The Son Also Bends With Dodger Outfield Full, Stan Javier Gets Some Tips From His Dad at Third

The father’s lower back hurt him worse than he would ever admit. But the young man trying to catch ground balls on this rocky field was his son.

And so he would help.

“Put your glove like this,” Julian Javier shouted in Spanish. “Move your hands like this.”

The son, headstrong as always, wants to handle this latest challenge alone. But the older man offering to help him was his father.

And so he would listen.

“OK, Poppy,” Stan Javier said. “I will try it this way.”

Their voices resounded through the quiet of a stadium that is abandoned and crumbling. They echoed off cracked plastic seats and graffiti-stained dugout walls. But they were voices of tenderness.

Stan Javier, a valued Dodger hitter who is attempting a switch from the outfield to third base, would bend over to field a ground ball.

Julian Javier, a former All-Star second baseman with the St. Louis Cardinals, would hitch up his dungarees and bend over with him.

It went like this for 15 minutes, the father and son attacking not just grounders but lost time.

The only thing that runs deeper than the spirit of baseball in this country is the spirit of the family. On a recent sunny afternoon, this Dodger and his notable father showed how that spirit endures.

“He learned all of this baseball without me, everything, did it all by himself,” said Julian, who starred for the Cardinals from 1960 through 1971. “At the time, that was the way it should have been.

“But now, it is time for things to change. Now, he needs me. And I will be there.”

Stan, who batted .304 while becoming one of the Dodgers’ most exciting players last season, smiles in agreement.

‘It used to be hard for me growing up, because all everybody would say is that I only played because of my dad,” he said. “I used to hate that. I never wanted to even talk baseball with my dad. I wanted to do my own thing, by myself.

“But now . . . now, I want him to help.”

When the old man hitting the grounders from home plate finally laid down his aluminum bat, the father and son walked off sweating and smiling. They look nothing alike, but at that moment they could have been twins.

“Stanley and my father working together again, it is beautiful,” said Juliette, Stan’s older sister. “They like you to think they are different, but they are really the same person.”

In 1936, Julian was born in this remote farming town, separated from the capital of Santo Domingo by three hours of a winding road. Twenty-eight years later, Stan was also born here.

As boys, each had climbed the same nearby mountains, run through the same rice paddies, used old socks and sticks to play baseball in the same streets.

Julian still lives here, in an upper-class home by Dominican standards. Stan, 27, married with a child, still returns to spend much of the winter with his father.

Earlier this winter, in fact, Stan was here when he learned that Dodger Manager Tom Lasorda was in Santo Domingo and wanted to meet him for lunch.

Stan knew why. He knew Lasorda might want to explain things. The Dodgers had just signed free agent Brett Butler. This meant Javier would not have a chance to be the starting center fielder.

Already Javier had no chance to be the right fielder because of the signing of Darryl Strawberry. And Kal Daniels had been locked into left field since last year.

So less than a year after requesting a trade from Oakland so he could avoid playing behind three great outfielders like Rickey Henderson, Jose Canseco and Dave Henderson, Javier was suddenly the odd man out again.

“Crazy,” Javier said. “Really crazy.”

Javier thought this was no way to treat a guy who batted .320 in 58 starts for the Dodgers last season, including .468 in 25 games on artificial turf.

When he climbed into his Jeep for the drive to Santo Domingo and began planning his luncheon speech, he did it with anger. When he arrived at Lasorda’s designated restaurant--the best Italian joint on the island, of course--he was ready.

“As soon as we sat down at the table, I started talking,” Javier said with a chuckle. “I didn’t let Tommy get in one word. Seriously.”

For purposes of space, we offer this condensed version of Javier’s address: “Trade me.”

“I told him that if I wanted to be a backup outfielder, I would never have asked to be traded from Oakland,” said Javier, who was dealt to Los Angeles on May 13 for Willie Randolph. “I told him I was going to ask (Dodger Vice President) Fred Claire to trade me.

“Brett Butler is a great player. But I didn’t think we needed another outfielder. And if we did get another outfielder, I at least wanted a chance to fight for the job.”

Javier said when he saw the size of Butler’s contract, he knew there would be no fight.

“I have no chance at being a starting outfielder, no chance at all,” Javier said. “I ask myself, ‘What do I have to do?’ And I realize, they have to trade me.”

In giving the speech, though, Javier did not count on one thing. Lasorda always has the last word. Sure enough, no sooner did Javier finish than Lasorda started.

“First thing he said was, ‘I don’t want to trade you and I will try to keep you from getting traded,’ ” Javier said. “Then he told me, ‘I want to try you at third base.’ ”

Dodger fans have heard this before. Since Ron Cey left the team after the 1982 season, the Dodgers have used 23 third basemen.

This spring it will be just as messy.

