I grew up around a lot of racism. We were a neighborhood of mostly white, working class Catholics of French Canadian origin. The N word was used often and not ironically. Awful Jewish jokes were told involving ashtrays. The term Puerto Rican was used as a term that meant someone couldn't follow the rules of a game or a lazy person. Stereo-types of the Polish, Asians and Portuguese were accepted as truth. I found myself buying right into it, because I was a kid I didn't know better. I remember an internal dialogue of trying to figure out what it all meant and how true it was. I didn't really have anyone strong in my life to set me straight.
At the time, in the 1970's, the media didn't help. We watched a lot of television, which was three networks of mostly crap with a lot of racisms mixed in there (along with a lot of other isms). We had the natives on "Gilligan's Island," the natives on "F Troop," or the Chinese on "Kung Fu." In serious shows, black characters were pimps and prostitutes like Sugar Bear on "Baretta." Occasionally we had a show that had a diverse cast of complex characters, I remember "Barney Miller" being one of them. The one real thing we had on television, that was not scripted, was sports. In my house, it was baseball.
1974 was the year Judge Garrity ordered Boston schools to be desegregated and forced busing began. For four years, he was kept under guard for his safety. Protesters burned him in effigy outside his home. Boston was a very racist city. In 1975, the Boston Red Sox were in the World Series. On that team were two amazing rookies, Fred Lynn and Jim Rice, often called the Gold Dust Twins for their able to cover each other in the outfield. Lynn won rookie of the year that year, Rice placed second. Lynn also won Most Valuable Player and Rice was voted third. They were an amazing team. If not for the slightly more amazing Cincinnati Reds (aka the Big Red Machine), they would have won the World Series. One year later, 1976, was the year I became a Red Sox fan. I knew nothing of their history.
The Red Sox, historically, was a very racist team. There is no denying this. They had early opportunities to draft Jackie Robinson and Willy Mays and did not do so because of their race. They were the last team to integrate, doing so in 1959 with Pumpsie Green twelve years after Robinson joined the Dodgers. This nonsense was so bad that at one point, they wouldn't even allow anyone on the team who wasn't Catholic. This explains why they were so bad for a long time. Their losing ways was mostly their own making. They were not alone in this, every team in Major League Baseball was doing it, but the Red Sox were one of the worst. It is our cross to bear as Red Sox fans.
I didn't know it at the time, because children have no sense of history, but when Jim Rice became a star in Boston sports, this was a big deal. He was the first black star in Boston. He was the first of many to come. He was not just an incredible player and future Hall of Famer, but he was a gentleman and truly gentle spirit. Any time I heard a racist comment among my friends and at school etc., my go-to-black-man was Jim Rice. I'd ask myself is that true about Rice. Of course not. How could say that this guy was lesser than anyone else? This guy:
That was that. From there on, racism was nonsense, an embarrassment really. His soft spokenness, his classiness, on and off the field, his friendship with Lynn, Yazz and Dwight Evans, his amazing athleticism ... that's all it took. I was cured.
In 2016, I mourned David Bowie by playing nothing but Bowie for at least a week. My wife was a little irritated particularly with the obscure stuff. When Bob Dylan passes, I have no doubt, much to my son's displeasure, I will react in kind. When Kurt Vonnegut died in 2007, I walked around saying things like "So it goes" for at least a week. When Woody Allen dies, I foresee a moviefest even though his private life seems ... well... disgusting. Along with Walt Whitman, all their works have been formative in how I think, see the world and lead my life. Yet not a tear will be shed when they pass. I am not so sure about Jim Rice. I dread the day I hear about him passing; I get weepy just thinking about it.
