My hometown of Boston has long been viewed as an unwelcoming city for black athletes. And while nobody doubts that, at least on the surface, things have changed for the better here--witness the city's embrace of black athletes from David Ortiz to Kevin Garnett to Randy Moss--that ugly reputation still hovers, as was noted in a recent article in Boston Magazine.

Much can be attributed to demographics; for a major American city, Boston has one of the smaller African-American populations and the suburbs are among the least integrated in the nation. Much can be attributed to the city's bruising busing chapter, though as the late journalist Tony Lukas demonstrated brilliantly in his Pulitzer-Prize winning history, "Common Ground," that giant blemish was as much about class warfare as it was about race. And much can be attributed to the Red Sox, which for generations operated under the most unenlightened management team in sports--a blight that damaged the city's reputation and might explain, more than anything to do with Babe Ruth, the team's long championship drought.

When the subject of Boston sports and race is resurrected, as it is quite often here, we fans hear about a lot of ancients sins and misdeeds, how Jackie Robinson was given a tryout and passed on, how the Red Sox were the very last team to sign a black player, how the Sox frequented a whites-only club during spring training, how the great Celtics star, Bill Russell, was made to feel unwelcome in his suburban home, how the Celtics of the '80s boasted a disproportionate number of white players (though it's hard to argue with championships and players of the calibre of Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Bill Walton, Scott Wedman, Danny Ainge and Jerry Sichting) and assorted other anecdotes that suggest Fenway Park and Boston Garden (and the succeeding arenas) have never been particularly comfortable places for black players or for black fans.

Those who love Boston and its teams and hate that reputation will point to the Celtics, which not only drafted the first black player, but boasted the first black starting five and the first black coach (Russell) of any major pro sports team as well as, perhaps more important, the first team to name a second black coach (Tom Sanders) and then a third black coach (K.C.Jones). Nobody talks much about the NHL Bruins, though they truly were a major force here for much of my life, before both the league and the team became an afterthought. But here's something worth talking about. Today marks the 50th anniversary of the debut of the first black player in the NHL, Willie O'Ree, who suited up with the Bruins for parts of two seasons.

That historic distinction obscures what was far more remarkable about O'Ree, that he had almost zero vision in one eye and managed to keep it a secret to maintain his career. Fifty years later, it may not seem like such a big deal that the Bruins integrated the league, coming as it did some a dozen years after Jackie Robinson and well after the NFL and the NBA. But while Robinson's arrival would signal a major change and other black players soon followed him into Major League Baseball, that wasn't the case in hockey. It would be another 16 years after O'Ree's debut before another black player skated in the NHL. O'Ree's story doesn't mitigate the city's many sins, but it is little known and worthy of recognition.