For a long time, I've had something of a fascination with baseball, in terms of reading about it. Arguably my favorite sport (though I no longer follow any specific team during the season), baseball and the men who play it have provided miles of print for aspiring mythmakers and journeyman beat reporters alike in all the time that it's been played, and cycles of that history have played out along obvious paths: first the epic myth-making, then the knocking-down-from-a-pedestal phase, and everything in between. Safe to say that many figures in the sports' past are often portrayed, as time goes on, in either a flattering or demeaning light, and the writers who chronicle them have a different view from those who come along well after the fact. But often, it's the ones after the fact who get the facts correctly.
"Reggie Jackson," by Dayn Perry, is one of those after-the-fact biographies that, I suspect, gets the facts of Jackson's mercurial, enigmatic superstar career right more often than not. I've read books about the Yankees of the Seventies, the "Bronx Zoo" that won two World Series championships back-to-back almost in spite of themselves, written primarily by the writers who were there, and often those same writers can't fathom why Jackson, the first Black superstar to wear pinstripes, felt so neglected and persecuted. But Perry, well removed from the actual moment, has penned a very good, very moving, and very honest portrayal of the "straw that stirs the drink" from those Yankee teams.
Jackson was a product of a mixed-race, broken home in Pennsylvania, never really experiencing the toils of racism until a baseball contract with the Oakland A's took him to the minor leagues in the Deep South. There, in the turmoil of the mid-Sixties, Jackson began to do his dance of identifying as a Black man when it suited him, in Perry's words. Jackson went on to play for two of the most iconoclastic owners in major league baseball, Charlie O. Finley and George Steinbrenner, and Perry's recounting of Jackson's interactions with both men speak to the disconnect that Jackson felt as a Black man in a sport primarily run by white faces. Jackson would go on to be a World Series champion five times (three with the A's, twice with the Yankees), but the ultimate goal of becoming an owner himself has eluded him thus far. Reggie's teammates from both of his championship teams couldn't always get along with him, and his penchant for dating white women made it hard for some in the Black community to embrace him as one of their own. Reggie Jackson, by any measure, was and continues to be a complicated man.
Perry, unable to secure interviews with Jackson himself, has nonetheless fashioned a sympathetic but objective view of his subject and the highs and lows that Reggie has endured, and the portrait that emerges here is of a baseball player always caught between two worlds and uncomfortable with not being in the spotlight, no matter how much that spotlight discourages the kind of intimacy and friendship that he has sought on the field and off it throughout his life. Reggie Jackson is a Hall of Famer, but he's also a very lonely man who hasn't yet achieved all that he hoped to when he set out on the path towards baseball immortality. Perhaps one day he could own his own team, or buy the Yankees from the Steinbrenners? I have no doubt, after reading this book, that even that high could never truly fulfill the man who became "Mr. October," but it would be nice to see Jackson and other Black and Latino former players end up in control of the game that they played so well, often for people who looked nothing like them and who couldn't comprehend the lives that they led.
And so, on a personal note, my 2021 ends much as it began, with a book about baseball (my first completed book of this year was a re-read of Jim Bouton's classic "Ball Four"). As I type this, it's four in the afternoon on December 31st, I doubt I'll finish anything else before midnight, and I'm glad that I ended my year of reading with this book, because it proved to be very much worth my time. I would also recommend Roger Kahn's "October Men" (about the 1978 Yankees) and Jason Turbow's "Dynastic, Bombastic, Fantastic" (about those three-peat Oakland A's that Reggie played on, which I read earlier this year), if you're interested in all things Reggie and the 1970's in term of baseball.