Oscar Robertson believes the National Basketball Association blackballed him for his days as a players' union leader, keeping him from league jobs long after his pro career ended in 1975. Now, as Major League Baseball faces a possible strike this summer, Robertson thinks some baseball players could face recriminations, as well.

        “There are some veteran (baseball) players, union leaders, who will never play again,” he says. “The owners are going to replace them with minor leaguers, and you'll never hear from them anymore.”

        Robertson, 63, began his Hall of Fame career with the old Cincinnati Royals and is now a successful businessman here. But he believes he paid a price for his days as president of the NBA Players Association from 1965-74.

        During his tenure, the players' union filed suits against the NBA that opened the door to free agency and greater salaries.

        As a star player, Robertson was too valuable to be cut from a team. But since he retired, the only job he has held in NBA circles was a one-year stint (1974-75 season) as a CBS analyst for league telecasts.

        Was he blacklisted by the NBA and team owners?

AT A GLANCE

Born: Nov. 24, 1938, in Charlotte, Tenn. Moved with family to Indianapolis at age 4.   Home: Cincinnati.   Family: Wife Yvonne, three daughters.   Basketball career: Three-time college Player of the Year (1958-60) at University of Cincinnati; 12-time NBA All-Star with Cincinnati and Milwaukee (1960-74); Named to National Basketball Hall of Fame (Springfield, Mass.) in 1979.   NBA Players Association President: 1965-74. He filed suit on behalf of the NBPA in 1970 to halt a merger with the American Basketball Association until free agency issues could be resolved. The “Robertson Rule,” enacted six years later as the result of a legal settlement with the NBA, paved the way for free agency and the lucrative salaries enjoyed by many of today's players. He also was the first president of the Retired NBA Players Association.   Current occupation: Principal owner of three companies: Orchem, which sells chemicals used in industrial cleaning; Orpack, which makes corrugated boxes; and ORDMS, which works with companies to streamline their paper flow.   Did you know?: In 1997, Robertson donated his left kidney to his middle daughter, Tia, then 33, whose kidneys were failing because of the effects of lupus. Tia's disease is now in remission.

        “There's no doubt about it,” Robertson says. “They couldn't do anything to me during my playing days, but in some of the depositions we had against them later, they alluded to it. They said I was against them, so why was I working NBA games on TV?”

        In baseball, Robertson says, star players figure to be safe in their jobs, but “the average Joes” might not. Robertson says he saw fellow NBA players cut or traded because they were union leaders. He could not cite specific examples, saying retaliation sometimes was so subtle it went unnoticed.

        In baseball, Reds manager Bob Boone, a former National League player representative while with the Philadelphia Phillies, can name a player who was traded because he was a union activist. “Sure, it could happen,” Boone says.

        “In my case, I ended up in Anaheim.”

        Former baseball union head Marvin Miller points to Curt Flood, who played only one season after an unsuccessful court challenge to baseball's reserve clause system, which tied a player to a team for life. Flood missed the 1970 season during his challenge, then played just 15 games with the old Washington Senators in 1971.

        Miller says he warned Flood he never would work in baseball again. Like Robertson, Flood did serve a one-year period as a broadcaster, working in the Oakland Athletics' broadcast booth in 1978. Flood died in 1997.

        “I told Curt Flood if he had any coaching or managerial ambitions, he'd have to forget them,” Miller said. “He understood that.”

A legendary career

        Robertson's NBA career was spent with the Royals (1960-70) and Milwaukee Bucks (1970-74). He said he does not dwell on what happened because of his union work, although a recent Sports Illustrated story lamented Robertson had no place in today's NBA.

        NBA spokesman Mark Broussard says it would be difficult for the league to comment about the story, since few management personnel remain from Robertson's playing days. “Since the early 1980s, when David Stern was named commissioner, our Legends Foundation was formed,” Broussard says. “Oscar is on that board, and I know they do a lot for the retired players. I know Oscar is still there for most of our All-Star games each year, and I know he's been a very successful businessman in Cincinnati.”

        Robertson is principal owner of three companies: Orchem, which sells chemicals used in industrial cleaning; Orpack, which makes corrugated boxes; and ORDMS, which works with companies to streamline their paper flow. He spends much of his working days at Orchem in Fairfield.

        After growing up on a farm in Charlotte, Tenn., and later on the east side of Indianapolis, Robertson became one of the most famous athletes in America. “The Big O” was college basketball's first three-time Player of the Year at the University of Cincinnati (1958-60) and a perennial NBA All-Star.

