Another Bavasi Takes Charge of the Angels : Sins of the Father Not Lost on the Son, Fans

His father used to savor these moments, cherishing every last detail. He had these news conferences mastered. Strut to the podium, smile for the cameras and drop the bombshell that would captivate the town for days.

Buzzie Bavasi would have been in all his glory this Jan. 31 afternoon, standing in front of a packed house and telling the world that Bo Jackson was coming to the California Angels.

He wouldn’t have left the room before the last reporter departed, making sure that every last notebook was filled. Buzzie was the only general manager in baseball who could have 10 reporters drop in on him during a baseball game and have each of them believing they had a scoop.

He spent 33 years as general manager of the Dodgers, San Diego Padres and Angels and never ran away from a pen or tape recorder in his life. Buzzie loved the limelight. And it loved him back.

Buzzie, bless his heart, would have recoiled in horror if he had been around this day to witness the Bo Jackson press conference. There was his son, his flesh and blood, sitting on the dais during the entire news conference without saying a word.

Bill Bavasi, 36, hired a month ago as Angel general manager, was presented the opportunity of a lifetime to display himself to the world. Instead, he sat silent, dutifully answered a few questions afterward and then slipped quietly away to the sanctuary of his office.

Bavasi, who now uses the same office his dad once occupied, was asked how it feels knowing that he’s the man responsible for returning Jackson to Southern California, this time to play baseball?

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I was just hoping I wasn’t remembered as the man who lost Steve Frey.

“Come on, this isn’t like General Patton taking over the troops.

“This is Bill Bavasi scrambling.”

His birth certificate says he’s a Bavasi--the third family member to be a major league general manager--but you would never know he was even a distant cousin by his personality.

This is as humble and unassuming a person as you’ll find in all of baseball. He believes he’s no more important to the Angels than his own secretaries. He doesn’t own a Mercedes or BMW, choosing instead to drive a Bronco or the 10-year-old family Volvo. He still takes his 6-year-old son to school, and telephones his wife every night he’s away. He demands input from his employees, refusing to make a decision without them.

For God’s sake, the Angels will tell you, there are clubhouse attendants who have bigger egos than Bavasi.

“If you didn’t know any better,” said Whitey Herzog, former Angel general manager, “you’d never know he was a Bavasi. He’s very, very modest, and that’s not a Bavasi trait.

“But believe me, this guy is going to be every bit as good as his dad and brother, and probably better. He may not toot his own horn, but there are going to be people tooting it for him.

“And I’ll be right there at the front of the line.”

*

“In 1981, when Bill Bavasi joined the Angels, I was afraid that one day he would become general manager. Now, every Angel fan’s worst nightmare has come true--another Bavasi running the team. We can expect more bad trades, seeing the best players leave as free agents, and no strategy or commitment to putting a winning team on the field.” --Letter to the editor, Los Angeles Times, Jan. 22.

Life as a Bavasi was never easy.

He was supposed to be a better baseball player than all of his friends . . . because of his father.

He had kids in school who wanted to get close to him . . . because of his father.

He listened to critics tell him that he was handed a job in baseball . . . because of his father.

“I pretended it wasn’t out there,” Bavasi said, “but I knew it was. Growing up around baseball, you learn to roll with the punches. That’s what I did.”

Bavasi, who grew up having Don Drysdale and Sandy Koufax drop by the house on Sunday evenings, made a habit of never volunteering his ancestry. Certainly, no one could figure it out on their own. He quit playing baseball in high school. He attended the University of San Diego but majored in psychology.

“I know I didn’t associate the name with Bill,” said Steve Wesierski, his college roommate and best man. “He didn’t walk or talk the part of being a high-profile guy. I mean, you really had to push. Most people who went to the University of San Diego probably never knew who his father was.

“I never felt that he was better than everyone, but it seemed like he already had life mapped out. I think he always knew that one day he’d be a general manager.”

If Bavasi knew how he’d spend the rest of his life, he wasn’t dropping any hints. His friends can’t recall him divulging his career aspirations, but instead can vividly recall his antics at toga parties. They still laugh at the day they gathered for a mud bowl football game, and when they headed out for breakfast, Bavasi sat the entire time wearing water polo head gear.

Actually, the only preferential treatment he received for being Buzzie’s kid was that he got a job on the grounds crew at San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium. Even after graduation, his first job was as a glorified secretary in the scouting department.

“Being the son of a general manager can help, but also be a big hindrance,” said Padre General Manager Randy Smith, the son of Tal Smith. “You feel sometimes that you have to be twice as good as anybody else to overcome your last name.

“It’s like you have to prove yourself all the time so that people don’t think you just got something handed to you. Billy and I can relate to that.”

