Possibly the most personal and powerful presentation of last week’s SABR Jerry Malloy Negro Leagues Conference in Memphis was the family member panel, during which the relatives of five Negro Leagues greats spoke about their famous family members, the players’ importance to Black baseball, and the influential place the Negro Leagues hold in American culture.

The four panelists were Carlis Wright Robinson, daughter of pitcher Johnny Wright; Dr. Harriet Kimbro Hamilton, daughter of outfielder Henry Kimbro; Julian Duncan, grandson of catcher Frank Duncan Jr. and son of pitcher Frank Duncan III; and Delores Brown, daughter in law of catcher Larry Brown.

Delores Brown said that for a long time, she wasn’t aware of who her father in law was while he and so many other veteran Negro Leaguers were still alive. However, she eventually learned more about Larry Brown and his baseball compatriots and got to know some of them.

“They were all really great guys,” she said. “They told so many stories.”

Some of those stories they told reflected how many challenges they faced, especially bigotry and playing and living conditions.

“They fought a lot,” she said. “Many people don’t realize that. They were really mistreated. But they had the love of the game.”

She said she and other Negro Leaguer family members “are trying to get them the recognition they deserve. We’re not asking for a handout. We’re asking for what they deserve.”

Brown added that her father in law’s career record speaks for itself – he should be in Cooperstown.

“His statistics speak to the kind of player he was,” she said. “I’m never going to drop this ball, because I believe [the Hall] is where he belongs.”

Julian Duncan said that his grandfather, Frank Duncan Jr., rarely talked about his own baseball experiences; Julian said that he learned everything about baseball and his family’s role in the sport from his father, Frank III, who imparted a great deal of insight about the game to Julian. 

The youngest Duncan said during the panel that although he researched and read about the Negro Leagues in his younger days, he’d now what to talk to his father about how the game has changed since the latter’s playing days, especially how much fewer Black Americans are playing baseball now.

Julian provided some levity when telling his favorite story about the man he knew as “Uncle Buck” – the great Hall of Famer Buck O’Neil. Julian said Buck would relate how, one time when the Kansas City Monarchs, including Larry Brown, were traveling through a town so small that the only lodging they had was at a Black funeral home. He said that one by one, the creeped out Monarchs would get up and leave the mortuary to sleep on the bus, where the entire team was found the next morning.

Wright Robinson said that growing up, she always knew that her father was a baseball player, but it wasn’t until her high school years that she found out that he pitched in the Negro Leagues. After that, she said, she realized that she needed to get the word out about her father when she visited the Smithsonian Institution, which displayed a picture of Negro Leaguers but identified her father as simply “an unknown Negro League player.”

“From there, I just continued to reach out [to the public],” she said.

She said when he signed with the Brooklyn Dodgers shortly after Jackie Robinson, Johnny wasn’t able to establish a career in so-called “Organized Baseball” after being demoted to the lower minor leagues and out of the system.

“People often think that’s the end of his story,” and it is not. There’s much more to my dad’s story.”

She noted that in addition to his time in Organized Baseball, he starred for several years with the Homestead Grays dynasty, and he was one of the key players on the Navy’s first African-American service team. And now that the Grays are an official Major League team, “my father is now considered a Major League ballplayer.”

Hamilton said that despite all the challenges and even threats Negro Leaguers like her father faced in their travels – “He saw a lot of ugly things,” she said, “especially in the South” – her father was grateful for the opportunity to play the sport he loved for a living.

“My father felt fortunate [to play], and he knew it was a privilege to play baseball, to be a professional baseball player,” she said.

And even though many white Americans still believed that Black Americans were inferior to white players, she said, “my father knew he was a professional baseball player. He knew the cream always rises to the top.”

Hamilton added that she’s trying to change her father’s reputation – “all the books say he was mean” – and that his demeanor was instead determined, devoted and hard-working. He also tried to have no regrets.

“He wasn’t someone who would ever turn and go back to a place he’d been,” she said.

Hamilton concluded the family panel by saying that even though their family members were shunted to the shadows of the national pastime, they’re still legends for their loved ones.

“They played,” she said, “and that made them heroes to us.”

Editor’s note: Today we have a guest column by Keith Wood, PhD, who was a board member for last week’s tremendous 2026 Jerry Malloy Conference in Memphis and is the author of The Memphis Red Sox: A Negro Leagues History. For more information about his books and his work in general, check out his Web site at www.keithbwoodauthor.com.

By Dr. Keith B. Wood

What an honor to host the 2026 Jerry Malloy Negro Leagues Conference in Memphis, Tenn. The 26^th annual conference stood as an opportunity for the city to remind the Blackball community of its rich history and traditions associated with the Memphis Red Sox. A team and a city whose past is often overlooked in the annals of Negro Leagues baseball.

We remember the Chicago American Giants with Rube Foster, and the Homestead Grays with Josh Gibson. Who could forget Kansas City and its Monarchs? Willie Mays gave us the Birmingham Black Barons. But what about the Memphis Red Sox? We haven’t forgotten here in the Land of the Delta Blues, and we were excited to share this joy that we have for our hometown team.

Last week, we were honored by the presence of J.B. Martin IV, whose great-grandfather, J.B. Martin Sr., stood as the owner of the Memphis Red Sox with his brothers W.S., A.T. and B.B. He shared his family’s story and then threw out the first pitch during the Memphis Redbirds celebration of the Red Sox.

Neil Sharma, a graduate student from the University of Memphis, opened our eyes to the realities of owning a Negro League team in the Jim Crow South. He reminded us how J.B. Martin Sr. was run out of Memphis for disagreeing with Memphis’ political boss, E.H. Crump. Even after being displaced and forced to move to Chicago, he reinvented himself as the owner of the American Giants and became president of the Negro American League.

Baseball continued to thrive in Memphis. historians Alex Painter and Thomas Van Hyning shared how our own Bob “Rope” Boyd made the Red Sox proud when he signed with the Chicago White Sox, becoming the most prominent Negro Leaguer from the Red Sox to play in Major League Baseball. We never forgot that Dan Bankhead was the first; his signing with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947 made him the first Black pitcher to pitch in MLB.

