Episode 229: Teammates

Summary

The Memory Palace: Episode 229 - "Teammates"

Release Date: April 3, 2025
Host: Nate DiMeo
Podcast Description: The Memory Palace is a storytelling podcast that brings forgotten history to life through beautifully crafted narratives. In Episode 229, titled "Teammates," Nate DiMeo delves into the intricate bonds, struggles, and triumphs of the Birmingham Black Barons, a Negro League baseball team in the late 1940s.

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Introduction

In "Teammates," Nate DiMeo explores the profound relationships among the players of the Birmingham Black Barons, set against the backdrop of a city grappling with intense racial segregation and civil rights struggles. The episode not only highlights the camaraderie and brotherhood among the teammates but also sheds light on the broader societal challenges they faced.

Historical Context: Birmingham in the 1940s

Birmingham, Alabama, during the late 1940s, was a city marked by racial tension and violence. The moniker "Bombingham" began circulating in the summer of 1948 after the U.S. Supreme Court declared certain housing segregation practices unconstitutional. This led to a surge in racist violence, including bombings, shootings, and cross burnings targeting black families attempting to integrate into previously white neighborhoods.

Nate sets the stage by describing the environment:

"It was necessary. This was when the city they played in was first starting to be called Bombingham." [02:12]

The Birmingham Black Barons: A Symbol of Pride and Resilience

Amidst this turmoil, the Birmingham Black Barons emerged as a beacon of hope and pride for the African American community. The team played at Rickwood Field, the finest stadium in the American South, which ironically was owned by the white-affiliated Birmingham Barons, placing the Black Barons in a position of second-class citizenship. They faced numerous challenges, including subpar equipment, arduous travel schedules, and segregated facilities.

Nate emphasizes the significance of the team:

"To be a black baron in Birmingham at the end of the 1940s... it was a symbol of pride, an engine of joy in a dark and terrible year in a terrorized community." [05:30]

Willie Mays: The Prodigy and His Early Years

A central figure in the episode is Willie Mays, who, as a high school prodigy, signed his first professional contract with the Black Barons in 1948. Despite his exceptional talent, Mays faced restrictions that prevented him from playing other sports at Fairfield Industrial High School due to his professional status.

Nate narrates Mays' exceptional abilities:

"His hand, eye coordination, his speed at five years old was like nothing folks had ever seen in a boy." [04:50]

Mays' father, Kat Mays, played a pivotal role in nurturing his son's baseball skills, ensuring that Willie could play any position required by semi-pro teams, thereby earning his family additional income and delaying the need for Willie to work in the oppressive mill jobs.

Life on the Road: Friendship and Solidarity

Traveling as part of the Black Barons was fraught with difficulties. The team relied on their camaraderie and mutual support to navigate hostile environments. They often faced broken-down buses, being turned away from hotels, and the constant threat of violence. Despite these hardships, the players found solace and strength in one another, sharing songs, jokes, and personal stories during long bus rides.

Nate highlights the resilience of the team:

"On the bus, they had each other. They had songs and dirty jokes, endless card games, advice on how to juggle multiple dates... there was someone to talk to." [12:15]

This brotherhood was crucial in maintaining their morale and sense of identity in a society that sought to marginalize them.

Integration and Transition: Willie Mays' Move to the Major Leagues

In 1950, Willie Mays received a substantial contract to join the New York Giants organization, signaling his transition to Major League Baseball. This move marked a significant shift, both personally for Mays and within the broader context of baseball's gradual integration.

Nate describes Mays' first experiences with integration:

"He became the first black player to suit up for a game in the league's history." [13:45]

Despite the progress, Mays faced loneliness and isolation, as exemplified by an incident where his new white teammates broke into his hotel room to check on his well-being, highlighting the continued racial divide:

"New teammates. They wanted to make sure he was okay... they knew otherwise." [14:05]

Legacy and Reflection

Decades after his career, Willie Mays reflected on his summers with the Black Barons as formative experiences that shaped his understanding of America and his place within it. The bonds he forged with his teammates were reminiscent of brotherhood, filled with love, rivalry, support, and shared struggles.

