Astros’ Dave Smith, Ex-Surfer Boy, Is Story of Waves and Saves

Dave Smith of the Houston Astros paraded around the visitors’ clubhouse here recently in his usual baseball attire--socks, stirrups, pants, surfing T-shirt.

A friend asked: “Well, how was it?”

“Flat,” Smith said. “Real flat. No swell in sight.”

He had been up at the crack of dawn that morning--praying for waves--but he had wound up cursing the surf. There he was, back in his hometown, back at the beach, and he had to catch rays instead of waves.

In Houston, he had counted the days until he got here. His right arm--the one he pitches with--had been sore and he was sure that surfing would be the best therapy. It relaxes him. So what if his contract says, “No surfing!” What do the Astros know about surfing, anyway?

But the waves were flat.

He shrugged it off and went out to the bullpen that night. He pitched his usual one inning, and his forkball was far from flat. He earned his 30th save, breaking the Houston club record, and moved his team a step closer to a Western Division title.

The Astros since have clinched that title and Smith has since recorded two more saves, so he should be able to surf if he pleases.

Meanwhile, back in the clubhouse, Charlie Kerfeld--one of Smith’s teammates in the bullpen--strolled by, wearing a “Jetsons” cartoon-family T-shirt. Kerfeld is sort of the new Smith.

Back in the ‘70s, Dave Smith was a rowdy surfer boy who drove a gnarly van, busted up hotel rooms and wore a wet bathing suit everywhere--especially to baseball practice. Kerfeld, 22, is following in Smith’s footsteps, though Kerfeld does not surf.

But Kerfeld is rowdy. Apparently he has told people that he had better settle down and get married before “my liver bursts.” He bought a “Jetsons” T-shirt late last year and wore it under his game jersey. For the next 25 innings he pitched, he didn’t allow an earned run. So he figured the shirt was the difference.

“I don’t go anywhere without George, Jane, Judy and Elroy,” Kerfeld said. And he bought T-shirts for most everybody on the team--for good luck.

“I got yuppie T-shirts for the PR staff. I got a ‘Gumby’ T-shirt for (pitcher) Jim Deshaies. And ‘Jetsons’ T-shirts for a lot of guys,” he said. “I’ve bought guys ‘Buckwheat’ T-shirts and ‘Alfalfa’ T-shirts and ‘Scooby Doo’ T-shirts. Mostly cartoon characters. Like I said, it’s for good luck.”

The mystery is why he hasn’t bought a shirt for Dave Smith.

Growing up in Del Mar, Smith hardly ever wore a shirt. He lived only 20 minutes from the beach and was a regular there by the time he was in the sixth grade. He learned to surf.

He played baseball, too, but he liked the waves better.

“I’d get up early and I’d go to the beach,” he said. “And then I’d go to school (Poway High) and then I’d go to the beach and then I’d go to (baseball) practice.”

His high school coach at the time, Danny Christ, didn’t usually mind if Smith was late for practice.

“Well, it depended on how the waves were,” Smith said. “If the waves were really good, it was OK to be late.”

That’s because his coach surfed, too. He was one of them. His players had long hair; so did he. They fought their opponents; he didn’t mind. They partied; he didn’t mind.

“Yeah, he surfed,” Smith said. “Matter of fact, the last time (the Astros) were in town, I saw where his son had won a surfing contest. Made me feel old.”

When Smith was pitching on the junior varsity team as a sophomore, one of the varsity guys got hurt, and Christ needed an emergency replacement for a playoff game. Smith--who still liked surfing better--was thrown in there. He won.

But the school wasn’t particularly proud of the team.

“Well, our hair was a problem then,” Smith said. “We all had long hair. (Christ) got fired over that. Plus, our image as a club wasn’t good. We got into a lot of fights. A pretty crazy bunch of guys. A rowdy team. And Danny liked that image, and he didn’t do anything to stop it. But we won. . . . “

Joe Krainock was hired to replace Christ, and Krainock ordered the players to the barber shop. The team rebelled and fell into fourth place. Smith continued to work more on surfing than pitching.

