In Baseball’s Age of Tinsel, Stillwell Settles for Steady

Kurt Stillwell desperately searches for the phone book when he checks into each city, memorizes the number and makes the call. The visitor stops at his hotel room, drops off the goods, leaves with a handful of money and quietly drives away.

“I need it to survive,” he said. “It’s my biggest vice. I’ve been addicted to it ever since I left home.”

It’s Domino’s pizza. Stillwell has been on the stuff since he left home at age 18.

The order is always the same. Small pizza: pepperoni and pineapple. Large Coke.

Stillwell shoves the pizza into his mouth, washes it down, turns on the TV for a baseball game or fishing show and sleeps until it’s time to go the ballpark. The routine seldom varies on the road.

“As you can see, I live a pretty boring existence,” he said. “It doesn’t take a whole lot to make me happy.”

Stillwell, the Padres’ new second baseman, won’t be found in any blaring headlines this year. Don’t worry about him being caught in any off-the-field disturbances. He can’t even remember his last parking ticket, let alone a speeding violation.

You want controversy? You want flashy? You want ostentatious?

Buddy, you’ve got the wrong guy.

Stillwell considers a three-piece suit a pair of blue jeans, white T-shirt and a baseball cap.

His idea of entertainment is stuffing dead fish and mounting them on the wall.

The last book he read was, “The Mental Game of Baseball,” and it has been six years since he read a non-baseball book. He could care less about music, unless it’s country. He doesn’t waste much time sitting around watching movies.

And he has never smoked, drank alcohol, chewed tobacco or cursed.

“I know people will say I brag because I’m his mother,” Jan Stillwell said, “but he was the perfect son growing up. He was raised in a Christian home, and he’s never presented one problem in his life. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

Said Angie Stillwell, his wife: “He doesn’t even think of himself as anything special. He actually gets embarrassed when someone recognizes him in public.”

And this is a California boy, born in Glendale and reared in Thousand Oaks?

“People ask where I’m from,” Stillwell said, “and it’s like they don’t believe me. Just look at me, and you know I’m not a sun god. Look at how white I am. People look at my face, and they don’t think I’ve seen sun in years.”

“I guess I don’t exactly fit the stereotype from California, do I?”

Certainly, Stillwell’s demeanor has its down side. Only two weeks ago, Kurt and Angie waited 1 1/2 hours for a table at a fashionable Phoenix restaurant. In walked Gary Sheffield, when he still was with the Brewers, and teammate Greg Vaughn. They nodded to the hostess, and even though they had no reservations, were seated immediately.

“I guess if you’re tall, good-looking and wear an earring, they know who you are,” he said. “Look at me, I’m an average Joe.

“Nobody knows who I am.

“Maybe that’s good.”

The Padres were stretching on the outfield grass before practice one day when the subject turned to old neighborhoods. The players share tales of poverty or gang warfare.

Suddenly, there was silence. Padre reliever Rich Rodriguez, who grew up in Los Angeles, looked at Stillwell and urged him to talk.

“Kurt, tell them about the time your BMW broke down in high school,” he said. “Remember, you even had to use your car phone to call a tow truck. And the tow-truck driver was black. It was only the third black you’ve ever seen in your life, and you were scared.”

The group laughed hysterically, no one harder than Stilwell.

“You know something,” Stillwell said, “this is the best time I’ve had in my life. I actually cry every morning because I’m laughing so hard. I’ve never had so much fun.

“That’s why I want to make it work. I want to let everyone know they made the right choice when they signed me. I love to fish, and would do it every day if I could, but I’m not even going to fish once during the season because I don’t want any distractions.

“God blessed me with this opportunity, and I intend to take full advantage of it.”

Stillwell, who signed a three-year contract as a free agent with the Padres three days before the opening of spring training, admittedly was a bit nervous when he came to camp. He hadn’t played in the National League in four years. He’s never been an everyday second baseman. And the only soul he really knew on the Padres was Manager Greg Riddoch, who was a minor-league instructor when Stillwell was in the Cincinnati Reds organization.

“I was apprehensive,” Stillwell said. “I mean, Greg’s such a great guy, and he’s the No. 1 reason I’m here, but it’s not like you can hang out with the manager. I’d give my right arm for him, and he knows that, but you don’t want people to think I’m his Bobo.