Nate captures Mays' retrospective thoughts:

"He would look back on the two summers he played for the Birmingham Black Barons... being looked after by those men, being around those men... They were his brothers." [14:50]

Conclusion

"Teammates" is a poignant exploration of the intersection between sports, race, and community. Through the lens of the Birmingham Black Barons and Willie Mays, Nate DiMeo paints a vivid picture of resilience, unity, and the enduring spirit of brotherhood in the face of systemic oppression.

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Notable Quotes with Timestamps

• Nate DiMeo:
  • "It was necessary. This was when the city they played in was first starting to be called Bombingham." [02:12]
  • "To be a black baron in Birmingham at the end of the 1940s... it was a symbol of pride, an engine of joy in a dark and terrible year in a terrorized community." [05:30]
  • "His hand, eye coordination, his speed at five years old was like nothing folks had ever seen in a boy." [04:50]
  • "On the bus, they had each other. They had songs and dirty jokes, endless card games, advice on how to juggle multiple dates... there was someone to talk to." [12:15]
  • "He became the first black player to suit up for a game in the league's history." [13:45]
  • "New teammates. They wanted to make sure he was okay... they knew otherwise." [14:05]
  • "He would look back on the two summers he played for the Birmingham Black Barons... being looked after by those men, being around those men... They were his brothers." [14:50]

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Key Takeaways

• Brotherhood and Camaraderie: The Birmingham Black Barons exemplified a deep sense of brotherhood, essential for navigating the racial hardships of the time.

• Racial Segregation and Violence: The team's existence and success were set against a backdrop of severe racial discrimination and violence, highlighting the societal challenges of the era.

• Willie Mays' Early Development: Mays' formative years with the Black Barons were crucial in shaping his legendary baseball career and understanding of America's racial landscape.

• Resilience in Adversity: Despite facing systemic barriers, the Black Barons maintained their dignity, unity, and passion for the game, leaving a lasting legacy in baseball history.

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"This episode of The Memory Palace was written and produced by Nate DiMeo in April of 2025...

For more stories like "Teammates," subscribe to The Memory Palace on your favorite podcast platform.

Transcript

[Nate DiMeo]

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[Eliza McGraw]

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[Nate DiMeo]