We discovered how Verdell Mathis, a graduate of Booker T. Washington High School in Memphis, made his way through semi-professional baseball to the Memphis Red Sox. 

Delores Brown, daughter-in-law of the great Larry “Iron Man” Brown, joined us in Memphis and participated in a panel discussion on why we need to keep these stories alive. Joining Brown were Julian Duncan, son and grandson of the father-son battery of Frank Duncan Jr. and Frank Duncan III; Dr. Harriet Kimbro, daughter of Henry Kimbro; and Carlis Wright Robinson, daughter of Johnny Wright, the second Black baseball player to sign with the Brooklyn Dodgers.

Not only were we in awe of their presence, but the joy of hearing these family members share their stories inspired each of us to continue the work we do. We promised to strive as the old African proverb reminds us to keep saying their names, and as long as we do, they will still be us. 

Memphis put its best foot forward throughout the week, with locally Black-owned businesses leading the way. The Malloy’s annual meet and greet took place at the historic Ernest Withers ’ Museum on Beale Street. Guests not only had a chance to catch up with each other, but to walk through the lens of history shared with us by the late Ernest Withers.

On Thursday, local tour guide Carolyn Michael-Banks led a tour of Memphis that shed light on Memphis’ rich history while also enlightening Malloy attendees about the challenges of life in Jim Crow Memphis during the Negro leagues era. A tour of the Lorraine Motel and the National Civil Rights Museum offered an opportunity to stand on sacred ground and reflect. 

Last week in Memphis, Blackball historians and fans from across the country had a chance, like musician Marc Cohn reminds us, to go “walking in Memphis. Was walking with my feet, ten feet off of Beale. Walking in Memphis. But do I really feel the way I feel?” We touched down in the Land of the Delta Blues and experienced the greatness of Negro Leagues baseball and Memphis’ incredible role in that story.

Another Jerry Malloy Negro Leagues Conference is in the books, and Memphis will never be the same! And we won’t, either – our time in Bluff City has been educational, exhilarating, exhausting, powerful and absolutely unforgettable. Keith Wood and the rest of the conference committee put together what was, IMHO, one of the best and most unique Malloy Conferences I’ve been to.

I have so much from the conference swimming in my head, and I’d like to do a whole bunch of blog stuff about my/our time here, but the week was packed with so many incredible activities, presentations and interactions that there’s no way I’ll be able to write about it all. 

But I’ll start with one of the primary, overaching themes of the week – the great Memphis Red Sox franchise that was a steady, continuous fixture in the local African-American community in Memphis, the city as a whole and the history of the American pastime in general.

Active for almost three entire decades in the first half of the 20th century, the Red Sox were at several times members of the first Negro National League and the Negro American League, making them official Major League teams now. They were also key members of the Negro Southern League for several years, including in 1932, when the NSL was considered a Negro Major League.

The entire span of the Red Sox’ existence is jam-packed with rich history, colorful characters, top-notch players (including four National Baseball Hall of Famers), an enigmatic owner, economic power and even political intrigue.

There’s so much history running through the Memphis Red Sox story that I could never do all of it justice in a series of blog posts. If you want to learn everything about the Red Sox – and trust, it’d be worth it – check out Keith Wood’s book on the team published by McFarland.

I’m hoping to do more than one post on this year’s Malloy Conference, so for now, this post will focus largely on the second day of the gathering, during which the Red Sox were featured heavily, with multiple presenters discussing the team, its people and its city.

We’ll start right off with the conference’s biggest guest of honor – Dr. J. B. Martin IV, the great grandson of Dr. J.B. Martin Sr., the longtime owner of the Memphis Red Sox, who purchased the franchise with his brothers in 1929 and built it into a pennant winner on the field – they won the NAL championship in 1938 – and an economic success off the field.

The senior Martin had to sell the franchise in the early 1940s when the city’s political primary kingpin – the racist, spiteful E.H. Crump, otherwise known as Boss Crump – drove J.B. Sr. out of town because of the latter’s leadership of and activity in the local Republican Party, as well as his fierce advocacy for Civil Rights. (More on that in a bit.)

At the conference, J.B. Martin IV gave a presentation titled, “Making the Case for the Hall of Fame,” in which he ran down the reasons his great grandfather should be inducted into Cooperstown.

I’ll hopefully bring more from J.B. IV in the next week or two, but for now, all just reveal a few of his thoughts from his Malloy talk last Friday.

“J.B. Martin was a great pharmacist, he was a great businessman, and he was a great political leader,” J.B. IV told conference attendees.

He added that his great grandfather brought that same outstanding professionalism to his baseball team and his players.

“He allowed them to play in comfort,” he said. “They knew they were surrounded by a supportive community. If you had problems, someone would take care of it.”

J.B. IV added that the Red Sox “were an integral part of our community from the 1920s to the 1950s.”

A big part of that was the central place that Martin Stadium, the team’s home, held in Black Memphis. Owned and operated by J.B. Sr. and his brothers, Martin Stadium “became a civil institution,” J.B. IV said. “It was a source of pride for the Black community.”

Multiple Malloy presenters focused on different Red Sox players, including some of the athletes’ careers outside of Memphis. Paul Spyhalski, for example, gave his presentation on pitcher Verdell Mathis, perhaps the preeminent southpaw in the NAL during the 1940s.

Specifically, Spyhalski examined how Mathis hones his skills and developed as a pitcher while playing for semipro and barnstorming teams on the prairies of Iowa, particularly in the unusual hotbed of African-American baseball, Algona.

Iowa is where Mathis crossed paths with manager Ruben Jones, who recommended the young hurler to J.B. Martin and the Red Sox, who promptly signed him. Mathis would go on to become a six-time all star and the anchor of the Memphis rotation for much of the ’40s. 

Another Red Sox player placed under the proverbial microscope, this one by author and presenter Stephen Rice, at the conference last week was Carl “Lefty” Glass, a mainstay of the Red Sox pitching corps during the team’s earlier years, much of them before the Martin brothers bought the club.

A native of Lexington, Ky., Glass’ pitching career during his stint in the Army in World War I, during which he was also part of calvary units, and in addition to his long tenure with the Memphis Red Sox as a pitcher, he managed the club in 1928 and pitched in the vaunted, integrated California Winter League. 

