Frank Robinson Teaching and Developing as Orioles’ Manager

Admittedly, he could not have done it before, inviting Pete Harnisch into his office for a sandwich, assuring Keith Hughes his future was still bright, asking Mike Devereaux to explain his at-bat, pretty please.

In the past, Frank Robinson and young players never quite mixed like peanut butter and jelly. But here he is now, fulfilling the role of patient master. Relentless? Obsessed? Abrupt? He is none of those things anymore.

Those close to him say he is the perfect manager for the rebuilding Baltimore Orioles. Those who don’t know him snicker at the incongruity of it all. Few recognize that this is an unusual man in a highly unusual situation.

Robinson has changed, but so have his surroundings. His contract guarantees him two years’ salary and a future management position. He has a front office he respects, and a team he proudly calls his own.

“I like these players,” Robinson said. “I like their enthusiasm. It’s a fun team to be around. It’s very easy for me to be around these guys. It’s nice to walk through the clubhouse, and nice to be on the field.”

He was stung when players privately criticized his seemingly hands-off approach last season -- indeed, the complaints were just the opposite in Cleveland and San Francisco -- but the ’89 season should offer a much clearer vision of Robinson as a manager.

In truth, his era began not when he replaced Cal Ripken Sr. six games into last season, but when he presided over the club’s first workout this spring. Robinson changed all but one of his coaches; General Manager Roland Hemond changed most of his players.

His back surgery is a distant memory, and he has forsaken his deliberately detached style of last season in favor of a direct, motivational approach. It can be no other way with a young team, of course, but until now, it had never been Frank Robinson’s way.

How long will he manage? No one is certain, not even Robinson, who insists he could leave without regret once the rebuilding phase ends. His contract is for six years. He will be manager as long as he and club officials agree. Then, it’s back to the front office.

For now, there are the kids, Frank’s kids, eagerly awaiting his guidance. He didn’t communicate well with young players in his previous jobs, and he frequently feuded with veterans. Now it’s different. Consciously different. Markedly different.

“He’s a better communicator now,” said Orioles hitting instructor Tom McCraw, who served under Robinson in Cleveland and San Francisco. “He’s dealing with the kids, talking to them, calling them in to shoot the breeze.”

“There’s no doubt about it; you have to be hands-on with a young ballclub,” Robinson said. “You have to be very patient. You have to listen a lot. You have to explain things. It’s very important for this young ballclub not to get too down on themselves. If I’m not going to be upbeat, how can they be?”

So far, the players are impressed. The holdovers from last season no longer doubt Robinson’s desire; the new arrivals appreciate his honesty and accessibility. Most of them are too young to know about his stormy tenures in Cleveland and San Francisco. The present is all that matters.

“You can talk to him. If you’ve got something you want to say, you can go talk to him,” said pitcher Brian Holton, who played for Tommy Lasorda with the world champion Dodgers last season. “On a young team, that’s important. I wouldn’t be afraid to discuss anything with him.”

It helps that Hemond has rid the club of most of its high-salaried veterans, replacing them with the kids -- eager, talented and, best of all, untainted. “It’s evident that he’s thoroughly enjoying the building process taking place,” Hemond said. “It’s a different-type club than he’s accustomed to.”

Robinson and his handpicked teacher-coaches are molding the players into their own image, stressing the usual virtues -- hard work, fundamentals and “winning” baseball. The coaches like Robinson because he gives them room to work. The players, too, enjoy their space. When Robinson intrudes, it’s for a reason.

“I do get involved when I think it’s necessary,” Robinson said. “The most important thing is to be available to talk, and talk in their surroundings - out on the field rather than in my office. I don’t have to go out of my way. But I make the first effort to reach out. It makes it easier for them to approach me. I’m very conscious of that.”

There is no sense of urgency about Robinson. He questions players about situations, but by all accounts, the exchanges are give-and-take, and the process is educational. “It’s a lot like a minor-league level,” he said. “I’m not saying these are minor-league players, but we’re here to teach and develop.”

Robinson, in fact, may have less pressure to win than any manager in baseball. It took a record 21-game losing streak before the Orioles realized they had reached rock bottom, but their belated commitment to player development is sincere. No one, not Hemond, not club president Lawrence Lucchino, promises a miracle.

That’s a rare admission in this high-pressure age -- 10 of 26 clubs have changed managers since last Opening Day -- but Robinson never would have returned under false hopes. His philosophy meshes well with the front office’s, but he warns not to be misled by his patience.

“He’s not a loser,” McCraw said. “Look at his career, that’s the one thing he hasn’t done: Get into a World Series by managing. It’s the one thing he hasn’t achieved. I don’t think he’ll rest until he gets it. I know he won’t. It’s a big deal. He wants to be a winning manager.”

That’s not quite it, Robinson said. He believes he proved himself as a manager in Cleveland and San Francisco. Surely he had his moments, pushing the Indians past .500 in ‘76, leading the Giants to their first back-to-back winning years in a decade in ’80 and ’81. But no one confused him with Whitey Herzog.

Robinson initially said he took the Orioles’ job out of respect for late club owner Edward Bennett Williams. Why did he return? Lots of reasons. Love of the game. Love of the Orioles. Love of the city. “It’s always been like this was the team I signed with, been with my entire career,” Robinson said.

Winning? Robinson claimed it’s only important from an organizational standpoint, and dismissed any personal goals. That might sound hard to believe from a man who routinely slid into second base with his spikes pointed toward the sky, but Robinson insisted it’s true.

Point: “I don’t think he wants to be remembered just as a winning player for the Orioles,” Hemond said. “He’d like to have added to his achievements a championship year as manager of the Orioles. I would say he would want to fulfill it to the ultimate if he saw there was that possibility. The inner forces are forever burning.”

Counterpoint: “I feel like I’m a good manager,” Robinson said. “I feel like I know how to manage. I’ve taken ballclubs that didn’t have talent and made progress. I would love to win a division title and World Series, but it’s not the burning desire it used to be. Even in San Francisco, I wanted to prove I was a good manager. But that’s it. No more. That’s not why I came back.”

He came back, he said, to help the Orioles regain their footing. Once that goal is realized, he’ll most likely return to the front office. The move could be two years away, it could be three, it could be more. The Orioles must be satisfied with his work, of course, but it’s doubtful that will be an issue. As former Oriole Fred Lynn said, “They’ve given him the ball. Now he’s got to run with it.”

Time will tell, but Robinson said his career is driven by his front-office aspirations, nothing else. “If after two or three years, the organization is where I would like to see it, I might let someone else have it, even if we have a shot. It might only be a one-shot thing. What if we didn’t win? I wouldn’t want to get into that.

“Then again, I might change my mind and say, ‘This is good. I like this. I want to go on for another 10 years.’ I’m not going to count that out. But at this time, I don’t see myself doing that. My future is in the front office.”