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Bill Lyon: He does his momma proud

He was the good son. Just like his daddy told him he had to be in that suicide note he left.

He was the good son.

Just like his daddy told him he had to be in that suicide note he left.

You're the man of the family now, Charles Manuel Sr., a preacher man, wrote to his oldest son, Charlie, in the spring of 1963. Quite a burden, especially when you're only 18, the oldest son of 10 siblings, a senior in high school, married, and a father yourself.

Take care of your momma, Senior had instructed. Dutifully, Charlie took the graveyard shift at the local sawmill. He cleared $48.50 a week. He would keep $10 of that for himself and his wife and their baby, and give the rest to his momma.

June Manuel, the mother of the Phillies' manager, passed away yesterday morning, the day of Game 2 of the National League Championship Series. For more than 40 years she had lived in the same house in Buena Vista, Va., which is identified on a sign on the outskirts as home to "6002 Happy Citizens - and 3 Old Grouches."

She was 87, and right up to the end kept a running dialogue with her son, frequently calling him after a game. He was her candle on the water.

Charlie Manuel went ahead and managed yesterday, did it with melancholy in his heart, did it because as much as June Manuel loved her baseball, she loved her son even more, and what with his team still alive in the pursuit of a championship, well, of course, she would want him at work.

June Manuel has passed along some powerful genes. Her oldest son has crammed about three lifetimes into his 64 years. He has survived cancer, a heart attack, quadruple-bypass surgery, two divorces, and a series of serious stomach ailments. And last, but certainly not least, four years of managing in Philadelphia.

That last part hasn't been as tough as the rest of us think, June Manuel's son has insisted, because his hometown had prepared him. Fights were routine there. You had to be nimble on your feet and quick with your fists. But none of that matters when you have a day like yesterday.

It was awkward. Such situations always are. You fumble for the right words of condolence, hoping your presence speaks for itself.

So coaches and players from both sides approached Charlie Manuel before yesterday's game. There were half-hugs and shoulder pats around the batting cage. Manny Ramirez of the Dodgers said something that elicited a laugh from Manuel.

Charlie Manuel tried to make it easy for everyone else. He leaned against the cage and offered up suggestions, trying to make this just another routine BP. Routine is crucial in baseball. And routine will help you get through a day when it's the day your momma has succumbed.

The manager didn't have to do any heavy lifting during the game. The Phillies' bats came alive. Brett Myers drove in almost as many as he let in, and Shane Victorino made like a mountain goat and scaled the center-field wall to take away what would have made the game a lot closer.

Charlie Manuel's counterpart in the other dugout, Joe Torre, remembered managing the Yankees while he lost one brother and the other was in the hospital.

"Part of the therapy for him was listening to us," he said. "And I know Charlie was telling me how he talked to his mom and has been talking to her obviously on a regular basis. And her concern for him was only to go out there and win ball games.

"It sometimes gives you a place to hide, where you're so busy that it's going to be a lot easier during the game than it is now when he goes home."

Charlie Manuel does most things behind closed doors, and yesterday, understandably, he wanted to do his grieving in private.

He is - and never mind the cruel crudities he has endured - a good and decent man. At the Phillies' two clinchings, the regular season and the first playoff round, he didn't put on a lampshade and dance. He stayed in his office, not wanting to divert attention from his players, not wanting to pull the lights onto him.

Myers said he told his manager just before the first pitch: "I'm going to win this for your mom today. He's been so good to us. We gotta show him some love, too, and my thoughts and prayers go out to his family dealing with this time."

The good son, son of a preacher man, has done his momma proud.

This column was originally posted on Oct. 11, 2008.