February 2008

“In Christ, there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female."
*Paul the Apostle

Dear Members and Friends,

Many years ago, in the late ‘50s, or very early ‘60’s, my brothers were having a big argument. It was over whether or not one of them did, or did not, look like Larry Doby, the once famous Cleveland Indians star who now occupies a spot in the Hall of Fame.

In days gone past, young boys hoping to look like various ballplayers pictured on baseball cards was a normal everyday occurrence. Many an aspiring big-leaguer attempted adoption of the gimpy trot of Mickey Mantle or the semi-crooked arm of Sandy Koufax. What made the discussion my brothers were having over a hopeful resemblance to Larry Doby was that they were white, and he was black.

Years later, when I saw Frank and Brooks Robinson playing for the Orioles, I sincerely asked if they were brothers – a question that brought cascades of laughter from those who deemed my query further, if not final, evidence that something was seriously amiss inside my head, or at least my eyes.

Truth be told, I probably started out as a Dodger fan because I loved the blue logo and red number over the front side of their white jersey. Yet in all the years of having my heart set on the success of Maury Wills or Willie Davis or Don Drysdale or Don Sutton, I never thought of any of these men as being black or white or Irish or Italian. They were simply my heroes who, in my eyes, could do no wrong. And even if they did, it could soon be redeemed, if only Koufax would pitch every day!

As a young man, I felt personally demeaned when someone referred to my idol Arthur Ashe as a great black tennis player. I deliberately countered that we should not forget the great white player, Jimmy Connors.

To me there is something very sad and unacceptably incumbent in the phrase, “Black History Month.” It smacks of a lingering liberal segregation that pretends to lift up and highlight people of color, but not high enough to give them full interaction in the lexicon of what might better be termed American History. There was a time when people from Frederick Douglass to Rosa Parks needed a special season set aside to remind us all, not only of their ethnicity, but the enormous contribution they made to all of our lives.

Still, I think the time has come to behave as though we understand that these individuals are not so much Black Americans as they are simply, and beautifully, grand Americans, who happen to have a proud African background. It is time that as we put them on display for one month, we ensure their rightful place in textbooks from cover to cover, not as a chapter of our nation’s story, but as the very heart and soul of our country. All kids should grow up in an environment where they are caused to wonder if indeed they resemble Shirley Chisholm or Althea Gibson or Medgar Evers or Malcolm X. They do this commonly on a baseball diamond and basketball court. They should be doing this in a classroom as well.

The time is overdue for us to more fully realize the dream of Dr. King, looking at the content of one’s character, beyond the color of their skin, seeing folks like Dr. Condoleeza Rice and Senator Barack Obama, as fine individuals first, and people of color a very distant second.

It has taken a while, but more than ever I am convinced that my question regarding whether or not Frank and Brooks Robinson were brothers has a profoundly, if not politically, correct answer. The answer is, Yes. They were and they are. The sooner this becomes obvious, the better we will all be.

Godspeed,

From Reverend William J. Keane, Senior Minister of First Baptist Church of Branford