BY PAUL DAUGHERTY
The Cincinnati Enquirer

ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. - My dad was 14 in 1947, a kid in Shibe Park in Philadelphia the first time Jackie Robinson came to town with the Brooklyn Dodgers. What he remembers about that is Philly manager Ben Chapman during the game, eating watermelon on the dugout steps.

Fans packed the park that day, to see Robinson, but not because they were fascinated by Jackie's skills. They went because they'd never seen a ''Negro'' in a big-league uniform. They watched him the way a zoo patron might a giraffe.

We say things have changed, and mostly they have. Nobody goes to a baseball game curious about minorities in pinstripes. In fact, sports is often ahead of the game when it comes to racial equality, at least on the field.

But we're still on the short side of understanding. We still struggle with the concept that Jackie Robinson, courageous and sweet, brought to life 50 springs ago. Half a century gone, it's a small hole in our soul that never quite mends.

Deion Sanders brought it home to me on Saturday. I asked him about Robinson. Contrary to his public posings, Sanders can be a thoughtful spokesman on subjects beyond himself.

''Black players today couldn't endure half the things he did,'' Sanders said. ''That he was able to focus and thrive. That's what makes him a hero.''

'An uncomfortableness'

Then Sanders lost me. He thinks if he were white and doing what he does, he would be more appreciated. He wouldn't have to ''pay dearly'' for his perceived flamboyance, he said.

My first reaction to that was this: ''Deion, you couldn't be more wrong. We would appreciate you more if you weren't doing such a fine job of it all by yourself.

''We figured you didn't need any help. And when you pass us in one of your Mercedes, don't forget to wave.''

What would Jackie Robinson think of a man who declares, as Sanders did, ''The first white man that's able to do what we do, he's going to be on the back of a milk carton, and it ain't going to be because he's lost.''

The arrogance is a little heavy. But the point should be taken seriously. I don't pretend to know how an African-American, even one as well-known as Sanders, feels walking into, say, an all-white country club. Neither can I climb into Ken Griffey's head, to see if he wonders why no major-league team wants him for its manager.

Griffey is a Reds coach. He has coached less than many, but more than some. Griffey is universally liked and respected. He compares favorably with Don Baylor, who has taken the Colorado Rockies to the playoffs. So what's the hang-up?

Fifty years later, we grope in the same dark. ''An uncomfortableness,'' Barry Larkin calls it.

''It's not obvious to everyone,'' Larkin said. ''But minorities as a whole, myself included, come face to face with bigotry. Subtle ways here, subtle ways there.''

Not entirely different

The common appraisal is that 1947 is a bad memory. Nobody is throwing chicken bones on the infield grass, the way they did at Crosley Field, even into the 1950s, as Joe Nuxhall recalled Saturday. Things are different. But not entirely.

Fifty years later, it still depends on who's doing the appraising.

Larkin: ''In sports, you can transcend the racial barriers, but only while you're playing. When you're between the lines, you don't see black and white. When you get off the field, when you're up in the front office, that's when it becomes an issue again.''

We're still stumbling along, dealing with the uncomfortableness. Robinson's legacy is such that we're still trying; his memory should make us want to try harder.'''He had the weight of society on his shoulders,'' Larkin said.

The least we can do is make Robinson's burden worthwhile. Larkin said Robinson ''propelled'' minorities. Fifty years later, what an achievement it would be to propel us all.

Call Paul Daugherty at 768-8454.