Back in 1965, Bobby Bragan had to be the most hated man in Wisconsin. This had nothing to do with Bragan himself, you understand, but with the fact that he was the manager of the lame duck Milwaukee Braves — who had announced before the beginning of the season that they would be abandoning County Stadium for the greener pastures of Atlanta. The city was stunned. Why would anyone want to leave Milwaukee for a city that was still recovering from Sherman’s well-deserved burning? Worse yet, the Braves were so desperate to leave that they offered Milwaukee $500,000 to let them out of their stadium lease. The city turned them down.

The Braves’ move was even more surprising because the team had just arrived from Boston in 1953, complete with a bevy of young talent that would bring them to the National League Pennant and a World Series within five years. They won it all in 1957, behind the pitching of Lew Burdette – with his famous spitter — who compiled three complete game wins and an ERA of 0.67. Crandall, Torre, Schoendienst, Mathews, Logan, Covington, Bruton and Aaron are still, for my money, one of the great World Series teams of all time.

Just so: eight years later, the folks who ran the Braves decided it was time to leave and so it was that every time Bragan emerged from the dugout he was booed mercilessly. Bragan feigned disinterest — but everyone knew he was thin-skinned.  Bragan’s reputation had preceded him. Back when Branch Rickey decided that Jackie Robinson would be baseball’s first black player, Bragan led a revolt of Dodgers’ who threatened to sign a petition saying that if Robinson played, they woundn’t. Bragan reportedly led the cabal that included Dixie Walker, Eddie Stanky, and Kirby Higbe. Dodger manager Leo Durocher got wind of this during Spring Training and called an early morning team meeting. Showing up in his pajamas and bright yellow bathrobe, Durocher told his players what he thought: “I hear some of you players don’t want to play with Robinson,” he said, “and that you have a petition drawn up that you are going to sign. Well boys, you know what you can do with that petition. You can wipe your ass with it. I hear Dixie Walker is going to send Mr. Rickey a letter asking to be traded. Just hand him the letter, Dixie, and you’re gone. GONE. I don’t care if a guy is yellow or black or if he has stripes like a fuckin’ zebra. I am the manager, and I say he plays.”

While the Bragan petition was dropped, Bragan’s reputation as being anti-Robinson was sealed, despite his later claim after “just one road trip, I saw the quality of Jackie the man and the player. I told Rickey I had changed my mind and I was honored to be a teammate of Jackie Robinson.”In any event (and putting aside Bragan’s later reputation as a steller minor league administrator), Milwaukee’s fans (and especially their African-American fans) never let Bragan forget what they thought of him. Bragan returned the favor: during one hot August game, Braves left fielder Rico Carty misplayed a ball in left field (not an oddity, as I recall) and Bragan came out of the dugout and headed to the mound. But instead of replacing the pitcher, he waved Carty into the dugout: the only time I have ever seen a manager so publicly humiliate a player. By the end of the game, the fans at County Stadium (and there weren’t many of them) were standing and clapping: “Rico, Rico, Rico.” (We might only imagine what the fans might have done had Bragan decided to replace the guy in right field — Henry Aaron — but not even Bragan would dare do that.)

Bragan’s stillborn petition might have divided the Dodgers between a pro-Robinson group and a sullen and silent cadre of Bragan supporters, but it didn’t. That the Dodgers went on the win the 1947 Pennant was attributable to the play of Robinson, who was voted Rookie of the Year, but also to Pee Wee Reese — who made a point of welcoming Robinson to the club and standing by him during some of the worst moments of the season. Bragan had expected Reese, a southerner, to be one of the petition signers, but Reese refused. In Cincinnati, where a large number of Reese fans showed up to shout epithets at Robinson, Reese walked across second base to chat with Robinson and put his arm around him.

Crosley Field went deathly still. If “the Little Colonel,” as his legion of fans called him, could welcome Jackie Robinson to the big leagues, well then so could they. Reese was a great personality. He held down an announcing spot on the “Game of the Week” with Dizzy Dean for years, back when the Yankees dominated the game and his color commentary was a thing of beauty. He was never a great baseball player — and partisans of Ron Santo point to Reese as an example of why the Cubs Captain should take his place in the Hall. But Reese wasn’t voted into the hall because he was a great player: he was voted into the Hall because of what he did for Jackie Robinson and baseball. Reese was elected to the Hall of Fame by the Veterans Committee in 1984. The last line of his plaque reads: “Instrumental in easing acceptance of Jackie Robinson as baseball’s first black performer.”