As author Allen Barra tells it, the day came when not even the notorious Bull Connor, the Birmingham public safety director who turned water hoses on a peaceful civil rights march, could trump baseball at Rickwood Field.
On April 2, 1954, the Milwaukee Braves, a team built around Hank Aaron and Eddie Mathews, played the Brooklyn Dodgers, led by Jackie Robinson and Duke Snider, in an exhibition game at Rickwood. The contest violated the Birmingham city code, section 597, which barred whites from playing in the same game as blacks, and Connor wanted to enforce. The law was ignored as fans clamored for seats, with whites willing to sit next to blacks.
“Rickwood Field: A Century in America’s Oldest Ballpark” (Norton, $27.95) demonstrates how a beloved baseball stadium provided an alternative to the racist, segregationist culture of Birmingham. It firmly established the game into the middle of a city filled with crushing poverty as it tried to become an industrial giant and move past Atlanta as the capital of the South.
The ballpark, built in 1910 by steel baron Rick Woodward, was so beloved by everyone it still exists. While other historic ballparks have met apathy and the wrecking ball, Rickwood regularly hosts exhibition games and tours.
Rickwood was just what Birmingham needed to shed some of its brutish ways. Baseball, with its baselines and order (three strikes, you’re out), applied to blacks and whites alike. Black players said the only time they felt equal was when they played on company baseball teams. They had a uniform, glove and bat, same as whites.
Barr’s book reveals names lost in time, terrific ballplayers who excelled at Rickwood but were never given the chance to play major league baseball. Among them were Lorenzo “Piper” Davis, an Alabama native who was a player and manager for the Birmingham Black Barons and discovered Willie Mays, and Oscar Charleston, an Indiana native who spent 30 years in the Negro League and later was voted into baseball’s Hall of Fame. Birmingham has been so rich in baseball history, the book makes a case that the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum should be in Birmingham, not Kansas City.
The most compelling stories in the book deal with blacks trying to find their way into the game, but there were memorable moments for whites, as well, involving a team called the Barons. Dizzy Dean, the Cardinals Hall of Fame pitcher, pitched a memorable game in the 1931 Dixie Series before he was summoned to the big leagues, and it is detailed in the book.
There were memorable home runs and long ball exhibitions offered by notable big league stars, including Babe Ruth. Major Leaguers stopped in Birmingham after leaving spring training because Rickwood held so much charm and players wanted to see it.
In compiling the book, Barra uncovered obscure details of Rickwood’s beginnings, including the influence of the legendary Philadelphia manager Connie Mack, who was consulted when the ballpark was built and designed the field dimensions. Or that Connor, the Birmingham public safety director, called baseball games over the radio. For the Barons, of course, not the Black Barons.
The 1967 Birmingham A’s, considered one of the greatest minor league teams put together, played at Rickwood Field. The team featured slugger Reggie Jackson and was made up of players who would win three consecutive World Series (1972-1974) for the Oakland A’s.
The best thing about this book is a reader can flip through the pages and imagine Mays, Ruth and Dean still at work.
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