Glass was also one of the driving forces in the late-1940s and early-’50s semipro Lexington Hustlers, known as the first integrated team in the South. Rice said Glass “doesn’t get noticed [in history]. He’s very overlooked, and he was on some very good teams.”

Then on the conference slate came a panel on first baseman Bob Boyd, who began his career in the big leagues in the mid- to late-1940s with Memphis before enjoying a lengthy if modest stay in the integrated Major Leagues.

The Boyd panel was led by my buddy Alex Painter, who noted that Boyd “went through every part of Black baseball.” Despite his very admirable experience and resume, Boyd “always had to prove himself,” Painter said. “He was a star because of his personality. He always came [to work], he always showed up, and he played hard.”

Alex said such a workmanlike, steady, consistent effort helped Boyd embody the Black baseball spirit. “His was about as much of a Negro Leagues story as it could be,” he said.

Painter added that “that consistency, year after year, attracted people’s attention. He was always finding ways to contribute.

“By the end of the 1940s, he had established himself as one of the best first basemen in Black baseball.”

Such dedication to his craft helped Boyd then enter into a sustained tenure in integrated baseball. That’s where co-panelist Thomas Van Hyning picked up Boyd’s story by noting that throughout the 1950s and into the 1960s, Boyd became “Mr. Consistency.” Whether it was in the Puerto Rican League, the Cuban League, in the minors with the Houston Buffaloes, or in the Majors with the Orioles, the A’s or the Braves, Boyd came to play, and he played admirably.

Finally, we’ll bring things back to J.B. Martin, the driving force behind much of the Red Sox’ success, and how it took virulent institutional racism and insidious, embedded political corruption to force Martin to leave Memphis.

That tale was told by conference presenter Neil Sharma, who unspooled the narrative. Boss Crump, the corrupt kingmaker of the city of Memphis and Democratic ally of President Franklin Roosevelt who balked at the almost equally influential Martin’s support of Republican presidential candidate Wendell Willkie and his comprehensive Civil Rights platform.

Crump demanded Martin back off of his support for Willkie, and Martin refused, prompting Crump to launch what Sharma called the “reign of terror” – an oppressive, bigoted campaign of harassment and threats.

At first, Crump’s main tactic was having cops search everyone coming and going from Martin’s prominent pharmacist under the pretense of cleaning up supposed illegal drug-dealing in the city. Those sinister undertakings were eventually accompanied by death threats against Martin from Crump’s goons.

Sharma said that despite the attempts at intimidation and violence, bore as much as he could so he could stay in Memphis.

“He was increasingly becoming an ambassador for Black Memphis,” Sharma said, “and he felt a responsibility to oppose Crump”s racist regime.”

Sharma added that Martin “might have been part of the Black bourgeoise, but he never distanced himself from the Black working class “

Quite naturally the massive blow to Martin’s pharmacy business that resulted prevented Martin from putting a quality product on the diamond, something that greatly pained him.

“He felt a great responsibility to Black Memphis to give a strong team to the fans,” Sharma said.

In all, the reign of terror led to massive disruptions of and fear in the local Black community, and it gutted Martin’s business and tested his resolve, to the point that the J.B. Sr. eventually fled to Chicago out of fear for his and his family’s safety. They settled in Chicago, where J.B. continued his involvement in the Negro Leagues by buying the storied Chicago American Giants and eventually serving as president of the NAL.

That’s the scoop on the Memphis Red Sox as revealed by presenters at the Malloy conference last week. I’m hoping to post another thing or two from Memphis over the next week or so.

If you have any pictures from the conferences you’d be willing to send along to include in upcoming posts, definitely email them to me if you want at rwhirty218@gmail.com. I’ll of course credit you! Thank you in advance!

By Ted Knorr

“In small cities and small towns across the country, there were other teams and other stars that may have been the greatest of the century, but whose deeds would live only in the memory of those who saw them play. Over the years, Black baseball stars played against White Major League stars at least 438 times in off-season exhibition games. The Whites won 129 of those postseason games. The Blacks won 309 (70.5 percent).”

– Baseball, 5th Inning, Shadow Ball, Ken Burns, 1994

Appendix II of “The Negro Leagues were Major Leagues,” edited by Todd Peterson, pp. 214-226, lists 503 games, dates and opponents, depicting games between Negro League teams and Major League teams. Negro League teams won 268 (54.6 percent), while losing 222, with 13 ties.

In addition to Burns and Peterson, I have seen compilations by historians William McNeil (69.8 percent in the California Winter League) and John Holway (57.1 percent), and researchers Scott Simkus (52.7 percent) and bench5 (54.5 percent). Every one of them finds the “so-called” Negro League teams holding their own (winning as often as losing) against “so-called” Major League teams.

Comparable results are reported from both my interpretation of Seamheads Negro League Database (where 67 Negro League pitchers won 54.1 percent of their decisions against teams made up of Major League players) and Retrosheet’s Database (58.0 percent), with both showing an edge to the Negro League teams.

I have never seen a compilation showing the Negro League teams losing more than they win. While each of these compilations have their own circumstances (such as the California Winter League usually featuring one Black team and three or four White teams, meaning the White talent was diluted; and the Ken Burns compilation is admittedly culled from oral history with few if any box scores.), my claim is unquestionably supported by these compilations and that is that the record shows “so called” Negro League teams held their own against “so called” Major League teams.

Further factual evidence supporting my claim is provided with the following data:

Major League and Negro League Regular Season slash lines 1920-1948                    

                          AVG    OBP    SLG    OPS                

Major League    .275     .340     .388     .728              

Negro League    .270     .331     .372     .703    

The 29-season slash lines on both sides of the color line are virtually identical. (Sources: “The Negro Leagues were Major Leagues,” p. 19, edited by Todd Peterson, McFarland & Company, 2020. Major League data is from baseball-reference.com. Negro League data is from Seamheads.com, NL/RAG, and the Center for Negro League Baseball Research.)

In concert with the compilations of games between Negro League and Major League and the regular season data over 29 years being identical, the argument – accepted by Major League Baseball on Dec 16, 2020 – that the Negro Leagues were (indeed) Major Leagues has now been accepted by those who matter and by a growing number of informed baseball writers, researchers and fans.