This is the memory palace. I'm Nate DiMeo. They were brothers. They would all say it. And it is a thing that teammates say often of one another. But often it is true in so many ways. It is a kind of brotherhood. It is love. It is rivalry it is bullying. It is support and mutual defense. It is resentment. It is belief. And in Birmingham, Alabama, for the men who played baseball for the black barons of the negro leagues at the end of the 1940s, it was necessary. This was when the city they played in was first starting to be called Bombingham. It was a name that would get used a lot in the 1960s, when the city was one of the epicenters of the struggle for civil rights. Especially after four girls were killed when a box of dynamite exploded beneath the front steps of the 16th Street Baptist Church while 27 children were there getting ready for Sunday services. But historians think the name was first hung in the city in the summer of 1948, after the United States supreme court ruled that certain forms of housing segregation were unconstitutional. And the Ku Klux Klan and just regular white citizens of Birmingham started blowing up houses of black families who tried to live in what had been white neighborhoods. People were shot at, people were beaten. Crosses were hammered into the lawns in front of the homes where black citizens lived and lit on fire. That was the year that Willie Mays signed his first professional contract. He was still in high school. He caught hell from his principal and his former coaches. Getting paid to play baseball for the black barons meant he couldn't play baseball or football or basketball for Fairfield industrial high school. Willie's dad had known it since Willie was little. He was a prodigy, his kid. His hand, eye coordination, his speed at five years old was like nothing folks had ever seen in a boy. That young, Cat Mays, Willie's father, taught him the game. Not just to hit and run and throw, but to field every position because he could his dad. Which meant that anytime some semi pro team called Kat Mays up needed an extra guy, it didn't matter what they were looking for, shortstop, catcher, right field, he would be able to say yes. And when they passed around the hat at the end of the game, he'd come home with cash. That meant the next time the foreman at the mill wanted him to work an extra shift, he could say no. Kat Mays wanted a better life for his son than the misery of the mills. Brutal work, bigoted bosses. And when the black barons came calling with a contract for his son to sign, Kat Mayes grabbed a pen. To be a black baron in Birmingham at the end of the 1940s, to walk up Fourth Avenue on Game day in full uniform, home whites, kids running to be beside you, just wanting to be around you. You would get gifts and free meals and drinks on the house of the Best black owned businesses in town get the attention of the prettiest single women get to play under the lights at Rickwood Field. It was the finest stadium in all of the American South. Perfect sight lines, an overhang that kept the fans in shade. Natural acoustics that somehow made the roar of the crowd all the louder. The crack of the bat crisp and clear. But it wasn't owned by the Black Barons, but by the white team. They were just the Barons. No need for any other designation in a world where whiteness rules. The Birmingham Barons were a minor league affiliate of the Boston Red Sox, who in 1948, the season after Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in the major leagues, were still a full 11 years away from fielding its first black player. The Black Barons were the second tenant at Rickwood Field. And second class citizens. They had to pay rent, and that meant they couldn't afford good equipment. It also meant that they had to clear out when the Barons were in town. Meant their schedule was ridiculous and arduous. Had them driving all over creation to get to away games, then having to rush back home. They often had to practice across town. And even when the Barons were on the road, the Black Barons couldn't shower where the Barons showered, couldn't use their locker room. Black fans had to sit in segregated sections, use segregated bathrooms. But to be a black baron at the center of black life in Birmingham, to be a symbol of pride, an engine of joy in a dark and terrible year in a terrorized community. Things were different on the road. Willie Mays needed his teammates. Men who had done this before knew which hotels would take them, which families would let them sleep on a floor or in a hayloft when there were no hotels that would. Which restaurants would serve them, which bars. Who knew which towns were safe and which ones you never stopped in, no matter what. The Birmingham Barons took the train. The Black Barons had a rattling bus they called Old Bessie, took it to play the Memphis Red Sox, the Indianapolis Clowns, the far flung teams of the Negro leagues. Some nights they would drive straight through till dawn rather than pay for a hotel. Then the guys would get up, stiff and sore from sleeping sitting up, and then go and put on a show. That's if they got there. Sometimes Old Bessie would break down, leave them sweltering by the side of the road for hours. Sometimes they'd show up at a motel, black owned. They'd been there before, but still they would get turned away. The management would be all apologies, but there had been threats, bombs, arson. And you took those threats seriously. But there were good people on the road, people who would sneak them takeout from the kitchen in the back. In Detroit, a black Baptist church would make them meals, meet them at the bus, let them rest in the rectory. And on the bus, they had each other. They had songs and dirty jokes, endless card games, advice on how to juggle multiple dates, how