While I had known what my eyes told me during the past four or five months — that Brooks Robinson wouldn’t be around much longer, as his failing heart got weaker and weaker — the news that Brooks Calbert Robinson had passed away hit me like a punch to the gut when I was alerted about 45 minutes before the Orioles-Nationals game began on Sept. 26.
Think about it. I am 71 years old, and Brooks has been this larger-than-life figure at every turn of my life. He was one of baseball’s biggest stars across America and a TV analyst for a couple decades. At every turn, Brooks was in the picture.
So for weeks to come, people will be feverishly texting and posting pictures of Brooks and reminding us of all the places we saw him and how there wasn’t a finer human being on the planet.
It’s really almost as if by sending these pictures around and saying, “Here’s where I saw Brooks eating crabs,” or, “Here’s where Brooksie signed this picture, ball or bat for me” that people are trying to keep him alive in their hearts. And that’s OK. That’s how people cope with loss, for a while just internally denying the loss is real.
But there won’t be any more new pictures of Brooks. There won’t be any sightings of him setting a good example to kids, of playing tennis, or out at a golf course. And that is where this loss will become more and more poignant to those of us who knew him, were friends of his or just admirers of him.
In 2007, when PressBox was in its second year, I had to drive the editorial wagon with Jen Nelson and a young editor named Kevin Heitz. We had to come up with an idea for a cover story every single week.
Sometimes we struck gold and sometimes we didn’t. But one of the easiest calls I made was based on simply seeing the news that Brooks Robinson was about to turn 70. I called Brooks up and about a week later, my wife picked up a huge birthday cake at the Giant in Pikesville and I drove out to do an interview with Brooks. With me was former Baltimore Sun ace photographer Jim Burger, who would always help me when I made it an interesting project.
Jim took several great shots of Brooks for the cover. We had an edition with Brooks on the cover and the title was “Brooks at 70.” Here is the Q&A I did with him. That paper flew off the shelves and flew out of street boxes everywhere.
A short time later, PressBox started a commemorative magazine division and we scored early success with a magazine called “Ripken: From Aberdeen to Cooperstown, A Celebration of a Hometown Hero.”
That magazine was so successful that we dove in headfirst with another project. I talked to Brooks and Diane Hock, his business manager and dear friend, and they took a leap of faith with us, allowing us the opportunity to create “Brooks Robinson: The Original Oriole.” (I have to give credit to Jim Henneman for the name, though.)
That allowed us to create a magazine about Brooks. It remains one of my proudest accomplishments as the publisher of PressBox. I bring it up not to sell them, but to tell you everything Brooks accomplished. He was an 18-time All-Star, a 16-time Gold Glove winner, the 1964 AL MVP, the 1970 World Series MVP and a two-time World Series winner.
Brooks was also intimately involved in the early days of the MLB Players Association and played a vital role in strengthening players’ resolve when times got tough.
I am not giving him a medal for this, but Brooks’ total acceptance of Frank Robinson in the Oriole clubhouse helped race relations in baseball and beyond.
PressBox even had pieces on his best friend in baseball, ex-teammate Ron Hansen. We had a piece on the many, many folks who named one of their children after Brooks. Little known was the fact Brooks was ambidextrous.
That last story reminded me of the famous quote by the late Baltimore AP writer Gordon Beard. Gordon was old school and I don’t think he was a fan of Reggie Jackson after his one season in Baltimore because Gordon’s quote has lived on for 45 years: “In New York, they named a candy bar after Reggie Jackson. Here in Baltimore, we name our children after Brooks Robinson.”
I’ll leave you with this. On April 19, 2016, ex-Orioles pitcher Milt Pappas died. Harriet Goldberg, a longtime friend of Milt’s, and I came up with the idea of doing a commemorative event at Pappas on Taylor Avenue in Parkville. I think we sold out the evening with between 200 and 225 people. We set the menu at old-time prices and invited Boog, Brooks, Bill Stetka and Jim Henneman.
It was a warm and fun night and allowed for a sweet send-off to Milt. Eventually, Brooks took the microphone and brought the evening to a close with a joke wrapped in a story.
Brooks recalled how he had recently been invited to speak at a senior citizens home. As he got out of his car at the home, he realized he didn’t know where to report for his speech but figured someone else would know he was coming. When he got to the front door, he saw someone he could tell worked for the home. Brooks walked up to him and said, “Do you know who I am?” The guy at the door shot back, “I don’t know who you are, but if you walk in this door, and walk down the hall to room 112, they’ll tell you who you are and where you belong.”
Yes, Brooks Robinson had a good sense of humor about the aging process. He brought the house down at Pappas, but he didn’t drop the microphone. That just wasn’t his style.
I am not entirely sure how we’ll move on with Brooks Robinson no longer in the picture.
Illustration by John Pennisi