This editorial celebrates that December 2020 decision and advocates for a positive, logical and similar decision by the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, a 501(c)(3) educational institution with the responsibility of educating the populace on the history of the National Pastime. In the next issue of Shadow Ball, I hope to be more specific in my “advice” for the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. Here are some points for your pondering over the next couple of weeks …

The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum has done spectacular work in telling the history (and quality) of the Negro Leagues in a compelling fashion (as noticed, in my view, by most everyone but themselves).

For example, in 2021, they reinstalled a procedure, flawed but at least it is an improvement, once again providing the possibility by which Negro League players, executives, managers and umpires could be elected and, in 2022, for the first time since 2006, successfully inducted two “executives,” Buck O’Neil and Bud Fowler.

Then, in 2022, the Museum launched a Black Baseball Initiative, which involved partnering with Major League Baseball, the Major League Baseball Players Association, the Negro League Baseball Museum, the Jackie Robinson Foundation and others.

In addition, in 2024, the Hall erected a new Hank Aaron statue entitled “Keep Swinging,” and the new exhibit “The Souls of the Game: Voices of Black Baseball” was installed. The integration of Black baseball accomplishments into existing exhibits throughout the museum was instituted, and the Hall established an interactive youth activity “We Play” involving K-4 students in baseball history. The institution also celebrated the Negro Leagues East-West Classic by, in collaboration with Dr. Gerald Early the Hall, publishing a book on it. Finally, the Hall invited the Society for American Baseball Research’s Negro League Committee to convene its annual research conference in the Hall.

This litany of achievements tells us that the Hall’s heart is in the right place.

That is, its in the right place in every corner of the museum except for its “namesake” Hall of Fame plaque gallery, which had honored 29 Negro League players by 2006 but now includes only 28 (Frank Grant’s role having been inexplicably reassigned from player to executive). And, currently, no new Negro League candidates are even eligible until the December 2027 election. 

Moreover, only 17 percent of all Hall of Fame players debuting under segregation in that gallery are Negro Leaguers. That contrasts starkly with the parallel fact that just more than 45 percent are players of color (i.e. Negro Leaguers) among players debuting since April 15, 1947. It is time for the Hall of Fame to match achievements with the rest of the museum.

My recommendation to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum is to induct additional Negro League players to the Hall of Fame. I recommend that we once again be focused on the 20 remaining Negro League players, executives and managers on the 2006 ballot, plus Vic Harris.

There is no need to wait until December 2027 – an election should be held in December 2026 with a qualified, expert panel, as was done in 2006, with a segregated Negro Leaguers-only ballot and an up/down vote on all 21 personages and no limit on the number of affirmative votes case by each voter.

If that’s enacted, I can guarantee a great step will have been taken by the Hall, and its mission will have been furthered immensely in keeping with the Black Baseball Initiative begun in 2022.

Dear deaders, if you agree with my recommendation, please let the Hall of Fame know. It has been long demonstrated that they will not advance without a gentle nudge every now and then. Let them know 28 Negro League players is not enough. They can be reached at:

National Baseball Hall of Fame & Museum, 25 Main St. Cooperstown, NY 13326. They can also be emailed at info@baseballhall.org.

Editor’s note: This essay originally appeared on The Truth Seekers Journal, www.truthseekersjournal.com, on May 26, 2026.

Living in New Orleans, it’s tough to follow hockey, a sport I love but that 1) people here in Deep South Louisiana don’t give two hoots about, and 2) has no NHL teams for 500 miles. In addition, my favorite NHL team, the Islanders – I came of age during the glory days of Bossy, Trottier, Smith and Potvin – has finished each of the past two regular seasons with such horrible slumps that they played their way right out of qualifying for the playoffs.

However, I attempt to keep track of the sport here and there, and the Stanley Cup finals between the Carolina Hurricanes and Vegas Golden Knights begins tonight.

In addition, I recently read “Willie,” an autobiography by Willie O’Ree, the Jackie Robinson of hockey who broke the NHL color barrier when he stepped onto the ice for the Boston Bruins on Jan. 18, 1958, nearly 11 years after Jackie made history as a Brooklyn Dodger. 

Many people might already know tht O’Ree broke the color barrier in the NHL, but fewer might know that he also passionately loved another sport while growing up in Fredericton, New Brunswick – baseball.

O’Ree wrote that there are parallels in the skills required for each sport.

“I played shortstop and second base,” he wrote in his book, “because I liked to be in the hot spots – just as I played forward in hockey because I wanted to be up there in the other team’s zone, putting the puck in the net, getting in the goalie’s face, tussling with the opposing defensemen who were trying to get me out of there. I liked the action, and if you play shortstop or second base, you’re right in the middle of it.”

In addition, he stated that “[a]s a shortstop, you have to be fast – able to blast from a standing start forward or laterally,” talents that are also extremely valuable in hockey.

Because O’Ree was an impressionable lad of 11 when Jackie broke the baseball color barrier, and because O’Ree grew up as one of the few Black kids in his hometown of Fredericton, he was quite aware of Robinson and Jackie’s athletic, social and cultural importance. As a result, Willie wrote, Jackie was an inspiration for him from an early age.

O’Ree wrote:

“Phil Watson [a childhood friend of O’Ree] also said I could be ‘the Jackie Robinson of hockey,’ another idea that filled my heart with hope and fueled my ambition. … There’d been Negro League baseball for decades, with some of the best players in the game to be found in their ranks. But they couldn’t break free from those ranks, which held them back just like the chains that had held back their ancestors. …

“Jackie Robinson just played ball, and he was the best. Such was his greatness as a man and as a player that MLB retired his number, 42, across the entire league, forever. The only other time that honor has been given to any player by any major league sport was in 2000, when the NHL retired the jersey of a skinny kid from Brampton, Ontario, by the name of Gretzky.”

Amazingly, a 13-year-old O’Ree actually got to meet Robinson, after the former’s youth baseball team won a local league championship and as such had the opportunity to travel to New York City to catch a Brooklyn Dodgers game in person in 1949.

