What a pleasure to discover that Hillman’s long tradition of sportsmanship endures, that, on the top of the hill, inclusive expressions of our common humanity continue.

Consider this history:

In 1947, Major League Baseball opened its door to the first Black man.

Jackie Robinson’s number 42 is now permanently retired, with only one exception: Every April 15 — the anniversary of Jackie’s signing with the Brooklyn Dodgers — every Major League player on every Major League team wears that number.

Fitting tributes to Jackie’s endurance overcoming the prejudice he and other athletes of his race experienced. Tributes well-deserved, despite their reported potential to cause feelings of “guilt, anguish, or psychological distress” in those who are made aware that members of their race perpetuated the intolerance upon which such prejudice was based.

Really.

And it was 1947 — I don’t know if it was before or after the day the door opened to Jackie Robinson — that Millie Taraskiewicz opened a door in Hillman to an entire team of African American athletes.

Before Millie opened her door that night, those men had played an exhibition basketball game in Alpena. They may have played The House of David, a Benton Harbor team who sometimes traveled with them.

But, when the game was over, no hotel in town would provide them accommodations. No restaurant would serve them food. No service station would sell them gas.

In Alpena, in 1947, Black men were allowed to demonstrate their skill playing basketball, but, when the game was over, the outside world remained as it was, not as it should have been.

But someone told them that, if they traveled west to Joe’s Super Service at the top of the hill in Hillman and knocked on Joe’s door, it would open. Joe’s motto was, “We’re fishing for your business and service is our bait.” It was a motto that applied not only during business hours but after closing, as well. Anytime there was a knock on Joe’s door, it was answered.

Stacia Hubert, Millie’s older sister, told me Millie was the only one home at the time. Millie said she did what she had been taught to do: open the door and sell what she had of what the customer needed — in this case, gas, canned meat, bread, peanut butter, soda pop, and snacks.

She received payment and thanked them, just as they had thanked her.

Fifteen-year-old Millie Taraskiewicz, in her night dress, had honored her parent’s commitment and opened her door to strangers, large Black strangers. Young Millie had opened her door to the Harlem Globetrotters!

The Globetrotters went on to defeat the NBA champion Minneapolis Lakers in both 1948 and 1949, with such players as Reece “Goose” Tatum and 6-foot, 8-inch Nathaniel “Sweetwater” Clifton.

They were recognized as the best basketball team in the world.

Then another door opened. In 1950, “Sweetwater” signed with the New York Knicks. He was the first African American to play in the NBA.

Those years were good years for sports in our nation. In Hillman, a unique sports tradition was born — one that continues.

Now, athletes come to the top of the hill in a variety of colors: Orange and black, red and black, blue and yellow, and more. They arrive in various shapes and sizes, with differing skills, urgings, and athletic ambitions, with names such as Tigers, Cardinals, Hurons, and Huskies.

Recently, the Hillman Tigers boys varsity baseball team was scheduled to play in Johannesburg, but the field there was undergoing unexpected repair, so the Cardinals came to Hillman to play the planned double-hitter.

Rain interrupted, then delayed the first game.

Believing they would be traveling, Hillman’s parents had prepared food for their team. They decided to feed the Tigers during the rain delay.

“The parents mentioned that they had lots of food. I asked if there was enough for the other team. They said they had plenty, so I told their coach to come over. They were extremely polite and thankful, and some of the Johannesburg parents brought cookies. It was a great moment and helped pass the time during the rain delay.” — Richard Firman, Hillman boys varsity head coach.

In Hillman, the door is still open.

What is this thing called sportsmanship? This thing you know when you see it and recognize its absence when it’s not there.

When I was 14, I played third base for the Braves. Dennis Banish was shortstop. We were the best team in the old Alpena Pony League that year, best primarily because we had the best pitcher: Jere Chaffin.

I will never forget the time when league President Percy Snyder stopped our game, walked out to the pitcher’s mound at the old Besser Field, and told the adult hecklers that, if they didn’t start acting responsibly as role models for fair engagement, our game would not continue and Pony League baseball in Alpena would come to an end.

The stands grew quiet.

Our whole team, particularly Chaffin, had been taunted. We were subjected to boorish name-calling and accused of using unspecified tactics to produce rigged winning results — consequences of young players’ strivings being vicariously experienced by parents whose fragile egos could not accept defeat.

Percy’s standing up to that cynicism ensured the continuation of sportsmanship in Pony League baseball, preserved the league as something to be proud of, validated the lessons it taught and was played by, and saved it from the polarized darkness it threatened to become.

Good sportsmanship?

It’s simply doing unto others as we would have them do unto us.

But first, we have to open the door.

Doug Pugh’s “Vignettes” runs monthly. He can be reached at pughda@gmail.com.