JERRY MANUEL: The Best In The American League - manager of Chicago White Sox - Interview

Ebony, May, 2001 by Walter Leavy

Thanks to what he calls "doing my thing," the Manager of the Year is steering the Chicago White Sox toward a championship

JERRY Manuel is the kind of guy who has "humble" written all over him--he doesn't particularly care for the spotlight; he doesn't see himself as a celebrity; and he would rather talk about practically anything other than himself. That's why he seems a bit uncomfortable when talk turns to his being named American

League Manager of the Year after turning the Chicago White Sox around and guiding the team to the playoffs last year.

With that kind of success, what would be the reason that makes him feel a bit uneasy to talk about his award--to the point of near embarrassment? Early on, Manuel's father taught him an important lesson that has stuck with him like gum to a shoe--that individual accolades are secondary to team success.

Lorenzo Manuel, a hardworking man who almost always had at least two jobs at a time (cook, hospital aide, mechanic, barber), along with his wife Mildred, shaped and molded the lives of seven children in their humble surroundings in Cecil, Ga., in a cramped, three-bedroom house that Lorenzo had bought for $223 after selling a mule. The family later moved to Amarillo, Texas, before finally settling in suburban Sacramento, Calif. "When I was a youngster, I would come home and begin to try to tell my dad about what I had done in the game, but he would always cut me off and ask how the team did," Manuel says. "It was not until I told him about the team that he would listen to anything I had to say about how well I had done."

Years later, all Manuel has done is to grow up and become one of the best and most respected managers in the big leagues. He calls his managing style "doing my thing," which is a heavy reliance on solid, fundamental baseball, coupled with a creative and fearless approach to the game that includes the element of surprise or anything else it takes to grind out a run. "Jerry knows the game from all angles. He's not lacking in confidence, but he remains humble," says San Francisco Giants manager Dusty Baker, who grew up with Manuel in the Sacramento area and is the National League Manager of the Year--his third such award. "Jerry's players trust and respect him. And it's hard to be an authoritative figure in America today and have the trust of young people."

It's not just the young who have given their approval. The 47-year-old Manuel has gained a level of respectability among young and old, males and females, casual and diehard fans. Some say he's a throwback to another era, in the mold of the likes of such legends as Casey Stengel, displaying an effective combination of intelligence, charm and some unexpected levity. Last April, for example, on the first day of an eight-game suspension following a bench-clearing brawl with the Detroit Tigers, he watched the game between the Sox and Tigers from his suburban Detroit hotel room. And when the Sox team bus arrived at the hotel, the players were greeted by a familiar-looking uniformed doorman who turned out to be Manuel.

To many onlookers who see Manuel as a straight-as-an-arrow, no-nonsense kind of individual, his hotel antics were contradictory to his public persona. He is personable but reserved, mild-mannered but intense, a low-key, low-profile mail who seeks anonymity and privacy in a public arena. Exposure, he says, "sometimes gets to me," but his exterior gives no such indication, and his poised demeanor could make him the poster guy for serenity.

For Manuel, that reflection of inner peace comes from his belief in God. He is a devout Christian who relishes the fact that every aspect of his life is shaped by Biblical principles. But there's nothing self-righteous about him, nothing to indicate that he's on a mission to convert the unconverted. The way he lives his life, he says, should serve witness to his beliefs.

Those beliefs, which intensified after Manuel became a born-again Christian 18 years ago, helped to sustain him during the rough and uncertain climb up the ladder to the major leagues. Several times he had to suffer the heartache of being the last player cut and then sent back to the minor leagues. At his side the whole time has been his with, Renette, who served as his inspiration and continues to be what Manuel describes as his "foundation." She had fallen in love with his humble qualities while they were in high school, and they decided they would face life together. "I know I can lean on Jerry, and he knows that he can lean on me," says Renette, pointing out that the couple celebrated their 27th wedding anniversary last month. "Jerry and I have made the most of being together."

Together, in the free of one disappointment after another, their faith never wavered, and Manuel finally made it to the big leagues, where he played for Detroit (which drafted him in 1972), Montreal and San Diego. By 1986, his playing days were over after only 96 major league games and a paltry lifetime batting average of. 150. "My individual numbers [as a player] aren't the best," Manuel says, laughing. "I wasn't a great hitter." What Manuel was, though, was a utility player who would do whatever was necessary to help his team win--a tribute to his father's teachings.