to hit an inside fastball, someone to talk to when you get off the phone with your mom who told you about your neighbor, or the guy who cut your cousin's hair, who got jumped in the street or would spend the night trying to comfort his kids while a cross burned outside their bedroom window. Decades later, when Willie Mays had retired, having earned just about every accolade a ballplayer could have after one of the greatest careers in the history of the game as a beloved cultural figure, a hero to millions of all races, he would look back on the two summers he played for the Birmingham Black Barons, 48 and 49, when he was seeing the country for the first time, still a high school kid coming home from New York or Philadelphia and then learning from his teacher about the Liberty Bell and telling his classmates that he had been there. He'd seen it. There really was a crack those summers when he was first being paid to play a game he loved and getting to be around those men, being looked after by those men, so many of whom would have been stars like he had been, would have gotten rich like he did, had they been born just a little bit later, who hadn't been kept out of the major leagues in a cat of color. They were his brothers. In 1950, he took his first trip without them. Willie Mays received $4,000 to sign with the New York Giants organization. This was a lot of money commensurate with his status as a likely future superstar. He could have slid right into the lineup immediately on the strength of his defense alone, but he was still having trouble hitting breaking balls. A little time in the minors would serve him well, and he had never played on an integrated team before. The organization wanted to ease him into the new realities of his new life. And so, at 18, Willie Mays took a train to join his new team in the Interstate League, two steps down from the majors, playing center field for the Giants of Trenton, New Jersey. He was to go straight to Municipal Stadium in Hagerstown, Maryland, home of the Hagerstown Braves, just a few blocks up Memorial Boulevard for Mosewood Cemetery, where a monument stood to honor the town's Confederate dead. He was picked up at the train station. The game was already underway and he was brought straight to the locker room where his uniform hung waiting for him, the number 12 on the back, and he got dressed and he spent the next couple hours watching the game from the bench, surrounded by white players and white coaches he didn't know from Adam. In doing so, he became the first black player to suit up for a game in the league's history. The next night he would be in the lineup for the first time. But that night after the game, he got on the bus with his new teammates, these strangers, and drove off with them to their hotel. But first it stopped and dropped Willie off at his it was a nice place, the Harmon Hotel, around the corner from the Zion Reformed Church where Robert E. Lee stayed during the Confederate occupation of Hagerstown. It was clean and comfortable and a significant step up from any place the Black Barons could ever afford as they zigzagged the country. But Willie Mays was alone in his room on the third floor. It had been the longest day. He turned off the lights and got into bed and fell asleep. And then after midnight he was woken by a sound at the window. Someone was out on the fire escape, three white men in the dark opening his window and climbing inside. New teammates. They wanted to make sure he was okay, he said. He didn't need their help. They knew otherwise. They slept on the floor, woke before dawn, slipped back out the window rather than get caught for breaking the same segregation laws designed to keep people apart. Willie saw them later that afternoon in the locker room. They just gave him a nod and smiled. Talked about nothing but baseball. This episode of the Memory palace was written and produced by me, Nate DiMeo in April of 2025 just as baseball season gets started. This show gets research assistance from Eliza McGraw. It is a proud member of Radiotopia, a network of independent listener supported podcasts from prx, a not for profit public media company. I want to tell you about a new project from a dear friend and fellow Radiotopian. Rishikesh Hiraway is bringing a new spin on his beloved song Exploder project with a new show. It's called Key Change and it features intimate long form conversations between Rishi and wonderful guests talking about the music that made them. You are going to want to check this out. Head over to Radiotopia FM to learn more about it and in all the Radiotopia shows. If you ever want to drop me a line you can do so at natehemorypalace us. You can follow me on Twitter and Facebook. Hememory palace on Instagram and substack he Memory palace podcast and on bluesky aiddemeo again. This episode is coming out at the beginning of April 2025 and I say that because what used to happen is I wouldn't and I would say something like I'm about to about some upcoming appearances and people would hear it and say, wait, I thought you were going to be in Chicago. And I'd say, yeah, that was six years ago. So now I do this. So I am heading to San Antonio, Houston, New Orleans, Oxford, Mississippi, Montgomery, Alabama and Gainesville, Florida in the coming weeks. You can find out more about where and when@theMemoryPalace us events. I've also got a few Midwestern dates cooking for May and hopefully the Pacific Northwest this summer at a bookstore near you. Reading from and signing my new book and answering your questions and just getting to say hello.

[Eliza McGraw]

If you live there, please come on.

[Nate DiMeo]

Out or please help spread the word if you're able and I will talk to you soon.

[Eliza McGraw]

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