Baseball: An Ernest goodbye

It's always good to know the power of something before realizing it after the fact.

The first line reads like a Confucian saying of wisdom that starts off looking like a riddle, then opens up to a simple message. However, in this case, the message is plain and comes at you with a heavy heart attached.

On April 9, 2002, the final words of Cubefour Sports that day were "...I hope I'm not 77 when something's done, but I hope we can make Mr. Burke proud of us before he hits 78... What a wonderful birthday present that would be for a wonderful man!"

Unfortunately, I don't think the job got done.

On January 31, Ernest Burke died of complications from kidney-removal surgery. I had the opportunity to speak to Burke in depth as a co-host on a radio broadcast, and was engulfed with the past and present of black men.

He was a Negro League legend, but he was a black man first. Burke was one of the most considerate, brave, articulate, and many other positives, men that I have encountered in my short lifetime.

The stint to host the show was a last second happening. I researched my subject up and down, and was ready for him.

The Negro Leagues is one of the more dominant enigmas in American history. It's a real life "Field of Dreams" in which this glamorous event was played in front of witnesses, but no documented proof could substantiate it.

There are photographs with men in uniforms, but most of the stories that came out of the league itself are legendary, because statistical documentation is shoddy to non-existent.

What we are now left with is something Burke spent 50-plus years trying to remedy -- black men who suffered trying to make it in the game they loved, suffering in their latter days in our world.

I'm not sure how sick he was and when his condition came on. All I know is when we spoke just under two years ago, he was telling me that he was teaching youth and adult tennis, and educating these people being on the court himself.

He was 77.

It's common knowledge during Major League Baseball's 50th year celebration of Jackie Robinson's debut and the league-wide retirement of the number "42" in 1997, there were black players of the modern era who didn't know who Robinson was and why the tribute was even taking place.

It was one of the sadder things Burke discussed with me. His tone was somewhere between embarrassment and disappointment. To him, not knowing who Robinson was, was the equivalent of thinking Evander Holyfield was the first President of the United States.

Just absolute insanity.

He had his personal battles with former Negro League player Buck O'Neill and how he runs the N.L. Museum in St. Louis, and current Montreal Expos manager Frank Robinson, who may be the last person we ever see author a "win friends and influence others" book, for not returning his calls regarding trying to start a fund for those legends who were living on hard times right now.

His overall purpose was not limited to Negro League players, but for black people everywhere.

I asked him what he would love to see before he breathed his last great breath, and his answer was simple -- he wanted to see those who needed help get taken care of, and black people come together as a whole.

Because class doesn't discriminate, black people are in the same realm where those who have plenty eat those on the lower rung on the food chain, which throws away all of the "they" and "them" excuses for the lack of positive movement.

When he was done, my friend Dean and I tried to find avenues to make Burke's voice heard. It was a tough sell, but we never forgot that chat with Ernest Burke and we probably never will.

Upon hearing about his death, I couldn't help but to be slightly haunted by the way things had not progressed much since I spoke to him. It's always something special to see those who sacrificed so much get their just due -- it's just karma's way of saying, "You took your creation and did well with it. Here's a little something to show our appreciation for being a great person."

I don't grieve, but celebrate the man was and the beautiful view of life he imagined for all of us.

He wasn't as dynamic as Martin Luther King or any great orator of our time, but his vibrant aura made me believe that an effort to reach for his own personal utopia was not foolhardy.

We didn't give him the sendoff he wanted, but if you believe like I believe, and feel like he's watching us from a better place, and legacies live forever, then the clock is still on to continue working towards a Burke-ian tomorrow.

Rest easy, sir.