Frank Coppenbarger
I’ve talked to a lot of baseball guys over the years, but Frank Coppenbarger might be the most baseball guy I’ve ever met. He started as a bat boy in Decatur, Illinois, and wound up handing out championship t-shirts in the Phillies dugout during one of the greatest nights in Philly sports history. I asked him what it was like to open Citizens Bank Park, how to design a clubhouse that builds chemistry, and why people lined up three blocks just to be in the park—even if they couldn’t see the game. This one’s a beauty. Just like the ballparks.
Frank, you've had a hell of a career. How many years total did you spend with the Phillies?
A little over 30 years in Philadelphia. I was with the Cardinals before that—about 10 years total.
What was your first job in baseball?
I was a bat boy at age 11 for the Decatur Commodores, a Giants minor league team. I worked there from fifth grade through high school. Our stadium, Fans Field, held around 5,000. It was an old wooden ballpark—pretty run down.
From Fans Field in ’74 to Citizens Bank Park—how many ballparks have you set foot in?
Probably at least 150. Ballparks today are night and day. Now there are weight rooms, dining rooms, standards that didn’t exist back then.
What was it like transitioning from the Vet to Citizens Bank Park?
Like moving from an old house to a new house. Everything was brand new. I remember flying up on our only off day that spring to check on progress. It looked like Beirut—no lockers, just cement. Three weeks later, we opened the season. Somehow, they pulled it off.
What do you remember about that opening game?
My son was 9. He got to be the bat boy. I brought him because I knew what that day meant. He stood next to Larry Bowa during the anthem. I’ll always treasure that picture.
I want to talk about layout. How do you decide where players go in the clubhouse?
At Citizens Bank Park, we shifted from a rectangle to an oval to break up cliques. Veterans chose first; rookies got what was left. We wanted everyone facing each other.
When Brad Lidge struck out Hinske in 2008—where were you?
On the bench. Best seat in the house. We had arms full of shirts and hats for the players. It was joy, relief, years of hard work paying off.
What did that championship mean to Philly?
It meant hope. ’93 was beloved but didn’t win. ’08 proved we were good again. People finally believed.
How do you describe the relationships you built in baseball?
That’s what I miss. Not the travel or the grind. I miss the people—Willie McGee, Ozzie Smith, co-workers, counterparts on other teams. That’s the gold.
You were more than a clubhouse manager. You knew when to talk, when to back off.
You learn over time. Some guys don’t want to be bothered—like Schilling on a start day. Others, like Hamels, thrived off a little banter. It’s feel.
You had to walk a fine line with players. Any stories?
When I worked for the Cards, Whitey Herzog traded a buddy of mine and told me, “I couldn’t tell you. I knew you were close.” That taught me to keep a little distance. I’ve known about call-ups and had to play dumb. You want to last in this job? You keep things to yourself.
You’ve been a part of Phillies history for decades. What’s it like looking back now?
It’s hard to believe. The first game I ever bat-boyed, Charlie Manuel went 4-for-5. Forty-one years later, we’re side-by-side in the dugout about to win the World Series. A kid from Decatur, Illinois ending up in a world-class stadium? Unreal.
How has Citizens Bank Park held up?
It still looks the same. Back when I had an office with a window, I’d see people lining up three blocks deep just to get in—standing room only. They just wanted to be there. That ballpark gave people pride.
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.