After seeing some of the big-city sites like the Empire State Building and Radio City Music Hall, the kids from Fredericton headed over to see Dem Bums in action. It turned out to be a life-shaping event for Willie. He wrote:

“Then we crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge to Ebbets Field to watch Robinson work his magic. I don’t remember who they played or even if the Dodgers won that day. All I remember is the greatness of Jackie Robinson. He was fast, he was calm, and his every play was as if he’d invented baseball.

“After the game we gathered in the Dodgers’ dugout and met Robinson himself. He could not have been nicer, asking each of us our name and whether we liked baseball. When my turn came, I told him that I liked baseball a lot but that I liked hockey more. He looked surprised and said that hockey didn’t have any black players. I told him he was looking at one, and that he’d see me make my mark on the game the way he’d made his on baseball.

“Sure, one might think, here’s a kid who doesn’t know anything of the world, dreaming big dreams that’ll just vanish in the ether of adulthood. But I knew I was good.”

But even with his talent for hockey, O’Ree was also quite skilled on the diamond, so much so that at one point before his hockey career really took off, he caught the eye of a couple scouts, who offered him a tryout for the Milwaukee Braves in 1956 in Waycross.

As in Waycross, Ga. As in the Deep South. O’Ree balked at first.

“I knew how black people were treated in the southern United States, so I said, ‘I don’t think so.’

They looked surprised,” he wrote. “They represented a very good team; I should have been flattered and thrilled by their invitation. But it was the first time in my professional sporting life that my skin color made a difference, and the difference was to me. I was very leery of doing anything in the state of Georgia, or in the American South in general. …”

He noted that his family had escaped the Jim Crow South to come to a freer life in Canada, and the prospect of returning didn’t exactly excite him. But why did he go to Waycross despite that?

“Well, because I wanted to be a professional athlete,” he penned. “And here I was, being offered a shot at the big leagues of baseball. Was the benefit greater than the risk? …”

So south he went. He immediately started to regret his decision when he saw the segregated restrooms at the Atlanta airport:

“When I look in the mirror in the morning I don’t see color, I see me. I see a man. But at that very moment, I was endorsing segregation in the American South by walking into the Colored restroom. I didn’t want trouble as soon as I landed. And I had received the message loud and clear: I was very much a second-class person – and to some, not a person at all – in this part of the world. …”

During his first night at a segregated hotel, he stated, “I didn’t sleep too well. I was very uncomfortable with what this place was doing to me. For the first time in my life I was being segregated because of my color. I knew I’d come to the city to test my baseball skills against the best, but I was already getting a strong sense of what the cost of this was going to be to who I was. …”

Then he had to deal with bigotry on the diamond, he wrote:

“During the first three weeks we worked out in the morning and then played games in the afternoon, mostly against teams made up of guys in the camp, but sometimes against other teams training in Georgia. I played shortstop and second base, just as I did back home. The first week was all right. The next week we played an exhibition game and I got a couple of hits, but what was new to me were the racial jeers from the white players, both in the camp and on other teams. I let it go in one ear and out the other, but I’d never experienced anything like that from my hockey player teammates in Canada. …”

It ended up being too much, and hockey began beckoning even more for the 20-year-old. And Willie was good. Really good. Unfortunately, an on-ice injury resulted in him being blinded in one eye, which obviously hampered his rise through the hockey ranks. He managed to keep it a secret for many years, and the fact that he was able to adjust his vision and depth perception so adeptly that he still made it to the NHL is astounding.

But eventually, his secret was discovered, and, even though he could still play at a top level, the Bruins and other NHL teams, somewhat reluctantly, told him that he had no real future in the league with just one eye.

So his stays in the NHL were all too brief, but he still excelled at the minor league level, especially with the San Diego Gulls of Western Hockey League, where he had an All-Star career and saw his number retired by the Gulls.

But although his career in the NHL was brief, it still had a huge impact, both then and now, and for nearly seven decades, he’s been written about and interviewed countless times by countless media outlets, all of which spotlighted his status as a trailblazer and discussed the challenges he faced as well as his many achievements. They also frequently compared him to Jackie.

In late December 1960/early 1961, the Associated Negro Press issued an article cover O’Ree’s first appearance in Chicago as an NHL player as the Bruins faced the Blackhawks, and the article referred to Jackie Robinson when discussing the lad from Fredericton.

“Neither the stadium crowd not the face that he was the lone Negro competitor appeared to bother him, although he must have been conscious that he was the center of attention.

“To the opposing Hawks players and his own white teammates must go the credit for treating him as ‘just another player,’ with none of the animosity that confronted other Negro athletes, such as Jackie Robinson in his early attempts to crack the race barrier in baseball.”

In February 1965, United Press International produced a wire article about O’Ree and how, even though his hockey career certainly had its bumps racially, his experiences with hatred and bigotry paled in comparison to what Jackie endured.

“I’ve been called ‘the Jackie Robinson of hockey,’” O’Ree told the reporter, “but I didn’t have nearly the difficulties that faced Robinson when he broke into organized baseball.

“Jackie had it real rough. He was faced with segregation and playing in the South. I’ve had my differences with players, but they were nothing to compare to what he went through.”

The reporter then wrote, adding: “And O’Ree plays hockey like Jackie Robinson played baseball. He goes in for the hard, aggressive style and many experts consider him the fastest man on skates.”

An Aug. 5, 1979, article in the Boston Globe by Steve Marantz, Milt Schmidt, who was the Bruins’ coach when O’Ree broke in, said that Willie wasn’t affected by any racial abuse he received – at least outwardly.

“He had a good personality for it,” Schmidt told Marantz. “It didn’t take long for him to make friends. He wasn’t real quiet. Somebody could have called him all the names in the world and he could have accepted it. And he had the backing of [his Boston teammates]. I think he felt accepted.”

The Globe article, like many others, almost unavoidably compared Willie to Jackie, with Marantz writing that “O’Ree approached his teammates in much the manner Robinson did with the Dodgers, as an athlete and not a social crusader. …

“But unlike Robinson, O’Ree was apparently less preoccupied with maintaining an imperturbable exterior. He fought when he had to, when every player must, and laughed, which is not required but recommended for minorities of one.”