Whispers of nepotism stopped the moment people met him. He was just like everyone else. He was promoted to farm director in 1984, and so little was made of his background that many players had no idea he was related to Buzzie. Former Angel infielder Bobby Grich remembers the time he walked into Bill’s office, started to grumble about Buzzie and was horrified to learn he was talking to his son.

Ten years were spent in the same job, but Bavasi never minded, content in trying to become the best damn farm director in baseball. He watched several members of his generation being promoted to general manager, but never was he fazed.

“My mom used to get on me,” Bavasi said. “She used to tell me, ‘Go to the All-Star game. Go to the World Series. Go where people will see you there.’

“I refused. I wasn’t going to play politics just to get noticed. It was very evident there were some guys who became farm directors or scouting directors were going places just to be seen in all of the right places.

“I never did anything to get noticed in my life, and I’m proud of that.”

Bavasi’s demeanor was so utterly unpretentious that the first day rumors circulated he would become general manager of the Angels, he immediately went in and apologized to Dan O’Brien and Herzog. He didn’t want to take anyone’s job, and as far as he was concerned, he’d stay put until everyone was good and ready to retire.

“That’s my brother,” said Peter, 51, his eldest sibling. “His ego quotient is very low. It’s hardly even a blip on the radar screen.”

Bavasi didn’t even bother addressing the office staff when he became general manager. The only new rule was that he wanted messages limited to two minutes on the voice mail. Certainly, he wasn’t demanding, arriving at 9 every morning, leaving at 5 and wondering why the rest of the world gets stressed out.

“It’s like all the best qualities of Mr. B and his sons are all rolled into Bill,” said Kathy Carey, who has been a secretary for four members of the Bavasi clan. “I don’t know how to prescribe him. It’s not that he’s laid back, but just so, uh, mellow. His temperament is not extreme either way.

“Really, he’s perfect.”

Said Tim Mead, Angel assistant general manager: “He’s a throwback to the ‘60s without the long hair and beads. To this day, I’ve never seen him lose his temper.

“The greatest tribute to Bill Bavasi is that in my 13 years with the Angels, I’ve never heard a player in our clubhouse run him down. To me, that’s unbelievable.”

The man is completely unflappable, and his sense of humor is uncanny. The day the letter to the editor appeared, Wesierski telephoned him and read it aloud. Bavasi jumped off the phone and immediately went scrounging for the newspaper. He actually wanted to find it, cut it out and keep it for posterity.

Really.

“I thought it was great,” Bavasi said. “I wanted to show my wife (Tracy). It shows how quickly you can be a nobody in this game.

“The minute you understand that you’re a a genius when you win, and a bum when you lose, you can relax.”

*

“None of my boys ever wanted to be president of the United States, but they all wanted to be GM of a baseball team.” --Buzzie Bavasi

Buzzie and his wife, Evit, insist that they never prodded, provoked or even persuaded their four sons to enter this crazy baseball business. Yet, everyone but Chris developed a passion for the game.

There is Peter, whose personality most resembles that of his father. He once was general manager of the Toronto Blue Jays and Cleveland Indians and now is president of Sportsticker.

“When I called up Billy and congratulated him,” Peter said, “I told him that he’s now a future ex-GM. Hey, doesn’t everyone gets fired in this business?”

There’s Chris, 47, whose first job in baseball was shuttling beer kegs at Dodger Stadium. It would be his last. He went to Northern Arizona University, fell in love with Flagstaff and today is mayor of the town.

“I came here with every intent of going back,” Chris said, “but this place really grows on you. I just never developed the interest in baseball like my brothers.”

There’s Bob, 40, who has owned the Class A Everett (Wash.) Giants for the past 10 years. He still remembers how Buzzie and Peter scouted the church where Bob got married in 1981, trying to find the pews with the best reception.

“I had impeccable credentials for baseball,” Bob said, “because I got a birth certificate with the right name on it.”

And then there’s Bill, the first son in baseball history to become a general manager with the same club and ownership as his father.

“There was no doubt in my mind that he’d eventually make it,” Buzzie said. “Of all my sons, I knew he’d be the one who’s get into baseball. He’s going to be a great one, because he’s learned from all our mistakes.”

Buzzie, 78, taught his boys everything he knew about the game, and as mementos of his affection, he and Evit presented his four World Series championship rings to their sons.

The boys each randomly selected a ring at Buzzie’s 70th birthday party in 1985, and Bill wound up drawing the most cherished of the collection. It was the 1955 Brooklyn Dodgers’ championship ring, the only one ever won in Brooklyn.

“I’ve done my share,” Buzzie says. “Now it’s up to Bill to start a new family collection.”