“But as soon as I got here, I just felt so comfortable, so accepted. The guys here are unbelievable. I’ve got a great manager, great teammates, and I get to play with a guy like Tony Gwynn. What more can I ask for?”

The only thing missing, Stillwell said, is winning. He never has been on a team that’s won the division title, nor for that matter, has even been in a pennant race.

“I know San Diego is a great city, and a wonderful place to live,” Stillwell said, “but that’s not important to me. I saw lots of players come to Kansas City, buy all this land, buy a big house, and retire.

“But I came to San Diego to play baseball. I came to win.

“I’ve never wanted to win so badly in my life.”

The day the Padres acquired Sheffield in a trade from the Brewers, Riddoch was scrambling, trying to make adjustments. Players’ roles suddenly changed. The batting order needed to be modified. He knew some feelings were going to be hurt.

Riddoch’s head was buried in a stack of papers when Stillwell visited the manager in his office.

“Well, I know you have to make some adjustments in the batting order with Sheffield here,” Stillwell told Riddoch. “I know we’ve been talking about me batting second, but if you want, I’ll bat eighth. It’s no big deal to me.”

Riddoch wanted to stand up and hug him. Stillwell’s father wanted to slap him. His agent wanted to scream.

Eighth?

“Do you know how you’ll be pitched? This isn’t the American League, Kurt. You’ve got the pitcher batting behind you. You’re not going to see a pitch over the plate all season. What in the world did you do?”

“His father wasn’t happy at all,” Jan Stillwell said. “That really bothered him. Finally, Kurt just said, ‘Dad, if this is for the good of the team, I’ll do it. I don’t care about my stats. I don’t care how many at-bats I get. Do yourself a favor, and quit worrying about it.’ ”

Said agent Scott Boras: “As you can imagine, I didn’t feel too good about it either. I really wish Kurt hadn’t done that.”

Stillwell shrugged his shoulders and smiled. If the game was only about statistics and money to him, he would have been a malcontent in Cincinnati. He would have been a cancer in the clubhouse in Kansas City. And he never would have come to San Diego.

“I know it drives people nuts,” Stillwell said, “but money’s never been that important to me.

Stillwell was not necessarily groomed to be a baseball player, but with his father being a former player with the Washington Senators, and later becoming a high school baseball coach, the lure of the sport was there.

Stillwell hung around baseball fields as early as he can remember, and when he was 12, the family purchased a business venture. It was a batting cage. The business never prospered, but it was where Kurt learned to be a switch-hitter.

“It turned out to be more profitable than we thought,” Jan Stillwell said.

Kurt, whose dad became the coach, emerged as one of the finest talents in the country. He was the No. 2 pick in the 1983 June free agent draft, selected ahead of such players as Roger Clemens, Wally Joyner, Dan Plesac and Rick Aguilera.

He was planning to attend Stanford after graduating from Thousand Oaks High. But when the Cincinnati Reds offered him $135,000, the largest signing bonus in their history, Stillwell dismissed thoughts of becoming a dentist or doctor.

He was playing professionally days after his 18th birthday, and was the Reds’ starting shortstop at the age of 20. He might still be the Reds’ shortstop today if they hadn’t drafted a kid named Barry Larkin.

The Reds knew that one day they’d have to decide between the two, and when it became apparent that Larkin was the more talented, they traded Stillwell to Kansas City in 1987 for pitcher Danny Jackson.

It would be perfect. Stillwell loved the Midwest, and Kansas City was a family community where you could go to bed, leave your doors unlocked, get up in the morning and say hello to your neighbors.

“I loved it there,” Stillwell said, “absolutely loved it.”

The only inconvenience was that his girlfriend was still in Florence, Ky., but he eventually took care of that by waiting until after she graduated from college, and marrying her. He bought a home in a beautiful suburb. He didn’t even mind the winters.

This was home, a place he envisioned he’d live the rest of his life.

It soon became a nightmare.

It was as if the Royals blamed him for last season’s failures. They even benched him for 1 1/2 months, saying he no longer could play defense.

“The whole thing was so weird,” Stillwell said, “I still don’t understand it. I’ve never been one to make excuses, but the team was in last place, and they needed to point a finger at someone.

