Ruly Was Phillies Royalty
By: Larry Shenk
Tags: Baseball, Philadelphia Phillies

Crushed is the only way to describe my feelings when word came down that Ruly Carpenter, the former Phillies owner, died on Monday.

Last time I saw him was late July. He looked like Ruly, robust with that big, strong handshake. In August he went to Citizens Bank Park for Manny Trillo’s induction into the Toyota Phillies Wall of Fame. The 1980 World Champions were his team. He loved the players, and they had the same affection for him.

A huge University of Delaware booster, he was at the Blue Hens game on Saturday as he had done for decades. He loved their football program and spent many hours watching practice.

A Phillies parade of owners and presidents ended following the 1943 season when the Carpenter family purchased the club. R.R M. Carpenter Sr., designated his son, Bob, as President.

The Carpenter family owned and operated the team longer than any other entity, 1943–1981. Ruly succeeded his father as president in 1972. Four months after the Phillies won their first World Championship, word came in Clearwater that Ruly would be in camp tomorrow, and everyone was told to be in the Carpenter Field clubhouse for a meeting.

It was uncommon that the president of the Phillies would call a clubhouse meeting involving everyone. We were all puzzled. GM Paul Owens and manager Dallas Green with whom Ruly had daily contact had no idea. Ruly stunned everyone by announcing he was selling the team. Atlanta’s five-year, $3.5 million contract for Claudell Washington, an average outfielder, was so shocking that he wanted to get out of the game.

As I recall that was the last time he was in Clearwater.

Ruly began working for the Phillies in 1963 in the finance department. His dad wanted him to learn every phase of the operation. Two years later under Clay Dennis, then the farm director, 24-year-old Ruly was sent to Leesburg, FL, to help run spring training for the lowest level of minor league players. Two higher-level clubs trained in Dade City, 36 miles away. Not an ideal setup.

Idea was for Ruly to experience life in the minors and learn all aspects of player development.

“I was the camp administrator which meant overseeing the business aspects,” he said a year ago. “Players got a small stipend as meal money every week. Everybody stayed in this old hotel, the Magnolia. It was an ancient wooden building. Floors creaked when you walked on them.

“With five Class A teams we had something like 130–140 players, housed two per room. Five managers, trainers, Dennis, myself and Paul Owens comprised the rest of the camp.”

Owens was a Phillies scout in southern California, living in Bakersfield. For the second straight year, he spent spring training in Leesburg as the camp coordinator, organizing the daily workouts. “It was the first time I met him,” explained Ruly. “I quickly learned how much he knew about the game. His judgment of players was unmatched.”

Everybody walked to Pat Thomas Stadium for the workouts. With so many players, workouts were also held at a couple of nearby fields. The staff would crowd into a tiny hotel meeting room to review the day and discuss the players following practices. “From those discussions and what I observed, our minor league system was void of talent. I played in the Ivy League, and none could have played at that level,” he added.

At the urging of Ruly, Owens was moved into the front office after the 1965 season started to oversee scouting and player development, replacing Dennis. First order of business was to prepare for baseball’s first summer draft. Four years later the Phillies won the Topps Chewing Gum Award for the best minor league system.

Owens was grass roots baseball all the way. He played and managed in the minors, and he was an area scout. Ruly was his pupil. Scouting and player development were the focus.

I remember Ruly stopping in the PR office one morning. Rennie Stennett of the Pirates had gone 7-for-7 in a 9-inning game. “Do you know anything about this Pirates player who had 7 hits last night,” he asked. “Just know he’s a middle infielder,” was my response. “I’ve got to check our reports” he said as he walked out of the room. He came back that afternoon. “Stennett is from Panama. We had no reports,” shaking his head.

My favorite personal story happened after he was named president in 1972. I went to his office. “Ruly, I don’t understand. We started the same week nine years ago and now you are president and I’m still in PR,” I kidded. Breaking a smile, “Baron, check your blood.” We laughed. When I last saw him in July, we laughed again at that story. Didn’t know it would be our last laugh.

As president he made everyone feel at home. He was down to earth and unassuming. He often drove to the Vet in an old Chevy Suburban, the same vehicle he used to transport his dogs on hunting trips.

He was demanding yet understanding. Always treated everyone with respect. Every now and then he’d call after he left the Phillies. It could be a question about a player (“where did he come from?”), an inquiry into a scoring rule, grousing about an umpire, or “Where’s the Phillies game? I can’t find it on TV.” Ruly the game is on Facebook tonight. “Then I won’t see it.”

Condolences to Stephanie, Bobby, David, Cinda and the entire Carpenter family. We grieve with you.

R.I.P, my friend.