A Well-Paid Slave (55 page)

From his legal defeat, Flood emerged with a spiritual victory. “I have never felt I gave up too much,” he said. “All the things that I got from it, they're intangibles. They're all inside of me. Yes, I sacrificed a lot—the money, maybe even the Hall of Fame—and you weigh that against all the things that are really and truly important that are deep inside you, and I think I succeeded.”

The only aspect of his lawsuit that bothered Flood was the lack of support from his fellow players. “I am bitter now because I know in retrospect that we lost because my guys, my colleagues didn't stand up with me,” he told filmmaker Ken Burns. “If superstars had stood up and said ‘We're with Curt Flood,' if the superstars had walked into the courtroom in New York and made their presence known . . . had we shown any amount of solidarity, I think the owners would have gotten the message very clearly and given me a chance to win that.” But as a rededicated family man, he understood why Hank Aaron, Ernie Banks, Willie Mays, and Frank Robinson had not rushed to his defense at the time of his lawsuit. They were afraid of being “guilty by association” and needed their jobs in baseball to support their families.

A job in baseball continued to elude Flood. Cosell wrote in July 1986 that the union should give Flood a job. The union was Flood's only hope. As Bob Gibson said, management still viewed Flood “as a traitor.” By this time, Marvin Miller had handed over the reins to Don Fehr. Fehr was too young to have worked on Flood's lawsuit and did not know Flood well, but the new union boss must have been aware of Flood's desire to return to the game.

Flood voiced support for the players during the strikes in 1981 and 1994. “One of the reasons I can't get a job in baseball is I can't keep my mouth shut,” he said. He carried on Jackie Robinson's fight for more blacks in management positions—not to find Frank Robinson a job or to lobby for his own, but because of the injustice of it all. In February 1986, he pointed out to the
Sporting News
that “we've only had two black managers. There are none in the front office except for Henry Aaron in Atlanta.”

An incident at the beginning of the 1987 season finally gave potential black coaches and executives hope. Al Campanis, a Dodgers executive and a former minor league teammate of Jackie Robinson's, unintentionally helped their cause during an April interview on ABC's
Nightline
on the 40th anniversary of Robinson's first major league season. Blacks, Campanis suggested, “may not have some of the necessities to be” field managers or general managers. Campanis revealed on national television what baseball people had been doing for years: excluding blacks from the hiring process.

Baseball went into damage-control mode. Commissioner Peter Ueberroth hired black sociologist Dr. Harry Edwards and the consulting firm of former secretary of the army Clifford Alexander and Janet Hill (the wife of former NFL running back Calvin and mother of future NBA star Grant) to study the problem, prompting Jesse Jackson to call off a black boycott of major league stadiums scheduled for July 4.

Black former major leaguers, however, felt excluded from the process run by nonbaseball people. Flood was among a group of players who met with Ueberroth and Edwards during the All-Star break, but Flood still could not find a baseball job. “I had written to four or five different clubs with the intent of finding nothing more than a token job,” he said. “I only got a response from one of them, and this was ‘A.C.'—after Campanis. Honestly, I don't know what their problem is.”

In November 1987, Flood and 60 black former players met for three days in Irving, Texas, to discuss their common experiences and to form their own organization, known as the Baseball Network. “Forty years after the debut of Jackie Robinson, bitterness is not what I am,” Flood told the
Baltimore Sun
's Mark Hyman. “But I am a little embarrassed we have not gone further.” When asked what kind of job he wanted in baseball, Flood replied that he wanted to be an owner. He believed in the Baseball Network and designed a piece of jewelry in an effort to raise money for the organization. With former scout Ben Moore as executive director, the former players elected five men to a board of directors: Frank Robinson, Ray Burris, Jim “Mudcat” Grant, Willie Stargell, and Flood. Flood was named the board's president, probably because he had nothing left to lose with management.

Flood came close to landing a major league job with his old team, the St. Louis Cardinals. In 1985, the Cardinals had made Flood's former teammate, shortstop Dal Maxvill, the team's general manager. Three years later, Maxvill needed a director of player development. This was not the “token position” that Flood had been seeking, but one of the most integral positions in a team's minor league system. Flood nonetheless applied for the job.