Ironically, though, while it’s by said by many, many people that so many legendary Negro Leaguers arrived to early, i.e. they played before the integration of organized baseball, he might have also been born a bit too late, in a way.

When he made the NHL in the late 1950s/early ’60s, the NHL only had its “Original Six” teams – the Bruins, the New York Rangers, the Detroit Red Wings, the Chicago Blackhawks, the Montreal Canadiens and the Toronto Maple Leafs. However, the league began massively expanding in 1967, which created many more lasting opportunities for all aspiring pro players.

As a result, Willie told Marantz, “At the time [when he made the NHL], I didn’t know if the NHL was ready for a [B]lack athlete. I think I got a fair shot. I only wish I had been born 10 or 15 years later. I think I could have stuck after expansion.”

In his “Sports of the Times” column from the April 28, 1999, issue of the New York Times, William C. Rhoden wrote that perhaps one big reason that O’Ree’s integration of hockey in January 1958 didn’t have nearly the attention paid to it at the time than Jackie’s did in ’47 was because in 1958, just about every player in the NHL – including O’Ree himself, obviously – was Canadian, from a country where race wasn’t as big a deal. The Black population of Canada was small, and, Rhoden added, “Canadian hockey’s divisions involved English vs. French …”.

Rhoden also wrote that a substantial reason that O’Ree’s stays in the NHL were relatively brief was his bad eye, in addition to racial friction.

Awareness of O’Ree’s impact, especially in historical context to other sports, continued to filter down through hockey’s younger generations, including former Calgary Flames All-Star Jarome Iginla, who was quoted by a January 2008 article in Jet Magazine.

“People ask me if I’ve faced a lot of challenges or discrimination because of my race,” said Iginla, who also wrote the forward to O’Ree’s book. “I haven’t. O’Ree is like the Jackie Robinson of hockey.”

Appropriately enough given his massive impact on hockey, O’Ree has continued to be feted and honored with assorted awards, especially over the last couple decades.

But I’ll wrap up with some quotes from O’Ree in a Jan. 19, 1998, article in the New York Times by Ed Willes. The article was published for the 40th anniversary of his debut with the Bruins; the NHL also honored him at its All-Star Game, and O’Ree was also beginning his new job as director of youth development for the NHL and its USA Diversity Task Force.

Some of Willie’s comments for the article:

• “I didn’t think of myself as a pioneer or a trailblazer. I was just there playing with the Bruins against the Canadiens. There was no big deal made about it. I was just another player, supposedly.”
• “I think it’s time. I would have liked to come in 20 years ago, but things happen when they happen. My feeling is that every boy or girl who wants to play hockey should have the opportunity to play.”
• “There were others who should have been in the NHL. They should have been there. It was only because they were [B]lack. I can see why they’d feel resentful and bitter. Maybe it wasn’t the time. I don’t know.”
• “When I broke into the National Hockey League, I got it every game and there was nothing done about it. I did a lot of fighting when I started because I had to, not because I wanted to. I wasn’t a great fighter, but I was determined not to let anybody run me out of the league.”
• “I see these other [B]lack players in the league and I can picture myself out there. It’s a nice feeling. I was very fortunate to be the first, but it’s a better feeling that other players have followed. The line has been continued. Ten years from now there might be 200 [B]lack players in the NHL. It’s a slow process, but sometimes things have a way of working out.”

After many months of discussions, phone calls, emails, visits to the cemetery, blog posts and discussions, the John Bissant grave marker was quietly placed last Monday in Carrollton Cemetery No. 1 in uptown New Orleans! And the latest product of the Negro League Baseball Grave Marker Project looks fantastic!

We’re going to organize a formal dedication ceremony for sometime this summer. Until then, enjoy these photos and check out a few of my previous posts on John Bissant here, here and here. Also, here’s a golden oldie about a previous grave marker effort some of us put together a bunch of years ago for Wesley Barrow in Gretna, La.

Way back in 2015, I posted about the mystery of where New Orleans native and Negro Leagues outfielder Lloyd “Ducky” Davenport is buried — specifically, where his unmarked grave is in Holt Cemetery, New Orleans’ “potter’s field” for “indigent” residents.

I’d never actually been to Holt Cemetery but had always wanted to check it out. Well, I finally did that last week, and I was struck by the tragic beauty of the place. Some sections were pretty well tended, while others were completely overgrown with grass and weeds, with tombstones askew or completely knocked over.

What was truly unique, however, is that apparently families are given a great deal of leeway in terms of marking and decorating their loved ones’ graves, and some of the burial plots are truly astounding and beautiful.

I spent about an hour walking around and taking pictures. Needless to say, there was no sign of Ducky’s grave during my cursory, initial visit. If we ever want to try to obtain and place a marker for him, it would be quite a challenge.

But there could be a model for some type of formal recognition — the large memorial to jazz pioneer Buddy Bolden, who’s also buried in an unknown location in Holt. A picture of the Bolden memorial is below, as are other images I took last week. Ducky Davenport, where are you?

Just a quick dispatch today. I found this article in the archives of The Louisiana Weekly Newspaper. It’s from March 13, 1926. It shows none other than the legendary Oliver “Ghost” Marcell signing up to play for a YMCA team in New Orleans! It’s not as far-fetched as it might seem: Marcell was a native of Thibodaux, La. — located about 50 miles southwest of New Orleans — and got his start in top-level baseball in the Big Easy.

What’s particularly interesting about this article is that it says Marcell was “formerly of the Bacharach Giants,” but he was still in the midst of his professional career in the top levels of Black baseball.

Which raises the question of why he was playing for a YMCA, because I’m guessing it wasn’t for the money. …

On April 27, members of the Pelican-Schott chapter of SABR and two Negro Leagues families gathered at Tulane University‘s Turchin Stadium for a “Salute to the Negro Leagues” event at the Green Wave‘s game against UT-San Antonio. The stars of the evening were Rodney Page, son of New Orleans Black baseball impresario Allen Page, and Carlis Wright Robinson, daughter of legendary pitcher and NOLA native Johnny Wright.

The pair brought members of their families to share in the festivities, which included SABR members staffing a table of posters, books, articles, baseball cards and Cracker Jack; Carlis and Rodney throwing out the first pitches after meeting the Green Wave coaches; a special short video by SABR especially made for the event; and information graphics and biographical information about many Negro Leagues legends from New Orleans and the rest of southeastern Louisiana.

