Strawberry’s Father Did Not Know About Alcohol Problem

The one-story houses on Denker Avenue in south-central L.A. are so small and sit so closely together that it would be understandable if the sound of one telephone ringing caused three homeowners to jump for it. At curbside are mostly older, American-made cars. And on a warm Saturday afternoon, young men in sleeveless T-shirts wearing grime and intensity on their faces often can be found tinkering beneath those cars.

Everything about this neighborhood smacks of modesty. Everything, that is, except that big satellite dish, as misplaced as an honest-to-goodness gem in a bag of rhinestones. It sits in the backyard of a little light-blue house with wrought-iron bars over the windows and front door. This is the home of Henry Strawberry. The dish is a gift from his son, Darryl, the Mets’ outfielder.

“I get WOR (TV in New Yok) and I get SportsChannel,” Henry says. “I get all the games.”

There is a look of wonder on Henry Strawberry’s face as he says this. Imagine. His son plays for a baseball team on the other coast and still he can watch every one of his 500 or so at-bats each year. He can tell when Darryl is going good, or when something is wrong.

“When he’s in a slump, I won’t say anything to him unless he asks me,” Henry says. “The worst thing you can do is give advice. It only messes them up more.”

Alas, the satellite dish, wonderful as it may be, has its limitations. While it can beam all the nuances and flaws of Darryl’s batting stroke into his father’s living room, it cannot pick up what is going on in Darryl’s life. That work is left not to a technological marvel, but to a father’s intuition, a less exact device. And so while the broadcast images of Darryl Strawberry played nightly in a living room on Denker Ave., the signals of a life careening toward trouble were left undetected.

“I never thought he had a problem,” Henry Strawberry says. “When he’d come over to the house, he’d have a few beers, but I never saw him out of control. I’d see him with a beer when he left the clubhouse after a game, but I always thought he didn’t drink any more than anybody else. I didn’t know he was an alcoholic.”

So when the news broke Feb. 3 that Darryl checked into the Smithers Alcoholism and Treatment Center because of a drinking problem, his father was as surprised as any other baseball fan. And he found out about it like anyone else, too.

On Tuesday, Jan. 30, four days after Strawberry was arrested for his actions in a quarrel with his wife, Harvey went to the field at 66th and Denker to watch Darryl, Eric Davis and a few of their friends go through their usual workout. But Darryl didn’t show up. For the next three days, he spent mostly all of his time with Mets psychiatrist Dr. Allan Lans. On Friday, Lans and Strawberry flew to New York, where Strawberry would check into Smithers to treat an alcohol addiction. He never told his father.

Henry Strawberry found out about it the next day -- from the television. He was watching a basketball game when a sportscaster read the news.

“He never did come to me much for advice,” Henry says. “He calls every now and then to talk.”

Darryl does not call his father “Dad.” He calls him “Straw.” That’s what everybody on the softball field used to call Henry when he was pitching in a fast-pitch league. Little Darryl, who always attended the games, figured if everyone else called him “Straw,” well, so should he. When Darryl was 12, Henry and his wife, Ruby, separated. Henry says he liked to drink and gamble, but did neither to excess. Darryl and his four brothers and sisters went to live with Ruby. Henry remarried in 1978.

Henry wants it known that he did not drop out of Darryl’s life. He says he faithfully met child-support payments and attended all of Darryl’s high-school baseball and basketball games. And he is seeing his son more often now. He made his first trip to New York last season. (“I didn’t like it,” he said. “It rains a lot. I was at a game, and it was sunny one minute and the next thing you know, it’s raining.”) He also watched Darryl play in Chicago, Cincinnati, San Francisco, San Diego and, of course, Los Angeles. Henry and Ruby often run into each other at Dodger Stadium when Darryl and the Mets play there.

“I don’t have much to say to her and she doesn’t have much to say to me,” Henry says. “I say, ‘How are you?’ and she says, ‘How are you?’ and we leave it at that.”

Henry’s house, Darryl’s house in Encino and Ruby’s house in San Dimas (which also has a satellite dish) form a triangle inside Los Angeles County. Houses in Henry’s neighborhood sold for an average of $148,515 in January. The county average is $231,075. Houses in Ruth’s neighborhood sold for $183,517 and in the vicinity of Darryl’s home for $253,942.

Henry worked 26 years for the postal service before a stroke in 1985 forced him to retire and to give up alcohol. His is much the opposite from his son. Darryl is sinewy; Henry is thick. Darryl is outspoken; Henry is quiet. But he is not without fatherly advice:

--On Darryl’s marriage to Lisa: “She’s a very nice girl. They’re good for each other. The most important thing is that he stays with his family.”

--On Darryl’s career: “To me, he’s had a good career. When you hit at least 26 home runs for five years straight, that’s good. People want him to hit 50 home runs. I expect that, too. I expect him to do it. He’s talked about doing better. That’s why I know he can.”

--On Darryl’s wish to play in Los Angeles: “I hope he plays his whole career in New York. I wouldn’t want him to play here. There are too many negative things to get into here.”

--On Darryl’s rehabilitation: “I hope he stays clean. I hope he stays away from alcohol. If I saw him now I’d tell him, ‘Good luck.”’

Henry Strawberry, dressed in jeans, sneakers and a 1988 All-Star Game T-shirt Darryl gave him, is sitting on a white sofa in his living room on Denker Avenue. The satellite dish picks up a college basketball game. Meanwhile, at a news conference, Darryl is telling reporters more about his problems than he told his father.

“A father doesn’t have to hear from his children as often as a mother likes to,” Henry says. “I have always been friends with Darryl. He’ll always be my son, so I know he’ll always be my friend.”