Reese Leaves Lasting Image of Friendship, Dedication : Baseball: Death of longtime coach allows those in the Angel organization to share fond memories.

It was four months ago on a sweltering day during the Angels’ spring training camp when Jimmie Reese stood on the practice field, hitting grounders to pitcher Julio Valera.

Reese, who could work wonders with his fungo bat, had Valera moving to his left, to his right, back and forth . . . and now panting, Valera bemoaned:

“Jimmie, aren’t you getting tired?”

Reese: “I’m doing just fine, son. You keep standing there, and I’ll keep hitting them.”

Valera, 25, hung his head in disbelief.

Reese, who was 92, simply chortled, and then hit another one.

“I’ll always remember that moment,” said Angel owner Jackie Autry, “because that’s how I want to remember Jimmie. He loved the game like no one else.”

Reese, who died early Wednesday of respiratory failure, always told friends that he wanted to leave this world wearing his baseball uniform.

Today at the Fairhaven Memorial Park, Reese will be in a casket, wearing his Angel uniform, No. 50. His fungo bat will be at his side.

“Sometimes an organization is judged on all of the players that have left,” said Tim Mead, Angel assistant general manager, “but the greatest Angel in history finished his career right here.”

The Angels, who gave Reese a lifetime contract six years ago, already have decided to retire his number. The players will wear commemorative patches with the words, “No. 50, Jimmie Reese,” above the “E” on their uniform. They also promised to retire Reese’s locker.

“God, how he loved the game,” said former Angel Manager Gene Mauch, his voice cracking on the telephone, “and how the game loved him. Baseball was his life, and like a lot of us, it was a religion.”

When the players arrived Wednesday for their workout in preparation for the season’s second half, which resumes tonight against the Baltimore Orioles, they looked toward Reese’s locker. There was a picture frame with his jersey inside it. His fungo bat was in the locker.

“It’s a sad day for baseball,” Angel left fielder Bo Jackson said. “But I don’t think we should mourn his death. We should celebrate for all he’s done. He would have wanted it that way.

“The guys are in good spirits because we know he’s in a better place, and all we can say is, ‘We miss you, mullion.’ ”

“Mullion” was the word that Reese lovingly called everyone. It was slang for being ugly, and no matter if you were Nolan Ryan, Reggie Jackson or Julio Valera, you were called a mullion.

“I tried to make it a point every day to spend at least five minutes with him,” first baseman J.T. Snow said, “because he was such an inspiration. He’d rag us, and we’d rag him right back.”

It was a miracle, of sorts, that Reese was with the Angels last spring. He had missed the second half of the 1993 season because of poor health, but there he was on the opening day of spring training, showing up daily at 8 a.m., and hitting fungoes by 10.

“He mustered everything he had to be back this spring,” said John Sevano, Angel vice president. “He wanted to be around everyone one last time. I think it was his way of saying goodby.”

Reese spent the entire spring with the Angels, and was there for every home game in April. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t around. Soon, word came out that he was in a convalescent home.

There was no family to take care of him, and he never qualified for any player-pension program, but the Autrys made sure that he was always provided for.

Players popped in when they could to see him. Bobby Knoop, Angel bench coach, even visited the day before the Angels left on their 13-day trip. Then came the call Tuesday afternoon. Doctors didn’t know if Reese would make it through the night.

Angel General Manager Bill Bavasi, who gave Reese his company car and personal attendant this spring, went to the hospital with Mead. Mario Dalessi, the former general manager of the Jolly Roger Inn who named a suite after Reese, was there. So was Ben Cook, a longtime Angel fan.

They stayed with Reese until about midnight. It was time to say their goodbys, not knowing whether they’d be seeing each other again. Reese alertly stuck out his hand.

“It was a good strong handshake,” Mead said. “It felt as strong as it was five years ago. For a moment there, I thought we were going to arm-wrestle because he wanted to take his (oxygen) mask off. That’s Jimmie. He may be the most loved man I ever met.

“You know, he told us how much Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig owed him in some card game about 60 years ago. Now he can go collect it himself.”

Reese entered baseball in 1917 when he was a batboy for Frank Chance of the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League. You know, Tinker to Evers to that Chance.

He played 13 years in the PCL, three years in the major leagues, and spent 22 years as a coach or manager. Yet, his fame evolved when it became known he used to be Ruth’s roommate. Everyone wanted to hear a story.

“People used to want him to tell bizarre stories about Babe Ruth, but he wouldn’t do it,” said reporter Tracy Ringolsby, whose best man was Reese at his 1978 wedding. “He’d only tell stories about the good things Ruth did for people.

“Well, except for the time Ruth hung Jimmie up on a hook on his locker one day, hit a homer, and decided to keep hanging Jimmie in the locker until the streak ended.”

Reese’s greatest trait is that he never had an enemy. He may be the only man in the history of baseball that everyone loved, and even more enigmatic, Reese loved everyone he met.

“I spent 46 years in the game,” said Buzzie Bavasi, former Angel general manager, “and I’ve never heard anyone say anything negative about Jimmie Reese.”

There may have been no greater exhibit of Reese’s popularity than the 1992 All-Star game, when he was selected as honorary captain. He walked to a Pacific Coast League exhibit with Sevano, and before long, folks started recognizing him.

“A few turned into a crowd,” Sevano said, “and a crowd turned into a throng. Security wanted to close the place down at 10, but Jimmie wouldn’t let them, he kept telling them he had to sign the cards for the kids. Jimmie was so happy that someone wanted his autograph.

“When it became 10:30, the crowd had gotten so big that they had to escort Jimmie back to the hotel just for protection.”

The next day before the game, Joe DiMaggio spotted Reese. DiMaggio left his entourage and walked toward Reese, spending 20 minutes with him reminiscing about his days in the Pacific Coast League.”

While it seemed as if everyone knew Reese, in reality, few ever did. They had been told Reese was married once, sometime back in the 1920s, but it was taboo to bring up what happened. Whenever the subject arose, Reese would grow teary-eyed, and walk away.

He had no family. He was an orphan born in New York City. His real name was Hymie Solomon, but he changed it for baseball. Why, it wasn’t until after his 80th birthday party, hosted by Rod Carew in 1981, that they realized he had been fibbing about his age all these years.

“Don Baylor and all the fellas presented him with a car,” Jackie Autry said. “Well, Buzzie went to the DMV to get it registered, and that’s when we found out that we had just celebrated Jimmie’s 83rd birthday, not his 80th.”

Said Angel Manager Marcel Lachemann: “I think his only family were the people he knew in baseball. He brought love into everyone’s lives.

“You can only hope that when your times comes, you will be remembered like Jimmie Reese.”

* JIMMIE REESE DIES: Reese, 92, who had been in baseball for more than 75 years, had been Angel conditioning coach since 1972. A1