Dorian Hairston: Pretend the Ball is Named Jim Crow
Dorian Hairston: Pretend the Ball is Named Jim Crow
By Matthew Johnson
The Negro Leagues, despite many of their teams and players being unrecognized in the mainstream in comparison to their Major League counterparts during the late 19th and early 20th century, have garnered increased levels of focus and interest over the past several decades.
The U.S. Postal Service issued commemorative postage stamps recognizing the early pioneers of black baseball. Many research articles and books have been published not only by the Society of Baseball Research (SABR), the most prominent baseball research organization in the country, but also by academic and university-level publications and presses. Even the MLB: The Show video game series, the most popular baseball video game on the market in recent years, has featured the stories of Negro Leagues players as a key feature in their games.
Yet, while more stories of the Negro Leagues have been more widely learned and shared, there were always a handful of players and officials who were more renowned than most. There was the charismatic fireball hurler, Satchel Paige, and the magnetic storyteller, Buck O’Neill. And of course, there was Paige’s friend, teammate, and rival, Josh Gibson.
Gibson, who many argue was the best catcher in baseball history, was famous for his prodigious power at the plate (which some say rivaled and was even better than Babe Ruth), as well as the unfortunate circumstances around his untimely death (three months before Jackie Robinson broke Major League Baseball’s color barrier).
Poet, Dorian Hairston, adds to the rich and complex tradition of Gibson and the Negro Leagues through his debut poetry collection, Pretend the Ball is Named Jim Crow: The Story of Josh Gibson, and recently spoke with The Twin Bill to discuss his latest book.
Hairston, an Appalachian poet and a former baseball player at the University of Kentucky, explores not only the perspective of Gibson, who navigates his success in black baseball, love and heartbreak in his familial life, and the adversity and hardship of racism in America, but those who knew him the best. From his spouse to his children, the scout who helped to discover Gibson, as well as his teammates and rivals, Hairston’s poetry collection is an inspiring work that makes you want to cheer the player, but more importantly, to commend the strength, on and off the diamond, of Josh Gibson, the man.
Can you discuss the creative process of writing Pretend the Ball is Named Jim Crow: The Story of Josh Gibson? I found the concept and structure of your poetry collection, especially your use of different perspectives and the framework of combining history with creative writing very fascinating.
Thank you so much for that question and this opportunity to chat! Historical Persona Poetry is, at least for me, one of the more accessible ways to get folks to learn more about history. I love hearing from readers that they didn’t know or recognize something in a poem, so they looked it up and fell deeper in love with the work as a result. But, the concept is that I want to walk the reader through Josh’s life as a baseball player in America during particular moments in our history. Additionally, because some of these concepts or ideas just didn’t fit the voice of Josh, these other individuals who were around Josh get an opportunity to speak as well. They get to help tell a story about the game, family, grief, love, and loss. Without giving too much away, Helen Gibson, Helen and Josh Gibson Jr. (his kids), Satchel Paige, Chester Washington, and others allow us to navigate this narrative better. What I love most about this form is the ability to create different voices to write in to tell a story, and by the end of the collection, all of these voices are talking to each other, and the reader gets to listen in.
How do you think your experience as a Black baseball player influenced your writing as you approached the subjects of Josh Gibson, the Negro and Major Leagues, and the Black American experience in your poems?
Growing up, what I loved about the game was that on the field, it was always about who had the best stuff that day. I certainly have some negative memories about being Black and a baseball player and traveling in/navigating these predominantly white spaces. However, most of my memories around the game, even those that are pretty melancholic, are overwhelmingly positive. What I wanted out of this collection was to mirror that experience. Even in tragedy, when there is baseball, there is always an opportunity for beauty. When it was time to compete, I didn’t care who was on the mound; all I knew was that the ball wasn’t coming back. Any real ball player will tell you the same thing. When I picked up the pen to write the first poem, I knew Josh was a real baller, so it just flowed out of me, and I couldn’t stop writing about him after that.
I thought you did a good job of navigating the balance of celebrating Josh Gibson and fellow Negro Leagues players, while also addressing the challenges they faced due to systemic racism. Can you talk of that process of praise, reflection, and criticism as you were writing your poems about these figures who had to maneuver through the double consciousness of being black in America?
This balancing act caused me much stress trying to manage, so I appreciate this question (and compliment). The Negro League Players were, by all accounts, from the individuals that watched them play, some of if not the greatest players of the time. By some accounts, these men were the greatest ever. As a result, I felt it would be irresponsible not to honor their greatness on the diamond. However, there is a part of me that always felt that these men were not victims of some white racism that prevented them from being great. Instead, these men were great despite all that white racism threw at them, literally and figuratively. To pay homage to these ballplayers, I felt it just to acknowledge that there was no post-game for them; they were always fighting for some victory somewhere, and they were phenomenal at determining what that victory looked like.
For example, when researching for the book, I found that some folk discussed the practice of players sleeping at the ballpark when the players were denied beds at certain hotels as some horrible, horrific occurrence that would have undoubtedly made these men feel rage, anger, and frustration. Then, I wondered if that really was such a bad thing. These men were told they weren’t welcomed someplace, so they went somewhere they were. For Black folks, that is the experience we are almost universally familiar with. I hope that with poems like “Outfield Cot,” I can highlight the experience Du Bois articulates so eloquently in his conceptualization of Double Consciousness.
An angle of Josh Gibson that I personally don’t think gets mentioned enough is the influence of his family, which you highlight throughout your collection. Your first acknowledgements in your collection are to your own family. Can you discuss the role family dynamics and relationships shape the writing and stories found in your poetry?
