Al Lonstein, however, attended that speech and later performed a nine-and-a-half-minute interview with Robinson, which may be the final lengthy interview in Robinson’s life. The audio cassette tape with that recording has now found its way to the archives of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, thanks to Lonstein’s son Wayne, an attorney in upstate Ellenville, N.Y.

The elder Lonstein was born in Brooklyn and raised in the Bronx, though he remained true to the Dodgers growing up, Wayne Lonstein said.

“He was a huge Dodger and a huge Jackie fan, so when he had the opportunity for his show, to conduct interviews, he would travel to wherever, including to the (Baseball) Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony,” Wayne Lonstein noted. “He would get press credentials and go up there and interview the old Hall of Famers as well.”

Wayne Lonstein also remembered on those trips that they would “lick stamps all night at the Cooperstown Campground and then take them to the post office on Hall of Fame Induction Day to have them cancelled that day.”

Though a lawyer by trade, Al Lonstein’s loves were baseball and big band music. His “avocation of love,” according to his son, was his radio show called “The Make Believe Ballroom,” which aired on WELV, a local station in Ellenville. His interest in music, particularly in Frank Sinatra, led him to write The Revised Complete Sinatra, which is considered Sinatra’s definitive discography.

From Ol’ Blue Eyes to Dodger Blue, Al Lonstein desire to interview former ballplayers and other personalities led him to Kerhonkson in the waning weeks of Robinson’s life. The recording, almost 15 minutes in total, also features the last few minutes of Robinson’s speech to the conference attendees. For Wayne Lonstein, the significance of Robinson to American history and his father’s love of the game made Cooperstown the natural recipient of the cassette tape.

“I think it is of significance historically in the world of Jackie Robinson – the movie (42) was great, there have been so many things – but the toll this man paid can never be fully understood in an hour or two hours,” Wayne Lonstein explained. “This isn’t somebody’s artistic representation of what Jackie did or said. This is his own words, the last words perhaps, in many ways that I am aware of. That’s significant.

“You know, maybe I could sell it. Maybe it’s got some value. I didn’t want to exploit it because my father’s love of the game and importance that he placed on the institution outweighs that. I’d rather that his name be associated with the Hall of Fame than a dollar bill be put on it. Honestly, that’s honoring somebody else’s wishes. … A lot of it is Jackie’s own words. I don’t think that anybody has the rights to that other than a place where other people can access it. I think that’s important. I think we loses that in today’s world. People should have access.”

Accessibility to the game of baseball was something on Al Lonstein’s mind for many years, starting during a brief time he spent in the south, as talented African-American ballplayers faced the color barrier and were unable to play alongside whites.

“He said that if this was just the population of the white world, imagine how deep that bench is in the Negro Leagues,” Wayne Lonstein recalled, referring to his father’s view of the quantity of baseball talent among the races. “This is what half of it looks like. Imagine what it looks like when this comes together.”

This sense of bringing people together through baseball carried over to Al Lonstein’s life in Ellenville, where he was a major factor in the development of the town’s Little League programs and helped build the baseball fields. Many individuals continue to tell Wayne Lonstein about the impact his father, who passed away in 1993, had on their lives. Some of them came from lesser means and might not have been able to ordinarily afford the trip to a ballgame. It was Al Lonstein who came by, picked the kids up, and took them to a Mets or a Yankees game.

“He said there is no excuse for a kid not to go (to a ballgame),” Wayne Lonstein said. “He did it because it was his love of baseball, and (baseball was) a vehicle to achieve a more complete union in this country.”

In 1972, however, the country was facing serious levels of discord from a number of avenues: Political, social, economic, and others. Those themes related to some of the topics Al Lonstein and Robinson discussed during their interview: Drug use, incarceration, diversity in the workplace, race relations, and the recognition of Negro Leaguers.

When it came to race, the notion of spending time in someone else’s shoes and trying to understand one’s situation came to Al Lonstein when he was hospitalized in the late 1960s with Guillain-Barre Syndrome. Paralyzed from the shoulders down and in an iron lung, he spent much of his time reflecting on himself and other topics.

“I think the parents have to be knowledgeable enough that they can sit down and discuss (drugs) with them and show they have a tremendous concern,” Robinson said. “(Not) sit idly by and let them get into a problem that can take their very life from them. Drugs can and will do that very thing: take their life.

“Jail is not the answer. Love and understanding and a willingness to extend yourself a little bit. Make sacrifices to show that kid you care. If you let that kid go to jail without trying to help him, you’re going to lose him. … I don’t think you just let a kid go to jail without trying to battle, work with him, to give him as much love as you possibly can.”

Even more telling is when Al Lonstein asks Robinson about the deal that sent Robinson to the Giants in December 1956 – although he refused to report to his new team, opting for retirement.

“I couldn’t imagine what this man went through, what he felt, and what he did. And how it wouldn’t destroy you. Put yourself in his shoes: How would you survive? There’s no way to represent it. And that’s why I thought the import of circling back – this is baseball, this is human condition – this is a lot more than just five minutes on a cassette tape.”