Reese: Work of Art at 85

The nicest man to ever wear an Angel uniform got a terrible scare Tuesday night.

Jimmie Reese, roommate to Babe Ruth, best friend to Nolan Ryan, somewhat older brother to Jim Abbott and fungo master to the world, sat in his Westwood apartment clutching a hand to his 85-year-old chest.

Jimmie had just finished listening to the radio broadcast of that evening’s Angel game in Baltimore and the news had been good. The Angels won, 7-1, and Abbott pitched seven strong innings for his first victory of the season. Abbott and Reese are tight--a March-November kinship if there ever was one--and a dentist friend named Norman Kumai phoned Jimmie to celebrate.

Soon, the conversation shifted to how Jimmie was feeling. Jimmie said not so good. He told Kumai about these pains in his chest and within minutes, Kumai was in his car, headed first to Jimmie’s apartment and then to St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica.

According to doctors, Jimmie had suffered a coronary occlusion. To you and me, that’s not much different than a heart attack. Jimmie had a blocked blood vessel leading to his heart and to unblock it, Dr. Harry Rockoff performed an emergency angioplasty, which entails the insertion and inflation of a miniature balloon into the vessel.

Four days later, Jimmie is listed in stable condition and resting comfortably at St. John’s. But the Angels say Reese will be sidelined through the All-Star break, which will be the longest they’ve been fungo-less since 1972, when they added Reese, then a tadpole of 63, to their coaching staff.

For the past 18 seasons, Jimmie has held the official title of Angel conditioning coach. For most of the 1980s, that was good for a laugh. During those years, the annual Freeway Series was played between the Dodgers and the codgers, when the Angels had a graying nucleus of Rod Carew-Bobby Grich-Reggie Jackson and a motto: Never start anyone under 30.

Were those Angels old?

Hey, their conditioning coach was pushing 80.

Jimmie laughed along and lasted longer than any of them. He was there when Frank Tanana broke in. He was there when Abbott broke in. He has hit fungoes to Andy Messersmith. He has hit fungoes to Mark Langston.

Jimmie has spent 73 seasons in professional baseball and not many of them got much better than 1989. Last summer, the Angels hosted the All-Star Game, which meant Jimmie could throw out the first pitch and spend one more day on the same side with Ryan. It was a 10-year reunion, the all-time major league strikeout leader and the man after whom he named a son: Reese Ryan.

Last summer also introduced Reese to Abbott, the one-handed pitcher who followed in Ryan’s footsteps--straight to Jimmie’s locker. They are the oldest and youngest Angels, separated by more than 60 years, but they are bound by what they mean to the sport. Tim Mead, the team’s publicity director, had his picture taken with the two Jims and calls it his prized possession. “They both stand for so much,” Mead says. “Jimmie shows what the elderly can do and Jim shows that those born without everything are still capable of anything.”

The photo hangs in Mead’s office, along with several others, all framed by Reese. Jimmie is good with wood, be it half a bat or four pieces of varnished walnut, and picture-framing has been a longtime hobby.

Jimmie estimates he has made more than 20,000 frames for friends over the years. “He’s very insulted when he sees something on your wall framed by Aaron Bros.,” Mead jokes.

Sometimes, friends turn the trick on Jimmie. Because of the 100-mile drive between Anaheim and Westwood, Jimmie spends Angel home stands at the Jolly Roger Inn across the street from Disneyland. There, in the hotel lobby, is one of Jimmie’s Angel jerseys, old No. 50, framed and on display.

The hotel also has named one of its largest suites “The Jimmie Reese Room” and offers a menu that features “The Jimmie Reese Breakfast.” The main course? Oatmeal, Jimmie’s daily morning standby.

At 85, Jimmie is a man of routine. He’s set in his ways. Before every Angel home game, for instance, just as batting practice concludes, he refuses to join the rest of the team in the clubhouse. Instead, he shuffles down the left field line and mingles with the fans, signing autographs, posing for photos, patting toddlers on the head.

Jimmie likes everyone. Even sportswriters. Last season, this one was working on a Ryan profile, so Jimmie was an obvious source. Jimmie compared Ryan to Walter Johnson--he’s an eye witness to both--and he reeled in all the memories, including the game in which Ryan threw 170 pitches and won, 2-1.

Interview finished, I turned to leave but Jimmie wouldn’t allow it. He pulled a cardboard box out of his locker stall, opened it and said, “Reach in.”

I pulled out a baseball. It was signed by Ryan.

“Keep it,” Jimmie said. “I’ve got lots of them.”

Right now, Jimmie isn’t quite up to receiving visitors or phone calls, but St. John’s will pass along cards and letters. The address is 1328 22nd Street, Santa Monica, 90404. The patient is one of a kind.

The Angels won’t be the same until he’s back on the active roster. They want him at full strength, fungo in hand, the picture of good health.

Suitable for framing.