Michael Jackson, Frank Robinson, and Me

Michael's Jackson's death has brought back concert memories for millions; mine include the boy himself and someone I admired very much. Michael Jackson was 12 years old in October, 1970 when I saw him perform in Cincinnati. He was the darling youngest brother of the Jackson 5, Motown's most charming act ever. And I got to see him with my childhood hero, Frank Robinson.

Frank Robinson was one of the greatest players ever with the Cincinnati Reds. He won the MVP, he could field and hit, he did it all. When the kids in my neighborhood played Home Run Derby, there was always a big dust-up over who got to pretend to be Frank Robinson. Why couldn't we all pretend to be Frank Robinson? I don't know, we just couldn't.

Anyway, the Reds, in what is widely regarded as the stupidest trade ever made in baseball, traded Frank Robinson to the Baltimore Orioles for pitcher Milt Pappas and a couple of other guys in 1966. Our hearts were broken, absolutely crushed. We knew for sure that the Reds would never be the same without Robby.

Wrong. The Reds rebounded and by 1970 they were playing in the World Series against Frank Robinson and the Orioles. Reds fans were torn. We wanted the Reds to win it, but if it meant Frank Robinson had to play poorly, never mind then. My friends and I were solidly behind Frank and wanted him to have a huge series.

So when I took my seat to see Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5 in Cincinnati during the World Series in 1970, I took a close look at the affluent group in front of me. Who were these people? And why didn't they have better tickets than I did?

I was staring, I admit it, and I finally realized that the one and only Frank Robinson was sitting right in front of me. He was known to be a quiet guy who valued his privacy, was even a grouch with the public. He sat stone faced, looking down a lot, trying to keep a low profile. But there he was, the great Robby.

What to do? My friend Linda, the sports idiot, was seated next to me. No sense talking to her about it. Should I ask for an autograph and risk being yelled at? I was frozen, overwhelmed at the moment, thinking about how excited my brother would be when I got home.

The lights went down and the MC took the stage. He told us how wonderful the show was going to be and said, "Cincinnati, you should know that a hometown hero is with us tonight. Frank Robinson, please stand up." The crowd went crazy, and Frank Robinson did not move a muscle. He was not happy. Who could blame him? His cover had been blown and now it would be Autograph City for the rest of the night. But the lights were already down and those of us who had recognized him did not give him away.

The Jackson 5 took the stage, spinning and singing. Michael Jackson was amazing. His voice was incredible, he strutted and postured, worked the audience for all he was worth. Robinson and his friends actually got up and moved to slightly better seats - they seat jumped! - but they were still close to me and I could see him even better. Frank liked the kid, you could tell, and Michael Jackson actually coaxed a lot of smiles from Frank Robinson.

Michael Jackson and I handled Frank Robinson just right. I left him alone, and Michael made him happy. Frank Robinson went on to hit two home runs in the series which the Orioles won. But the Reds went on to become the Big Red Machine, the best team of the 1970's. And Michael Jackson became the King of Pop with the glories and suffering that went with the title.