Maxvill flew out to Los Angeles to interview Flood. Maxvill remembered Flood as an outstanding defensive center fielder, a hitter who sacrificed his at-bats to advance leadoff man Lou Brock, a smart ballplayer who squeezed the most out of his 5-foot-9, 165-pound frame, and a great teammate who rooted for his fellow players. During the interview, Flood asked Maxvill a series of questions: Do I know the game? Do I get along with people? Do you think I can do the job? Maxvill found himself answering yes each time. Maxvill was not sentimental about former teammates, having declined Gibson's request for a job with the Cardinals. But, as a former player representative, Maxvill understood the sacrifices that Flood had made for his fellow players. He wanted to hire Flood. Maxvill explained that the position required lots of travel and someone willing to live in St. Louis. Flood wanted to stay in Los Angeles. In June 1988, Maxvill ended up hiring future major league manager Jim Riggleman as director of player development. Neither Maxvill nor any other major league executive ever offered Flood the “token position” he desired. Instead, Flood found jobs and recognition outside the base-ball establishment.

Judy helped burnish Curt's public image. For years, she had worked actively for black causes. Along with other black actresses, she helped organize the Kwanzaa Foundation in 1973 to raise scholarship money for black students. She also participated in the efforts of the Beverly Hills-Hollywood NAACP chapter to fight for the inclusion of black actors in the entertainment industry. She volunteered on Jesse Jackson's 1988 presidential campaign. Judy's activism may have led to the NAACP's belated recognition of Flood's fight for freedom. At the NAACP's Image Awards in December 1987, Flood received the first Jackie Robinson Sports Award. Actor George C. Scott presented him with the honor. That same year, Flood was honored in San Francisco by the Instituto Laboral de la Raza in conjunction with the Latino Labor Day festivities. The AFL-CIO named an award after him. Two years later, the city of Oakland dedicated the Curt Flood Park and Sports Complex.

Players, old and new, found their own ways to recognize Flood. Before a 1984 old-timers game at Busch Stadium, relief pitcher Bruce Sutter found Flood and said, “Thanks for all of us.” After the 1984 season, Sutter signed a six-year contract with the Atlanta Braves worth nearly $10 million. Five years later during an old-timers game at Fenway Park, opposing pitcher Bill “Spaceman” Lee showed his appreciation by serving up a fat pitch. “I thought, ‘Here was the one guy who did as much for baseball as anyone else,' so I just said, ‘Here, hit it,' ” Lee said. Flood hit a home run.

These were happy times for Flood. He worked at Randy Hundley's fantasy camps, played in old-timers games, and signed autographs at card shows and All-Star Game fan festivals. He drew sports cartoons that he wanted to publish and claimed to be writing a sequel to
The Way It Is
. He also started the Curt Flood Youth Foundation, a nonprofit organization that helped underprivileged youngsters in foster care, with HIV, or simply in need of sports equipment. He invited former major leaguers Ernie Banks and Tommy Davis to serve on the foundation's board.

Flood never forgot where he had come from or who had helped him along the way. In October 1987, his beloved American Legion coach, George Powles, died of a heart attack at age 77. Flood was the only former major leaguer to attend the memorial service. He surprised his coach's family by asking to speak. He related how no one ever gave Powles any trouble when he drove in and out of the ghetto to teach and coach at McClymonds because “he was part of the family.” He remembered the hours Powles had spent hitting him ground balls in the school's gymnasium. “I didn't appreciate it until three World Series later all of the things he ingrained in me as a youngster,” Flood told the audience. “His legacy will live on. It will live on with me in my heart.” Just six years earlier, Flood had been too drunk and destitute to attend Powles's induction into the California Coaches' Hall of Fame in Anaheim. Karen had been forced to send a telegram in his name to the banquet hotel. Flood's heartfelt eulogy showed how far he had come.

In 1989, Flood was named commissioner of the new Senior Professional Baseball Association (SPBA). An eight-team league originally based around Florida's spring training ballparks, the SPBA was supposed to be baseball's version of the senior golf tour for players 35 and over (and catchers over 32). Earl Weaver and Dick Williams managed; Bobby Bonds, Rollie Fingers, Graig Nettles, Tony Perez, and Luis Tiant played.