Here are a bunch of pictures from the wonderful evening, courtesy of several folks, including Carlis, Pelican-Schott chapter president Richard Cuicchi, WWL-TV and me. Enjoy!

Editor’s note: Today’s post is a guest article by my friend and Negro Leagues research colleague, Alex Painter. It’s an excellent essay about the inimitable multi-sport star Jack Hannibal, and Alex’s search to find Hannibal’s grave and the resulting effort toward placing a marker on the athletic great’s final resting place.

By Alex Painter

Guest Author

In January 2022 – on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, to be exact – I took the one willing child (Eleanor, aged six at the time) to Crown Hill Cemetery to visit the final resting places of Black baseball players. The pre-Negro National League Indianapolis ABCs – that is, the club as it existed before 1920 – have long held a particular fascination for me. I had come in search of a few ABCs who had also suited up for the 1918 Richmond (IN) Giants, a team I had, by sheer happenstance, “discovered” back in 2019, who played in what is now my home city.

Let me tell you, Crown Hill, situated on the north side of Indianapolis, is an adventure in its own right. At 555 acres, it is the third-largest nongovernmental cemetery in the United States. It stretches across 25 miles of paved roads and holds more than 225,000 burial sites, a number that grows by the day. It’s just enormous. John Dillinger is buried there. Benjamin Harrison, too. James Whitcomb Riley as well. And, scattered among them, a number of Black baseball players.

There were three in particular I was intent on finding: Richmond Giants first baseman George Board, infielder Otis “Cat” Francis, and outfielder Porter Lee Floyd, better known professionally as Jack Hannibal. All three played for both the Giants and early iterations of the ABCs. After wandering more than I’ll dignify with a precise timeline, I discovered all three were buried in unmarked plots. Not entirely surprising but a little disappointing all the same. We also found that two other non-Giant early ABCs (William Prim and Fred Hutchinson) were unmarked as well.

Because of the cold, Eleanor was eventually exiled to the car with The Wizard of Oz on one of those portable DVD players. The temperature hovered in the low 20s, but the wind made a mockery of it – cutting straight through your damn bones. I felt bad toting her along on such a shitty day, though she handled it like a pro, splitting her time between Dorothy and scanning headstones for names. We had a mission, after all, and El knew it.

After we located the plots, we left inscribed baseballs marked with each player’s name, nickname, and birth and death years. I had a brief thought of a lawnmower catching one and sending it hurtling toward a nearby house. I felt a little bad about that too, though not all that much, if I’m being honest, unlikely as that scenario was. In the end, like any taphophile, I found myself wondering how long it had been since anyone had come looking for these guys.

Shortly after, I zipped off a “cold” email to Jeremy Krock of the Negro Leagues Baseball Grave Marker Project (NLGMP). The NLGMP’s mission is “to provide proper grave markers for players of the Negro Leagues to honor their contributions to history and the game of baseball.” The ballplayers needed headstones, so, yeah, it felt like a natural pairing.

Jeremy and I bantered back and forth. He appreciated the Crown Hill intel, which, honestly, felt pretty good. Freezing our asses off? Totally worth it. Then life happened, job change, the usual, and we lost touch for a couple of years. We reconnected in early 2025 about the project, and he mentioned Jack Hannibal was at the top of the NLBGMP list. The iron was still hot. We picked things back up in February 2026. This time, it was happening. The order has been placed and we are expecting an installment of it this summer! We are hopeful to have a small dedication ceremony.

Whoops. I jumped the shark a bit. So, undoubtedly, Jack Hannibal was the one we had gone to the cemetery to see (and when I originally wrote Jeremy, I led with Jack). I had spent a fair amount of time digging into his story the year before, and the more I read, the more interested I became. A classic case. Hannibal, aside from being a gifted outfielder, a strong hitter at the plate, and an occasional pitcher, was only just getting started there. He also starred on the gridiron under the tutelage of one of the greatest linemen in University of Notre Dame football history to that point.

He was also one of Indianapolis’ most prolific figures in the boxing scene for decades. One of his ring nicknames, “The Fighting Poor Boy,” just kind of struck me as absolutely badass. Despite his life in the “noble art of pugilism,” Jack was quiet. Kind. A mentor. Someone who was good to people and loved his city. Now it is time his city remembers him.

***

Let’s start at the beginning. Hannibal was born Porter Lee Floyd in Campbellsville, Ky., on March 20, 1891, to Ruben Floyd and the former Sarah Shively. As he was referred to as “Jack Hannibal” during his lifetime, I will do the same here. His family later moved the roughly 200 miles north to Indianapolis while Porter was still a youngster. Like millions of other Black families at the time, they likely made the move in search of better-paying jobs and a measure of economic stability often out of reach in the rural South.

Ruben passed away sometime before Porter’s 20th birthday, leaving him to assume the role of head of the household at a young age. Before that, Jack had already made a name for himself as a multi-sport athlete at Shortridge High School in Indianapolis.

Let’s start with boxing. Listen, I know we are big baseball fans, but boxing was Jack’s most prolific sport.

According to his obituary, Hannibal would ultimately spar 100 times in the ring, allegedly losing only five matches. In a twist of delicious serendipity, the first recorded fight in which a “Jack Hannibal” appears on the card – a six-round preliminary bout on Dec. 4, 1911, against fellow local welterweight Kid Watkins – also happened to be the debut fight of Roy Charleston, the older brother of Negro Leagues luminary Oscar Charleston.

For what it’s worth, Hannibal easily defeated Watkins, and Charleston made a “great showing in the no-decision” against Ash, according to the Dec. 5, 1911, issue of the Indianapolis Star.

Not for nothing – Charleston, Hannibal, and longtime Negro Leagues pitcher Bill Holland all spent time living on Yandes Street in Indianapolis.

Anyway, by 1913, Hannibal was crowned the middleweight champion of Indianapolis – even getting his picture printed in the Jan. 4, 1913, issue of the Indianapolis Recorder to celebrate the triumph (below).

