GEORGE PAZ MARTIN In his memory
PEACE IS HIS MIDDLE NAME
IN HIS OWN WORDS
Saturday, August 5, 2023, 1:00 p.m. Memorial Service For George
2319 East Kenwood Blvd
(Formerly Kenwood United Methodist)
Peace Action WI and the peace and justice community will be honoring the memory of George Martin, who was an organizer for Peace Action WI for many years. He was the inspiration of the Martin Luther King Jr Justice Coalition in Milwaukee, helping to organize our annual MLK Day ceremony and march for over 20 years, honoring King’s vision for nonviolent, radical change.
The story below was sent to the Riverwest Currents by George. He requested it run again on the anniversary of Jackie Robinson’s 60th anniversary of breaking the race barrier for MLB.
It is a sweet story. An historical story. And an honor to George and his grandmother to share with readers.
By George Paz Martin, reprinted in memory, August 2023.
Recently,(in 2007) news headlines commemorated Jackie Robinson’s 60th anniversary of breaking the racial barrier in major league baseball. To America generally, Jackie Robinson’s legend was not only being the first Negro to integrate major league sports but also of being one of the greatest baseball players ever.
To Negroes at that time, Jackie Robinson was very special our own national hero, our own colored champion. We, descendants of slaves, were called Negroes or Coloreds then, Black later, and African Americans today.
Life was hard for Negroes in racist America with few reasons to celebrate our own people. Our last heroes were World War II era champions; Jesse Owens of the University of Illinois who won Olympic gold medals in track in front of Adolph Hitler; and Joe Louis, the Brown Bomber, who won the World Heavy Weight Boxing Title from the German, Max Schmeling – making them America’s heroes too.
After World War II, baseball was America’s game. It was played in every community in our country, and the ve oes had been denied. My essay won and then Alderwoman Vel Phillips presented me the award as my grandmother lovingly watched.
My grandmother loved Jackie Robinson. He meant so much to Negroes, not only as one of the best players in previously segregated major league baseball, but also as a national role model. He was a four-year letterman at UCLA and an Army Lieutenant in World War II. He was mild mannered, humble, and showed exemplary behavior while playing in Canada for Montreal before coming home to America and playing for the Brooklyn Dodgers.
We all read about his achievements in the sports sections of the daily newspapers across the country. Negroes followed Jackie Robinson in the colorful pages of our Ebony and Jet magazines that we bought at the news stand on 3rd and Wisconsin Ave.
Many Negroes like my grandmother, who previously had no interest in baseball, now listened on the radio and flocked to see Jackie Robinson and the Dodgers when they came to their local major league ballpark. It felt so good to cheer for and celebrate your champion, another Negro.
Jackie Robinson not only brought a good glove and bat to America’s game, but he took base running to a new dimension with his speed and cunning, becoming “King of the Base Paths.” Jackie Robinson, the first Negro in major league baseball, became its “Most Valuable Player,”and won hearts all across America.
My grandmother grew up listening to the radio for entertainment, especially programs from Radio City Music Hall in New York City. When possible, Odessa would tune the radio to Dodger’s games to cheer Jackie, often while she was on her knees scrubbing someone else’s floors for minimal pay.
My grandmother loved me and wanted me to see one of the most important people in her lifetime. I’ll never forget the day that she took me to see Jackie Robinson and the Brooklyn Dodgers play the Cubs at Wrigley Field in Chicago.
On a cool, cloudy summer morning, we left my house on East Garfield and took the Holton Street bus downtown to the Greyhound Station, then at 2nd and Michigan Streets. As a first grader at Palmer Street School, I was so excited about the trip to Chicago. My grandmother bought me chocolate milk, which I remember was so cold that it made me shiver on the three-hour bus ride.
It was a beautiful summer day by the time we got to Wrigley Field. We were both astounded by the biggest building and the most people that we had ever seen. I held my grandmother’s hand tightly as we moved through the crowd trying to find our seats.
It was also the first time my grandmother had been to a major league baseball game. Negroes didn’t really go to these games until Jackie Robinson played, and now we were here, my grandmother and me.
Stadium ushers directed us around the huge building and down a short tunnel. As we walked out of the tunnel, we were in the heart of the ballpark right behind home plate with the manicured infield and shimmering green outfield, surrounded by tens of thousands of people in the tall grandstand behind us and down the base lines to right and left field connecting in the outfield bleachers.
As we stood awestruck, a nearby usher asked us if we were in the right section, implying that we couldn’t afford to be there. This upset my Grandmother Odessa and she grabbed my hand, nervously shaking. She gave him our tickets and with a quivering voice told him politely but very firmly that she had paid for the best seats so that we could see Jackie Robinson. The usher then bowed to her and proceeded to lead us to the first row, behind home plate on the first base side, to our two seats, the best seats in the ballpark.
Looking back, I would have expected that our tickets would have been for seats in the bleachers because of the cost. I often wonder how long my grandmother scrubbed floors to pay for those tickets. My grandmother loved Jackie Robinson and me.
We watched batting practice and when Jackie Robinson approached the batter’s box, the fans gave him a thunderous applause. Watching him practice, I studied him swing his bat level, roll his wrists, make contact with the ball, follow through level and maintain good balance. Later, I was inspired to imitate his technique as I played ball as a kid at the Boy’s Club near 15th and Center Streets and as an East Town Bat at Kern Park on Humboldt and Keefe Avenue.
During the game, I remember seeing Jackie hit the ball and immediately blur past us with unbelievable speed to first base. As the Cubs pitched to the next Dodger batter, all of a sudden Jackie rocketed down the base path and stole second base.
Everyone in Wrigley Field, including Cubs and Dodgers fans, and Negroes across the country listening to their radios, gave him a standing ovation. My Grandmother Odessa and I were there behind home plate cheering our champion and looking at him standing tall on second base with a humble smile on his face.
Jackie Robinson, my grandmother and me.
Riverwest Currents online edition – May, 2007