The person who had recommended Flood as the SPBA's commissioner was Joe Garagiola. Garagiola apologized to Miller for his “terrible mistake” in testifying against Flood. Years later, Garagiola publicly confessed his sins. “I thought if the reserve clause went, baseball was going,” he said. “I was so wrong, I can't begin to tell you. It took a lot of guts to do what he did.”

Flood's job as SPBA commissioner inspired an old friend to show up at the league's opening press conference at Gallagher's Steak House in New York City—Howard Cosell. After the press conference, Cosell ate lunch with Curt, Judy, Dick Williams, and league founder Jim Morley. Cosell regaled the table with stories about Flood. He said Bowie Kuhn lacked “the balls” to stand behind Flood and make him a free agent.

Flood's senior league commissionership was mostly ambassadorial. The league owners rented him a Miami apartment from September to February and paid him a $60,000 salary. He signed autographs for fans. At Opening Day in Pompano Beach, he ushered Mickey Mantle to the mound to throw out the first ball. He deferred to Major League Baseball commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti on any major controversies, such as the then-uncertain status of Pete Rose. The senior league struggled to survive beyond that first season. As a cost-cutting measure, the owners decided not to renew Flood's contract, though he received another $60,000 to $65,000 in severance pay. The league limped along for one more season. Some people speculated that Flood's presence hurt the SPBA's standing with Major League Baseball.

Flood never fell out of favor with Marvin Miller. In June 1991, Miller published
A Whole Different Ball Game
, a caustic retort to Kuhn's autobiography. If history is written by the victors, then Miller deserved to tell his version of the players' repeated victories over the owners. Thanks to Miller, baseball players have the strongest union in professional sports. Don Fehr honored Miller that summer by inviting former players to New York for a book party at Mickey Mantle's restaurant. Curt and Judy flew in for the event. They ate breakfast before the party with Marvin; Marvin's wife, Terry; baseball guru Bill James, who had written the introduction to Miller's book; and former union general counsel Dick Moss. After the party, Curt and Judy joined the Millers for dinner. Miller's admiration for Flood ran deep. The two men saw each other for the last time in Colorado Springs in 1992, when Miller accepted an award from the Major League Baseball Players Alumni Association, but they stayed in frequent contact.

Reunited with Moss at Miller's book party, Flood was invited to join an even bigger threat to the baseball establishment than another anti-trust lawsuit: a rival league. An August 12 strike and subsequent lockout aborted the 1994 baseball season and canceled the World Series. Base-ball's antitrust exemption once again came under attack in Congress. Criticism over the Supreme Court's decision in Flood's lawsuit reached a fever pitch. Even Justice Blackmun began to question the wisdom of his decision. “It may be that had the baseball case gone the other way, in the long run, it would have been just as well, if not better,” Blackmun said in April 1995. “But it wouldn't surprise me if baseball were to lose its anti-trust exemption.”

Rather than try to avenge past legal defeats, Moss, Smith College economics professor Andrew Zimbalist, former representative Bob Mrazek (D-NY), and Representative John Bryant (D-TX) decided to mount an on-field challenge to Major League Baseball—the United Baseball League. They wanted to create a competitive market for the players' services. They promised to field 10 teams in 1996 and named Flood a stockholder and vice president.

On December 6, Flood and Moss met in Atlanta with 80 striking players, including future Hall of Famers Paul Molitor, Eddie Murray, and Kirby Puckett, and other stars including Frank Thomas, Fred McGriff, Orel Hershiser, and David Cone. Moss discussed the proposed league. Flood, wearing large wire-rimmed glasses, balding, about 20 pounds heavier than in his playing days, was unprepared for his reception. The players gave him a standing ovation. He got so choked up that he almost forgot what he was going to say. Silence filled the room as he told the players about his fight against the reserve clause. It had been nearly 25 years since he addressed the player representatives in Puerto Rico. He gave the current group of players lasting advice about dealing with the owners regarding free agency: “Don't let them put the genie back in the bottle.” Don Fehr did not think enough of Flood to give him a job with the union but welcomed him as a unifying force during the strike. “Curt Flood remains an extraordinarily powerful symbol even to the players of this generation, many of whom have never seen him before,” Fehr said. “The players talked to him and shook his hand, and I suspect they will remember it for some time.”