His boxing career lasted into 1930 (his obituary later listed 1928, but his final fight appears to have come in October 1930). None loomed larger than his Aug. 29, 1921, bout with Jack Blackburn in Muncie, Ind. Blackburn, a near-constant contender across multiple weight classes, was a nationally known fighter with a career spanning more than two decades.

For Hannibal, it was a tough draw. He reportedly took the fight to Blackburn through the first two rounds, but a crushing right hand to the jaw in the third sent him to the mat for the night, and Blackburn was declared the victor.

Blackburn would later gain even greater renown as the trainer of Joe Louis, the “Brown Bomber,” from 1934 until Blackburn’s death in 1942. In 1938, an estimated 100 million people tuned in via radio to hear Louis dismantle the German Max Schmeling – a fight with heavy racial and ethnic implications.

Hannibal trained young boxers and officiated matches up until his death. Not for nothing, one of his stablemates throughout the 1910s and 1920s was Jack ‘The Hoosier Bearcat’ Dillon, a former World Light Heavyweight Champion.

************

Now, football. In addition to boxing, Hannibal also starred on the gridiron, most notably as a guard and right tackle for the Indianapolis-based semipro J.J.C. team, which was owned by Indianapolis sportsman Joe J. Canning. The club captured independent state championships in both 1925 and 1926.

The team was coached by Al Feeney, who played center alongside the famed Knute Rockne at the University of Notre Dame from 1910 to 1913. College football historians may recall that it was the 1913 Notre Dame team that helped revolutionize the forward pass, then a seldom-used tactic. Feeney snapped the ball to quarterback Gus Dorais, who lofted it to receivers Rockne and others.

Feeney also coached Negro Leaguer Connie Day during his high school football days at Greenfield High School in Greenfield, and later became Indianapolis’s first Catholic mayor, serving from 1948 until his death in 1950.

The J.J.C. team was clearly talented and well-coached. But just how good was Hannibal? Apparently talented enough to be the only man of color on the championship team (pictured fourth from right below). His obituary confirmed that he was indeed “the only Negro player” on the team.

So, in the midst of everything else, Jack was also a fantastic baseball player. 

A fleet-footed outfielder who could spray the ball to all parts of the yard, he appears to have broken in with the all-Black Indianapolis ABCs in 1913, then owned by white bail bondsman Thomas Bowser. He bounced the next year to the Louisville White Sox, owned by Hall of Fame player, executive and Negro National League founder Rube Foster. Then, 1915 was spent with the French Lick Plutos. By 1916, he was suiting up once more for Bowser’s ABCs. 

By the outbreak of World War I, Jack and his wife Hazel had four children. In addition to bringing in money from baseball and boxing, he also worked at an Indianapolis bottling factory. Jack and Hazel would ultimately have nine children.

In 1918, he suited up for the aforementioned Richmond Giants of Richmond, Ind. Though he mostly played right field, he also twirled seven scoreless innings in a 6–0 win over the Piqua (OH) Coca-Colas on Aug. 25.

On Labor Day weekend that year, Hannibal played a doubleheader with the Giants in the afternoon, then participated in a boxing exhibition in Richmond that evening. The Giants won one and tied the other (a notable day, as pitcher Bill Holland made his debut as a teenager), and, of course, Hannibal won his boxing match. Quite a day, indeed.

To further underscore his baseball career, particularly against top competition, Seamheads – of course the premier Negro Leagues database – credits him with a .435 batting average (30-for-69) in games against qualified opponents, meaning some of the best competition he would have faced. 

It is, admittedly, a small sample size. Still, no player in the database with at least 60 at-bats has recorded a higher average than Hannibal’s .435 mark. Zero. Who would have thought?

After his playing career ended, Jack transitioned seamlessly into managing, training and mentoring. He took a job as a janitor but remained deeply involved in sports, training fighters and organizing and coaching baseball teams. His managerial stops included the Indianapolis Cubs (1931), the Lincoln Highways (1932), the Indianapolis ABCs (1935), and the Richmond Lincoln Giants (1940).

He also etched out quite a reputation as an umpire. During a 1937 Negro American League game between the Indianapolis Athletics (managed by Ted Strong) and the St. Louis Stars (managed by Dizzy Dismukes), Jack was tabbed as umpire. The Indianapolis Recorder shared that “Jack Hannibal, an old familiar figure in the sports world, has proven himself an umpire equal to any of any race.”

On Aug. 20, 1948, tragedy struck the Hannibal family when Jack’s 25-year-old daughter Helen was tragically murdered by her husband. She left behind two children, ages three and 20 months old.

Just one year after his daughter’s death, Jack Hannibal died of a heart attack on Aug. 24, 1949. He was just 58 years old.

Six years after his death, Hannibal (and his son Leo, who also suited up in Black baseball and basketball) were selected to the all-Indianapolis Black baseball second team in a poll held by Indianapolis Recorder sportswriter Tiny Baldwin – himself a mainstay on the city’s diamonds. Jack was selected as a manager and Leo as a pitcher. Baldwin, in the Aug. 20, 1955, issue, fondly remembered Hannibal:

“Jack Hannibal was a quiet man, who always managed to talk at the right time, and only the right time. Jack put each player on a high pedestal and made him feel he was on top of the world, and that way gave the players that little extra something which made each give his everything every time he strode onto the diamond. His famous words were: ‘Every time I get out of Indianapolis, I like Indianapolis that much more.’”

And now, Indianapolis can remember him just the same.

Alex Painter is a writer, researcher and podcaster based in Richmond, Ind. Born and raised in Fort Wayne, he has called Richmond home for more than 15 years. He studied American history and politics at Earlham College and later earned a master’s degree in management and leadership.

Painter is passionate about the art of storytelling, particularly exploring the intersection of baseball and broader social movements in American history. His work often places the game within defining historical moments, using sports as a lens to better understand culture, community and change. He is the author of four books, including a local history of Richmond told through the rich legacy of Negro Leagues baseball in the city.

Among his proudest discoveries is uncovering the story of the 1918 Richmond Giants, the team for which Jack Hannibal once suited up. Inspired by that history, Painter has spent the past four years coaching a local little league team named the Richmond Giants — carrying the legacy forward for a new generation.