Reclaiming 42: Public Memory and the Reframing of Jackie Robinson's Radical Legacy by David Naze (review)

Even casual baseball fans can summon an image of Jackie Robinson, the Hall of Fame infielder for the Brooklyn Dodgers who is most frequently remembered as the first African American player to play in the Major League Baseball (MLB). Perhaps one recalls the photograph of Robinson, dressed in a business suit, in the office of Branch Rickey, signing his first contract. Maybe it's a picture of Robinson on a baseball card, number forty-two in a Dodgers uniform. Or possibly one remembers a highlight video showcasing Robinson on the base paths, tormenting pitchers and stealing bases.

In David Naze's new book, Reclaiming 42: Public Memory and the Reframing of Jackie Robinson's Radical Legacy, the reader will find a fresh portrait of the player and a new perspective on his reputation. Naze first focuses on the story of Robinson's life as a public figure and suggests that his legacy should include an appreciation of his role as a political and social role model and combatant. Then Naze addresses how institutions and individuals have chosen to represent Robinson to the public in the years since his retirement.

Robinson played ten years in the MLB in unique circumstances and under enormous pressure. He was expected to be a good ballplayer. He was also expected to succeed as part of an experiment, testing whether MLB—its owners, its players, its fans—would accept a black man as a player in the white MLB. No one questions that Robinson lived up to and surpassed all expectations.

What Robinson ultimately achieved went well beyond the realm of baseball. The integration of MLB was the first major step of many that dramatically transformed American culture and society after the end of World War II. In the twenty-one years that followed Robinson's arrival in the MLB, the nation underwent dramatic, and sometimes contentious, change: the desegregation of the Armed Forces; the Brown v. Board of Education decision and the desegregation of public schools; the Civil Rights movement and the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1968.

In a long introduction—it comprises nearly one-quarter of the book—Naze lays out his thesis and points the reader in the direction of his argument, declaring that "most Americans have lost sight of the scope of Robinson's legacy" (1). It is a function, he contends, of how we remember the past—what we recall, what we choose to forget. In support of his main ideas, Naze provides the reader with this working definition: "Memory involves the fabrication, rearrangement, and omission of details about the past, often pushing accuracy and authenticity to the margins in order to satisfy broader issues of identity formation, power, and authority" (23). The first two chapters offer a critique of Robinson's conflicts with other black leaders, such as Malcolm X, Adam Clayton Powell, and Paul Robeson, through a comparison of their positions and public statements. Although these men were largely committed to similar goals, their approaches and ways of expressing their views differed sharply. Naze presents examples from the letters exchanged between Robinson and Malcolm X, as well as excerpts from Robinson's testimony before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC), which had investigated Robeson. Robinson's "dissenting political voice" (62) is analyzed in relation to his exchanges with Malcolm X and the HUAC committee. Naze pays close attention to the language used in these interactions and analyzes what specific word choices and phrasings are meant to convey.

In a chapter titled "Cooperstown and Kansas City: The Museum Narratives," Naze contrasts the historical portrayal of Robinson's role in baseball as reflected by the two institutions: The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum and the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum. This section of the book shifts the focus from Robinson's own words and actions during his life to how the public has come to appreciate and...