Jeff Hamilton, last year’s opening-day starter, is coming off a shoulder injury that he did not treat with surgery even though he missed all but seven games.

Lenny Harris and Mike Sharperson are coming off an ideal season as Hamilton’s platoon replacement, but they might be needed at second base.

“That leaves a chance for Javier,” said Lasorda, who relishes the idea of Javier batting second behind Butler and in front of Strawberry. “I think he could do it.”

By the end of the lunch, Javier was smiling. In 11 pro seasons, he has not played one day of third base. But scouts say he has the hands and the arm strength.

“I thought, ‘What the heck, why can’t I play third?’ ” Javier said. “I know if I work on it, if I can get some spring games at third base, I can do it.”

Driving back after the lunch, he reached the realization that he could not do it alone. For help, he would need the person who would not teach him how to play baseball as a boy, instead sending him to a local coach for tutoring.

He would need the person who never really watched him play until high school, when he was certain that Stan was a prospect.

He would need the person who, in discussions around the dinner table, would always talk about education or world affairs instead of baseball.

He would need his father.

“He knows all the tricks of the infield,” Stan said. “Even though I never said this, he was the guy I always admired, the guy I always wanted to be like. I figured it was a good time.”

It was also a good time for Julian, who has quietly been his son’s biggest fan since Stan established himself with Oakland several years ago.

“My father never say anything to Stanley, but you should see him watching Stanley on television,” Juliette said. “It is like somebody who is watching boxing. He is up, moving around, moving his arms, getting into batting stances, shouting at the TV.

“Of course, he would never tell Stanley that.”

It isn’t that Julian Javier never loved his son, the youngest boy among five children.

“I think he loved him too much,” Juliette said. “In Dominican Republic, when we love, we love real.”

Julian knew that his name alone would make baseball hard enough for Stan, who was 9 when his father retired.

Almost everyone in their town, from the farmers to those who live in the nearby mountains, had heard of Julian. Because he returned home after retirement, he was not simply revered but constantly visible.

The abandoned ballpark in which they now take ground balls is even called Julian Javier Stadium.

And then there was the problem of Stan’s first name. He was named for Julian’s former St. Louis teammate, Stan Musial.

Stan Javier didn’t need any more shadows. “Because I played ball, I knew it would be bad enough for Stanley to also play,” Julian said. “I didn’t want to get involved. I didn’t want to let him see me. Even when I would watch him at his games when he was a child, I would not let him see me.

“I just wanted to let the kid play. Alone.”

Stan said he appreciated the distance. The taunts from schoolmates were difficult enough without the stare of his father.

“Him not being around, I think it took the pressure off of myself,” Stan said. “I never tried to be like him. Even all the trophies in our house that belong to him, I learned to ignore them.”

Julian finally became involved in his son’s life when Stan was 16 and receiving no offers from major league teams, mostly because scouts hated the long drive to their town.

“I had seen him and I knew he could be a good player, even though he didn’t know that I knew,” Julian said. “I told him that if he finished high school, I would take him over to Florida spring training camps and see if we couldn’t get him a job.”

Stan accepted the offer, and so father and son rented a car in Miami and drove around the state in hopes of obtaining private tryouts.

The New York Met scout never showed up, so the Javiers drove away after waiting an hour. The Pittsburgh Pirate scout was impressed with Stan but offered only a small signing bonus.

Finally, after yet another tryout, Javier signed with St. Louis and was assigned to Johnson City, Tenn., in the rookie league.

Later, Julian became lost when driving to Stan’s first pro game, and arrived in the last inning.

“It figures, huh?” Julian said.

Now, although they still don’t talk baseball on the phone and Julian still won’t comment on Stan’s performance unless asked, they have found each other again.

Together they are planning to build a baseball academy in San Francisco de Macoris so that scouts will no longer be scared away. Recently, they drove to a potential site for the academy, an expanse of overgrown farmland that could be reached only by driving on several miles of unpaved road.

Stan’s Jeep almost collided with a babbling woman who was turning complete circles while crossing the middle of the road. “This town,” Stan said, shaking his head. “You have to love it.”

The Javiers enjoy playing golf together in the morning and sharing long lunches of chicken and plantains (a banana-like fruit) in the afternoon.

Julian rarely comes to the United States. But when he does, well, there was a reason Stan might have been walking a bit stiffly during the Dodgers’ second trip to St. Louis last year.

Most of his family had gathered to see him and his brother, Chi Chi, who is a doctor there. Because Stan didn’t want to leave them at any time, he slept on the floor of Chi Chi’s townhouse.

“He had that whole big beautiful hotel, but he didn’t want to leave the family,” Juliette said. “He said he would sleep anywhere, just so he could sleep with all of us.”

“When I see my father and brother playing together again, that is why I tell you it is beautiful.”