But San Diego State baseball Coach Jim Dietz saw Smith pitch as a senior and recruited him.

“I guess I showed him something,” Smith said. “Of course, by then I’d gotten my hair cut.”

Shortly thereafter, Dietz was pulling out his own hair.

“Well, I was always late (for practice),” Smith said. “I’d show up with a surfboard on top of my van and I’d be wearing a wet bathing suit, you know. And I’d stroll into the ballpark. I guess that ticked him off a little bit.”

One of Smith’s friends was Armen Keteyian, an infielder whose ambition was to work in the newspaper business. Keteyian now investigates stories for Sports Illustrated, but he and Smith used to investigate the seedy side of San Diego in the old days.

“Smitty would park his blue van wherever he wanted,” Keteyian said. “Red zones meant nothing to him. And one day somebody stole it. Smitty was so carefree, he never took the keys out of the van. He’d leave his wallet in there.

“He had total disregard for school. He didn’t care about grades. He was a good-looking beach guy, and his priorities were (a) beach, (b) girls, (c) baseball. Depending on the day, girls would move up. Sometimes, I guess, baseball would creep into the top two.”

Dietz, however, was no Danny Christ. Dietz doesn’t surf. He sees a barber regularly. Dietz, who still coaches at San Diego State, has the following philosophy: “You can’t let your athletes know you like them. You’ve got to keep them guessing. They don’t realize it, but sometimes their best friend is their worst critic. And that’s why coaching is sometimes a lonely job.”

Smith was rarely lonely because Dietz kept breathing down his back.

“See, Smitty was always the first one to say, ‘Let’s party, boys,’ ” Keteyian said. “We’d get in his van. Dave’s van was like our mobile home. We’d take it everywhere the team would play. And we’d be at the first 7-Eleven or beer place we could find.

“One time, he and I were driving in his Z. He always had a nice car, you know. Anyway, we were driving down El Cajon Boulevard to some strip place. He comes around the block and pulls up behind two guys in a van. They don’t make their turn properly, so Smitty yells something and they come out of the van. I say, ‘Oh no, we’re gonna fight,’ but it gets broken up.

“So we keep driving, and to my left I see the van again, and they’ve got the doors open, and they’ve got guns. I say, ‘Dave, they’ve got guns.’ They took two shots and knocked out a tire on my side. I’m under the seat now, but Dave floors it.

“We get stopped by cops, who pull guns on us, too. We explained, and they ended up catching these guys. They had just robbed something. I had to go testify. So that’s what happened when you hung around with Smitty.”

Dietz used to try to keep his players occupied, ordering them to fix up the San Diego State baseball diamond, which is coincidentally named Smith Field. Over the years, Dietz’s players have built a clubhouse, a batting cage and an outfield patio.

“You’d go to practice, work on some baseball and then pound nails,” Smith said. “I didn’t go to school to learn construction, you know.”

But Tony Gwynn of the San Diego Padres, who also played for Dietz, said: “Coach Dietz? He figured why should he have someone else build those things when he had guys on scholarship who had to do what he said?”

Finally, after his sophomore year, Smith calmed down--some.

There are three theories as to why:

--He met his future wife, Mia, at a San Diego State fraternity party.

“We literally spied each other across the patio,” Mia said. “He had a straw hat on, which attracted my attention.”

They dated for more than six years before marrying.

“She tamed me,” Smith said. “I stopped roaming the streets.”

Now he’s the proud father of 3-year-old Kellen. Mia and Dave took a natural childbirth class together right before Kellen was born, except that Dave missed every class because it was baseball season. A nurse gave him a crash course on what to do when Mia was ready to deliver. When the nurse was through, she asked: “Any questions?”

Said Smith: “Yeah, when I bring her to the emergency room, will there be valet parking there?”

--Dietz finally wore Smith out.

“Yeah, I think he finally got through to me,” Smith said. “. . . And the fact that I could make a living throwing a baseball. I’d never thought of that real seriously before.”

--He spent two summers playing in an Alaska all-star league.

Life isn’t a beach in Alaska.

“It got me out of the water,” he said. “And I also realized I could play.”

