I get the feeling there wasn’t a lot going on there when I was growing up during the 1970s and 1980s. But a revitalization effort and the birth of the baseball museum in the 1990s have made it a must-see in the city.

But as great a place as it is to visit as a tourist now, you get the clear indication that it’s nothing compared to what it once was. In The Soul of Baseball, about Kansas Citian Buck O’Neil, Joe Posnanski says so. Much as the historian in me treasures relics from the past, the jazz and baseball fan can’t escape the sense of emptiness that comes from thinking what this area must have been like at its most glorious peak. When you consider how hard it is to interest celebrities in the Midwest in this day and age, it’s nearly unfathomable that Ella Fitzgerald and Count Basie and Joe Louis and Satchel Paige might all be found hanging out at one time in this vibrant hub.

It was just block or so from this epicenter that the Negro National League was formed in 1920, at the Paseo YMCA, which still stands and bears a giant mural of Buck O’Neil on the side.

I’m sure it was sad to O’Neil to see a place so important to blacks in Kansas City undergo such a decline. I know it’s sad to me, but I’m so glad that I can at least try to imagine what it once was. If you haven’t ever been, take a day to go visit the museums, get some food and take in some music. Then try to imagine a throng of people including Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker and Josh Gibson hanging out on the streets and in the clubs.

The Topeka & Shawnee County Public Library is sponsoring a community read of The Soul of Baseball. Pick up a copy and look for events to discuss the book together. If you don’t live in Topeka, write any comments about O’Neil and the book you would like in this blog.

“It would seem weird now, but back then I sort of see why they did it,” said David Price, a tall lefthander, on how it would feel to be called “the black Clayton Kershaw,” a similar pitcher of the modern era. “We don’t do that now, but without social media and television, that was the way they knew to compare players from the two different leagues. I think today we understand why they did that.”

Here’s the entire section on the topic:

One telling practice of the era – tainted with the ugliness of racism, but indicative of the respect accorded to Negro Leaguers – was that of associating them with comparable white stars. A catcher named Louis Santop was dubbed “the black Babe Ruth,” as was Josh Gibson. Buck Leonard was “the black Lou Gehrig.” An outfielder named Spotswood Poles was “the black Ty Cobb.”

Looking back on being called “the black Bill Terry,” George Giles remarked “I never could figure out why they didn’t call him the white George Giles.”

Such backhanded compliments, however offensive, demonstrate what people of the era believed about the skills of the Negro League stars.

“I am honored to have John (Henry) Lloyd called ‘the Black Wagner,” Honus Wagner himself once said. “It is a privilege to have been compared to him.” (9)

The correlating of a Negro Leaguer with a white star served its purpose in an era when, not only did blacks and whites not play on the same field, but television, which could have provided some opportunity for comparison, had not yet been popularized. Such nicknames, however, also served to remind of the great racist chasm that separated white baseball from black.

“You know, they used to call me ‘the Black Lloyd Waner.’ I used to think about that a lot,” said Negro Leaguer Jimmie Crutchfield. “He was on the other side of town in Pittsburgh, making $12,000 a year, and I didn’t have enough money to go home on… It seemed like there was something wrong there.” (10)

Rather than focus on how politically incorrect the practice of correlating blacks to a white counterpart may seem today, modern major leaguers tend to view it as an honor that fit within the unfortunately segregated context.

“It was the time, and of course the players that they were comparing them to were great players. So it was a compliment,” said Daryl Boston. “I’m sure if I’d lived in that era, I would have taken it as a compliment, because that was the only way you could take it. You just dealt with it. And because there were two separate sides, the black side and the white side, you just had to roll it.”

“It would seem weird now, but back then I sort of see why they did it,” said David Price, a tall lefthander, on how it would feel to be called “the black Clayton Kershaw,” a similar pitcher of the modern era. “We don’t do that now, but without social media and television, that was the way they knew to compare players from the two different leagues. I think today we understand why they did that.”

Excerpts from Legacy: The Enduring Impact of the Negro Leagues on Modern Baseball and American Society