Hammerin' 80

An article in Slate this week shows how much of the early civil rights movement was driven by a desire for what author Tanner Colby calls "agency." African-Americans, he said, desired most of all to be able to live their lives as they chose, live where they chose, drink from whatever water fountains they chose, eat at whatever restaurants they chose, and so on. A push for such agency in education, however, was thwarted when the landmark Brown v. Board of Education case resulted in the closure of African-American schools and the shipping of their students to integrate previously white schools.

Whether or not Colby is right about the impact of busing and integration, his description of a desire for agency can be seen clearly in Hank Aaron's 1990 autobiography, co-written with Lonnie Wheeler, I Had a Hammer. Aaron, born in Alabama and subject to segregation through the first part of his baseball career and vicious racism as he closed in on Babe Ruth's home run record in 1973 and 1974, uses the metaphor of a hammer to describe his bat and what he accomplished with it -- both on the field and off. The title plays on the old folk song, "If I Had a Hammer."

Aaron actually began his career in the Negro Leagues, helping the Indianapolis Clowns win a title in 1952, and was one of the last African-American stars to play in the Negro Leagues before signing with a major league team. With their major stars no longer prevented from signing with major league teams, the Negro League teams were already declining and soon to disappear. The then-Boston Braves (coincidentally, the last team for which Babe Ruth made a major league appearance, in 1935) signed him to a minor-league contract in 1953, but they had moved to Milwaukee before he was called up in 1954. Aaron spent the next 20 years with the Braves, moving with them to Atlanta in 1965. The Braves traded him to the Milwaukee Brewers in 1975, and Aaron retired after the 1976 season ended.

Hammer spends a good amount of time describing the segregation and racism Aaron faced during early years on Southern minor-league teams -- frequently not being allowed to stay at the hotel with the team or eat in the restaurants where they dined. He describes assumptions made about his character because of his race -- sportswriters would call him a "natural hitter" rather than discuss how Aaron spent long hours reviewing opposing pitchers and their habits in given situations. The overt character of the racism he confronted waxed and waned over his career -- it increased when the Braves moved to Atlanta but by that time his own stature as a player had increased and insulated him from some of what he had faced earlier. It also follows up on Aaron's professional and public service work after his playing career ended. One of the first African-Americans to serve in upper management of a major league team, he used his position and influence -- his "hammer" -- to work against cultural prejudices as well as the remnants of legal racism in baseball and in the Atlanta community.

Hammer ends in 1990, so a reader wanting to know more about Aaron's life since then, including his thoughts on Barry Bonds' breaking of his home run mark and other issues connected to the steroid era, should seek out Howard Bryant's 2010 The Last Hero: A Life of Henry Aaron. 

Hank Aaron turns 80 today, having wielded his hammer and borne its weight both on and off the field with purpose, strength and grace. Baseball is certainly the better for his having played it, but baseball is not alone in that benefit.