Philadelphia Phillies: Stories from the Philadelphia Phillies Dugout, Locker Room, and Press Box by Larry Shenk

Author:Larry Shenk
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Triumph Books
Published: 2014-03-06T16:00:00+00:00

Paul Owens, the team’s legendary general manager, and Tug McGraw were honored during a video tribute prior to the opening game at Citizens Bank Park.

Nicknamed “the Pope” for his resemblance to Pope Paul VI, Owens was a man of enormous patience. When talking trade he’d outwait the other guy. Owens had a clock that seemingly used all 24 hours particularly at the winter meetings. Being in his suite at 1 or 2 am would be something all of us would eventually experience as a normal time of the day. I don’t know how he did it. “You gotta have bounceability,” he would say. While he was bouncing, the rest of us were dragging.

He was the best judge of people I’ve ever met—not just players. He could tell you everything about another employee or a player but his or her name. One tiny example: Mac Scarce was a lefty rookie reliever in 1972. He pitched well in a spring training game in Lakeland, Florida. After the game Pope and I were walking toward the clubhouse, and here comes Scarce. I thought to myself, This is going to be interesting. What is he going to call him? Pope nodded and said, “Nice going…big lefty.”

The Pope loved grass roots baseball, scouting, and developing. Buddy Harris was an outstanding pitcher at Roxborough High School in 1966. He was going to scout Harris personally and asked me to go with him. Unlike most scouts Owens didn’t like to sit behind home plate. “Too much chit-chatting among the scouts,” he said. “Then after the game, they compare radar reports.” Instead he watched the game down the right-field foul line. He wanted to see Harris throw from a different angle, wanted to see him in the third-base dugout especially after a rough inning or an inning in which a teammate committed an error. How did the kid handle adversity?

As the GM he traveled most of the time with the Phillies. That way he felt he could get to know his players better. He’d get to the ballpark early and sit in the stands, observing both teams’ batting practice. Owens made mental notes of players who worked hard or loafed in going through the motions. He remembered seeing Richie Hebner of the Pittsburgh Pirates busting it during batting practice—both in the cage and in the field. When the Phillies needed a first baseman in 1977, Owens signed Hebner as a free agent. He had a rare sense to see not only the physical tools of a player, but also what was inside the player. He sought the kind of people that you would want in your foxhole when you went to battle, which was appropriate, considering his own period of service for the country.

Owens also could air out people with the best of them. I’ve seen and heard him verbally blast players, writers, and fans. Add me to that list. We were on the last night of a 10-stop, week-long caravan in Trenton, New Jersey. He looked tired and had taken in a few drinks.

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