.
Goliath wore a baseball cap on that day way back then,
No arrow, rock or sling would ever bring him down again.