A lot of folks have been weighing in on the recent passing of Hall of Fame pitcher Robin Roberts. It’s eminently understandable. He was famous; he was a really nice guy; and he lived among us since 1977. He used to coach USF.
But please indulge one more perspective.
I “knew” Roberts, the former Philadelphia Phillies “Whiz Kid,” the way fans “know” hometown players. I grew up in Philly.
Roberts owned the town in the 1950s. That was the decade when he won 20 games or more for six consecutive seasons. One year, 1952, he won 28. He once pitched 28 straight complete games, an accomplishment that will never be duplicated. He was his own “closer.” He seemingly started every All Star game for a decade. He made the cover of Time magazine in 1956. His jersey number (36) was retired (in 1962) before he did.
Roberts was to Philadelphia what Stan Musial was to St. Louis, Ernie Banks to Chicago, Mickey Mantle to New York and Ted Williams to Boston. In a city notorious for booing Mike Schmidt and Santa Claus, the face of the Phillies’ franchise was never booed by baseball’s most obnoxious, fickle fans. That right there is a form of canonization in the city of brotherly mug. And that, in a career of HOF accomplishment, might be his most singular achievement.
Even Philly fans realized that Roberts represented more than a guy who won a lot of games for a home team that was usually not very good. He was also a guy who could hit and run the bases. But he always comported himself as a gentleman. No scandals, no DUIs, no “swagger,” no cheap-shot quotes, no excuses — even when having a bad team behind him provided plenty of material.
He was also good-looking and well-spoken, one of the few college-educated (Michigan State University) players of his era. He would stay married to the same person for more than half a century. How old school. Thank you, Central Casting. Jimmy Stewart could have played the lead in the “Robin Roberts Story.”
I finally got the opportunity to meet him in 2003, the year his autobiography, “My Life,” was published. We met for two interviews.
He was humble, friendly and unassuming. It was like being in the company of a retired librarian, talking about all those great writers who lined the shelves. Only he was one of his own profession’s all-time greats.
He still loved a good, back-in-the-day reverie and genuinely appreciated that fans still remembered. He didn’t bemoan the timing that his — by contemporary standards — talents and track record would have been worth hundreds of millions today. He earned $530,000 — over 18 seasons. He topped out at $57,500 — not even close to today’s major league minimum and pin money for less-talented pitchers who depend on specialists to finish what they start.
Roberts’ rationale: That was then, this was not, and context matters. “Remember that the average annual household income in the United States in the mid-’50s was less than $4,000,” he pointed out.
Of his “glamorous” life in baseball’s steadfast lane, Roberts offered this: “The ‘innocence,’ if you will, is real,” he said. “I was the kind of guy who went to the ballpark and then back to the hotel. I’m not pulling punches. That was my way of living.”
He won nearly 300 games and was one of baseball’s all-time good guys. And Philadelphia fans paid him the ultimate tribute.