Dick Steinberg Looking Forward to His Role as Jets’ Fix-It Man
Standing on a carpet as green as a playing field, surrounded by LeRoy Neiman sketches of the franchise’s first and last championship team, Dick Steinberg fingered the keys of his new kingdom. The first was to the front gate of the training complex, the second to the main door of Weeb Ewbank Hall. They were held together by a ring that sported a plastic tag denoting his new affiliation, the New York Jets.
When someone mentioned the keys, Steinberg smiled easily at the small audience of newsmen in the club’s main meeting room on the second floor. “I guess this makes it official,” he said. After an association with football that has spanned almost four decades, starting with participation on a Philadelphia high school team featuring Bill Cosby, he had been given complete control of his own National Football League organization.
That organization has appeared in tatters. Entering the season’s final week, the Jets have won only four games, marking their second losing record in the past three years. In a season of such surpassing mediocrity in the American Conference that 11 of 14 teams remain eligible for the playoffs, the Jets were the first eliminated.
But solid operations don’t need a new front office, a new direction. The Jets were attracted to Steinberg because of his credentials and his reputation among football people. He was lured from the New England Patriots by the opportunity.
“I had good times up there,” he said. “I was comfortable there. Leaving wasn’t easy.” What sold him on the Jets, he said, was “the owner here, what he was willing to give, the scope of the operation.”
Leon Hess, the virtually invisible chairman of the NFLclub, offered Steinberg total authority in hiring assistants and a coaching staff. “That (subject) never had to be raised by me,” said the Jets’ vice president and general manager in his first day on the job. It was in distinct contrast to his recent experience at New Englafd, where he had similar duties but exercised considerably less power.
As director of player development for the Patriots under the Sullivan family, Steinberg had overseen the college draft, initiated trades and handled some of the contract negotiations. But after the franchise was purchased by Victor Kiam, the electric razor magnate, Steinberg’s responsibility dwindled. It was Kiam who decided to give head coach Raymond Berry a long-time contract extension despite the team’s problems this season and Kiam who sided with Berry in the decision to waive quarterback Tony Eason midway through the season.
Ironically, Eason, Steinberg’s first pick in the ’83 draft, was acquired by the Jets. “My feeling,” he said, “was that (Eason) had a value. I’m against putting anybody with value out on the street. We all lose arguments in this business. (But) it’s not an argument that I would have lost in previous years.”
Despite the owner’s penchant for overruling his primary personnel man, Kiam was not reluctant to suddenly demand compensation for his services after a deal had been struck. In his first personal appearance before New York’s television, radio and print media, he got to the point. “I’m not worth a draft choice,” he said.
Later, after a series of TV and radio interviews, he elaborated on the remark for newsmen. “This is a competitive business,” he said. “Every time you get a chance to zing another team, you do. This will be settled by the owners. I don’t even think the league is going to get involved. . . . Besides, I’m not even worth a 12th (round pick), to tell you the truth. I’m just a free agent now.”
His ego is no more outsized than the man himself. Steinberg is a trim former running back-defensive back who looks younger than his 54 years. On his first inspection of the Jets’ facility, he was decidedly out of uniform. Normally, he favors polo shirts, casual slacks and sneakers. Tuesday, he wore brown loafers, chinos and a tweed sports jacket over a blue button-down shirt framing a paisley tie.
The latter was something of a shock to those familiar with Steinberg’s distaste for neckwear. “I had someone tie it for me,” he said. But he indicated his administration would be as open as the collars he prefers, a distinct turnabout for the Jets.
In a business that trades information, the Jets have run an insular operation. According to Steinberg, they have been a mystery to other personnel men, perhaps in keeping with the profile of their owner.
“You talk a lot less frequently with the people in the same division,” he conceded. “We didn’t talk that much with (the) Miami (Dolphins). But there’s a perception about this team. You get that from other people when you sit around practice fields, in bars and on planes talking football.
“We like to know what’s going on, who’s available out there. With the Raiders, Al (Davis) is on the phone all the time. The 49ers are constantly trying to do things. I can’t think of any (other) team that doesn’t stay in touch. The Jets pretty much operated within their own organization. I’m not saying that in a derogatory sense. They’ve made the playoffs.”
Not in the last three seasons they haven’t. And they haven’t been to a Super Bowl in 21 seasons. So Hess has turned to Steinberg, and Steinberg has promised to open “lines of communication” to the hidden empire.
As part of his personal contribution to a policy of candor, the man wanted everyone to know that he and Cosby were not close friends. “We both started out at Central High School,” he said, “but he transferred to Germantown. Later, when I was coaching at Kansas State, he gave a concert there and we talked. And one time, while I was timing a guy at Nevada-Reno, he was running around the track. When he saw me, he jumped in and started coaching the guy. I think (the prospect) wound up slower after he was finished.”
Steinberg looked at the keys in his hands. In 1968, when the Jets surged to the top of the NFL, the man was an assistant coach in Manhattan, Kan. Now the other Manhattan was beckoning. He called it “an interesting challenge,” and he smiled.