I can’t remember life before baseball. I grew up about a home run’s length away from a baseball field and spent much of my time at the park. My entire childhood, our family revolved around baseball. My parents made sure that one or both of them were at each of our games up to college and attended way more games in college than any person could reasonably expect. My brother and I spent most of our upbringing on the same team or playing in tournaments where one parent would travel with one kid, and then they’d alternate to make sure we each had at least one of them there. For the sacrifices my parents made so that the two of us could play a bunch of really good baseball, I will not be able to thank them enough in this lifetime.
However, once we were in college, my brother made the rather peculiar (though right for him) decision to play ball at that school down the road from the University of Kentucky with a tiny red bird as its mascot. In our family, competition is always paramount. My dad used to play 21 (He called it “Chicago”) with us in the front yard and let my brother and I think we had a chance at beating him, until we got around 16 or 17 points; then, he’d take over and shoot free throws until it was time for dinner (never missing). Then, when we’d go in to wash our hands, he’d keep shooting just to prove a point—same thing with ping pong and pool. My mother used to coach volleyball and challenge us to see how long we could keep a volley going with bump, set, and spike. I still have a scar on the back of my head from when my brother and I built a basketball goal out of some of what my mom called her “good baskets” and furniture because it was raining outside, and I went for a dunk, and he pushed me backward, busting my head open on a table. All of these moments were entirely out of and full of love. What I hoped to do, and it is up to the reader to decide whether I was successful, is capture all of these stories and apply them to those present in Josh’s life.
How do you think the legacy and work of Josh Gibson and his colleagues have influenced the current landscape of sports and society in America?
I think that what Josh Gibson and those similar to him have done for sports and society in America acknowledges that Black folk are perfectly capable of expressing the entire spectrum of humanity with style, grace, and love. What I observe, and what I hope we can one day get over, is that we fear the idea that we might love the person next to us if we give them a chance to show us how beautiful the human experience can be (mainly because that exposes us to pain). The world didn’t stop spinning when integration occurred, which applies anywhere it has ever happened. What I appreciate about the legacy left behind is that America (and this game) can always look back and see exactly how full of potential it actually is in even its darkest times.
Can you talk a little bit about your final poem, “The Walk Off (or ‘I Visit Josh’s Grave’)”? You yourself were mostly absent from within the poetry collection, with the voices of Josh, his teammates, rivals, and family being the dominant perspectives. Yet, you appear in that final poem, calling out to Josh Gibson. Without giving away too much, as I would like readers to read it, can you describe your goal by calling out to Josh like you did?
I wrote this poem at a time when I was trying to navigate a change in my own beliefs of life and death and what it means to be mortal. There is little, if anything, more important than the stories we tell ourselves. As a result, I felt like I had been robbed in some way when I didn’t know who Josh Gibson was until I was 18. In this poem, Josh is a stand-in for all the ancestors whose stories connect us to one another, to them, and to those yet to come. I agree with you; folks should buy a book and read it to understand further.
How do you hope readers will connect with and interpret your poetry through the lens of Josh Gibson and how you presented his life and career?
The most important aspect of this story is that Josh was a baseball player who wore many hats (or masks) both on and off the field. If I have done my job well with the crafting of this narrative, my wish is for readers to learn more about the Negro Leagues, Josh and his life, his family, and his peers, and to consider what it looks like for this country to ensure that we learn from all of the tragedies of Josh’s life, not just the one that we initially think of when exploring the history of the Negro Leagues and the players that the fans loved and adored. The tragic part for me is that we often speak as if the segregation that prevented black players from playing Major League Baseball was the worst part of this story. These poems suggest that part only scratches the surface.
In what ways do you think your poetry book adds to the broader conversation about Josh Gibson, baseball, and race in this country?
The answer to this question is really up to time. But I hope that more folks acknowledge and recognize that the histories we tell ourselves are always incomplete in some way. The important aspect of all this is that we seek more knowledge, understanding, and stories, preferably with loved ones over a meal and in a warm embrace. With my magic wand, given to me by the powers of the University Press of Kentucky, I want more people to go to more baseball games and for society to change to allow for more leisure so that people can do so. Baseball in the Negro Leagues, ironically, rejected a great deal of the views that this country holds about race. Let’s shatter the ones that still linger today. Lastly, I would love for this conversation to lead us into a world full of much more love than we see now.
Dorian Hariston is the author of Pretend the Ball is Named Jim Crow. It’s available here.
Matthew Johnson is the author of the poetry collections, Shadow Folks and Soul Songs (Kelsay Books), Far from New York State (NYQ Press), and the chapbook, Too Short to Box with God (Finishing Line Press). His work appears/is forthcoming in The African American Review, Front Porch Review, London Magazine, Up the Staircase Quarterly, and elsewhere. He has been recognized with Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominations, a scholarship from the Hudson Valley Writers Center, a residency from Sundress Publications, and as a finalist in Grand View University’s Diverse Voices Book Award. He’s the managing editor of The Portrait of New England. Originally from Upstate New York and Connecticut, he now lives in North Carolina, rooting for the Yankees and always having his eyes out for the Mets. matthewjohnsonpoetry.com
Michael C. Paul is an illustrator, writer, and historian. He grew up outside of Kansas City, has moved around a bit over the years working as a history professor, illustrator, and occasionally an editorial cartoonist, and now lives in Northern Virginia with his wife and daughter. For more, visit https://mikepaulart.com or @MikePaulArt.
The Twin Bill is a nonprofit organization with 501(c)(3) tax-exempt status. You can support The Twin Bill by donating here.