“I’ve never been one to point fingers, but someone was sure pointing fingers at me.”

Said Royal Manager Hal McRae: “The fact of the matter was that the ballclub wasn’t playing well, and defensively, we were terrible. I thought it was time to make some changes. It was nothing against Kurt’s offense, but defensively, he wasn’t cutting it.”

Stillwell became incensed not so much that he was being benched, but how it occurred. He learned of the decision from a reporter before packing his bags for a three-day vacation during the All-Star break. He marched into McRae’s office, and McRae confirmed it.

“I was crushed, absolutely crushed,” he said. “He said I was the reason we were 10 games out. I was totally flabbergasted.”

Stillwell spent the second half keeping his mouth shut. His insides were churning, but he refused to criticize. He just waited his turn.

He began playing again Sept. 14, made 20 consecutive starts before the end of the season, and still wound up hitting .265 with 51 RBIs. Even though he missed 40 games, it was the fourth consecutive season he had driven in at least 50 runs.

“It was weird,” Stillwell said. “I never got a sufficient explanation why I was benched, and I never got one why they put me back in.”

Perhaps the craziest part of the scenario was that the Royals hadn’t given up on Stillwell. He was a free agent, and the Royals wanted him back, only not at Stillwell’s price of four years, $13 million.

“It was such a crazy winter,” Stillwell said. “It was like no one needed any shortstops. I didn’t know what was going on.”

The Royals offered Stillwell arbitration, which was rejected. Finally, the evening of Jan. 7, just hours before the signing deadline for free agents, the Royals talked about giving Stillwell a one-year contract for about $2 million.

“I didn’t have anything else,” Stillwell said, “so I said, ‘I’d take it. It sounds good. Maybe things will get better.’ So we called back, and it was off the table.

“That was it. We were done. They couldn’t pay me enough to go back after that.”

Stillwell waited for teams to call. The Baltimore Orioles were interested, and wanted Stillwell to replace Billy Ripken at second base. But considering Ripken is the younger brother of Cal Ripken Jr., who happens to be a free agent, the Orioles thought it was wise not to make enemies.

The Chicago Cubs also were interested. Shortstop Shawon Dunston was undergoing tests for his bad back. They thought they might even try Stillwell at third. Instead, Dunston’s tests were negative, and the Cubs lost interest.

The Padres, meanwhile, who had offered a modest two-year contract for $1.75 million a season in early January, kept waiting. They even agreed to throw in an arbitration season in 1994.

Knowing he had the opportunity to play for a manager he loved, a position he wanted to try, and a city close to home, he jumped at the offer.

“I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been,” Stillwell said.

Said Angie: “Believe me, it has been a long time.”

Baseball never has made it easy for Stillwell. His first roommate in the minor leagues was Rob Dibble. The first pitcher he faced in the major leagues was Goose Gossage. His first spring-training game with the Royals ended in a collision with Bo Jackson.

Now, at the age of 26, he’s being asked to replace Roberto Alomar.

“He’s already learned some valuable lessons this spring,” said Rob Picciolo, the Padres’ first base coach who has been instructing Stillwell the past six weeks. “I think he’ll do just fine. It takes some time, and that’s what he has to understand.

“He gets a little hard on himself. He hates to walk off the field frustrated, but on certain days, it’s just not going to be there.

“But I can see him going back to his room each night, moving the coffee table over, putting a towel on the ground for a base, and practicing.”

Said Stillwell: “How did he know?”

In the meantime, Stillwell will continue to get advice. His father and mother watch every game they’re able on the satellite dish he purchased for them. They were elated this spring to learn they can hear the signal of the Padre games on the San Diego radio station. And with Jack Murphy Stadium only three hours from home, and Dodger Stadium close by, they can there in person watching 25 to 30 games.

“I think it’ll work out perfect,” Jan Stillwell said. “We’re close enough where we can come watch him, but just far enough away where his father can’t give him too much advice.”

Stillwell laughed, remembering it was just a few weeks ago when his father stopped in Yuma, Ariz., for a one-day visit.

How did it go?

“He told me my front elbow was too high,” Stillwell said.

So they bought a pizza, and spent the rest of the time analyzing his swing.

It was Stillwell’s idea of a perfect evening.