He was in the same league with Scott Sanderson, now of the Cubs, and Floyd Bannister, now of the White Sox, and he outpitched them. He lived with a family--Lee and Sharron Wasser--and they used to tuck him into bed at night.

Bob Cluck, an Astro scout at the time, saw him pitch and recommended that Smith be drafted. Smith didn’t have an overpowering fastball, but former Baltimore Oriole star Mike Cuellar had him in Puerto Rico and taught him a curveball. Then Smith taught himself a forkball.

At first he told Mia: “When I sign a contract, I’m going straight to the majors.”

Instead, he ended up in Covington, Va.

By 1980, he was a rookie with the Astros and was an integral part of a team that won the division title. He had 10 saves and a 1.92 earned-run average that year.

And he was their Charlie Kerfeld.

“My locker was between (those of pitchers) Joaquin Andujar and Frank LaCorte,” Smith said. “A couple of characters. Andujar? He was like he is now. Nuts. He’s a good man. He’s just completely off the wall. LaCorte? One time he burned his uniform. He got hit pretty good, came inside and set his uniform on fire.”

So--perhaps because he shared space with Andujar and LaCorte--Smith started smoking cigarettes.

“I don’t know why I started,” Smith said. “I guess another guy next to me (in the clubhouse) smoked. Gordy Pladson was his name. A bad habit. I guess I did it because he did it. Boredom, you know. Sitting around a lot.”

Sounds like Kerfeld.

Kerfeld’s description of Smith: “He’s more of a laid-back surfer dude. . . . I’d say he’s a total California surf freak. I’d say if he had his choice, he’d rather be on the surf tour.”

Smith, on Kerfeld: “He’s like a 5-year-old out there.”

Kerfeld, for instance, taped an interview at the Cable News Network headquarters in Atlanta this year and when he finished he found a live pro wrestling match in another part of the studio. He met such wrestling stars as Ric Flair and Dusty Rhodes, and Flair told Kerfeld, who wears a punk hairdo, that if he wants to be a wrestler someday they’ll make him a “good guy.”

Kerfeld said: “I’d like that. I know how to head butt.”

Also, in the Astros’ annual father-son game this year, Kerfeld showed up with his “adopted dad,” Nolan Ryan.

Then, too, Kerfeld, a middle reliever, told Smith this year: “I’ll get you 40 saves.”

The Astros don’t have games enough left for that, but Kerfeld and reliever Aurelio Lopez have set up Smith nicely all season. Smith usually just had to pitch the ninth inning, which left him available to work three or four times a week, if needed.

He has overcome a lot of adversity. In 1982, he had a back injury, and in 1983 and 1984 he was the third reliever behind Bill Dawley and Frank DiPino. But Manager Hal Lanier has turned it all over to him, and Smith--according to Dodger Manager Tom Lasorda--might be the difference in the National League championship series against the New York Mets.

Kerfeld, meanwhile, is bringing back some of the old Smitty. In a nationally televised game against Philadelphia, Kerfeld was doing an interview with NBC’s Marv Albert when Smith sneaked up and put a pie in Kerfeld’s face.

“Coconut cream,” Smith said. “Charlie loved it. It’s his favorite kind. And it gave him an excuse to eat.”

Keteyian laughed about the old pie-in-the-face routine, but said: “Oh, (Smith) still has calmed down a lot. Thank God. He wouldn’t be in the majors if he hadn’t. Some of our friends say he wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t.”

Said Smith: “I’ve changed, but not completely. I’m no Kerfeld, but I’d like to think I still have some of my old qualities. I still surf.”

Meanwhile, Kerfeld is planning to break out new T-shirts for the playoffs. He was asked why he hadn’t yet given Smith a “Jetsons” T-shirt.

“He don’t need no T-shirt,” Kerfeld said. “I only give ‘em to guys who need luck. Smitty has had his own luck.”

And, besides, Kerfeld said, George Jetson never hung out at the beach.

THE NUMBERS ON SMITH

Wins 4

Losses 7

ERA 2.72

Games 51

Saves 32

Innings 53

Hits 36

HR 5

BB 20

SO 45