        Jerry West, the former Los Angeles Lakers star and Olympic teammate of Robertson, told Sports Illustrated that he wished the Big O were closer to the game. West recently became general manager of the Memphis Grizzlies.

        “Lots of wonderful players in all sports disappear or aren't as closely associated with the game as they should be,” West said. “Oscar, who was a truly unique player, is certainly one of them.”

No regrets
        Yvonne Robertson, Robertson's wife of 42 years, says her husband is not bitter about his distance from the NBA. Rather, he is just commenting about what happened to union leaders.

        “Oscar is very happy with his life,” Mrs. Robertson says. “He doesn't dwell on what happened. He did what he did, and it's over. The reason he got into it was to help all the players, not just himself.”

        In the NBA's infancy in the early 1950s, players had no pension plan, no per diem, no minimum wage and no health benefits, and the average salary was $8,000. The NBA also refused to recognize the fledgling players' union, the National Basketball Players Association (NBPA).

        “If you became a representative to the Players Association, you were actually a target,” Mrs. Robertson says. “There were many players who were cut or weren't able to play because of it. That's why the union tried to get players that teams couldn't do without, like Oscar and Tom Heinsohn, to be the leaders.”

        Heinsohn, a Boston Celtics star, was NBPA president before Robertson took over in 1965.

        Adrian Smith, a Royals teammate of Robertson who also still lives in Cincinnati, says Robertson's union leadership was risky despite his superstar status.

        “Oscar's stature as a player definitely helped our union,” Smith says. “Because of the stand he took, we got some of the benefits that the players enjoy today.”

        In 1970, following expiration of the first comprehensive collective bargaining agreement between players and the owners, a group of 14 NBA players began the so-called “Oscar Robertson class-action lawsuit.” It was filed to halt a merger with the rival American Basketball Association until free agency issues could be resolved.

        The lawsuits were settled in 1976, when NBA players and owners signed an agreement that still bears Robertson's name, known as the Robertson Rule. The agreement eliminated the oppressive “reserve” or “option” clauses.

NBA players out front

        Labor relations had received little attention by the media, at least until 1964.

        After threatening not to play in the first televised NBA All-Star Game that year, the players gained their first major victory. The owners finally recognized the union and its attorney, Larry Fleisher, as the exclusive collective bargaining representative of all NBA players. A pension plan was set up, and the players received a per-diem increase from $7 to $8 a day. That seems laughable considering today's multimillion dollar salaries, but such were the issues then. The NBA per diem now is $93.

        Wayne Embry, who was a Royals teammate of Robertson and later an executive with the Bucks and Cleveland Cavaliers, says the players feared retaliation in their fight for better benefits. Embry was among the 1964 All-Stars who almost boycotted.

        “There was fear in the locker room that there would be repercussions,” he says. “We were All-Stars, so we felt more secure. But there was a lot of insecurity in those days with players. Those who were bold enough to take part in the union effort were very courageous.”

        The NBA players union was the first real players group in sports history. With Fleisher and Robertson leading the way, the players received their pensions as well as other benefits, including minimum salaries, severance pay and disability payments.

        “We had absolutely nothing as far as benefits,” says Smith. “We had to contribute to the pension fund, too, at first. Players who saw Oscar taking a stand ... that was important to us.”

        Robertson also became the first president of the Retired NBA Players Association, helping to arrange health insurance and hospital care for former players.

        Today, the average NBA player salary is $4 million.

        “I'd like to think what we did was preserve basketball and extend it to where it is today,” Robertson says. “We had almost total support from the star players, which you won't get today.”

        As for baseball, Robertson shakes his head. “If they strike, I think it would be devastating,” he says. “What's going on with baseball today is a lot more adversarial than what we went through. It's a financial thing now. Years ago, probably no one was making $100,000. Now guys are making $10 and $15 million, and the worst part is, they think they're earning it.”

        Robertson mentions Flood and his one-man fight and says, “The first ones out there, the pioneers, catch all the hell.” Does that include himself? Yes and no.

        He is not in the NBA, but he is quite happy with a life that includes his wife, three daughters and numerous civic and charitable activities. Heads still turn when he is in public. A statue of him stands outside UC's Shoemaker Center. He is rich and famous, a living legend in his adopted hometown.

        His NBA union days?

        “I did what I had to do,” he says. “I would do it again.”

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