‘Sharpie’ Legacy Is Good One

Holiday traffic deaths were up 50% in California from the previous Memorial Day. There were a reported 46 fatalities as of Monday night, attributed by some to an increase in the speed limit, but by a highway patrol officer to, for the most part, “unsafe lane changes.”

One such accident occurred Sunday morning at a quarter till 3, on the southbound Interstate 15, when a 34-year-old man leaving Las Vegas was about to miss his turnoff onto I-215 toward San Diego and attempted to swerve, but spun in the rain and crashed. He was not wearing his seat belt. He was ejected through the sun roof.

Two and a half hours later, in a university hospital, Mike Sharperson died.

San Diego television stations reported that day: “A Padre minor leaguer died. Film at 11.”

They couldn’t have meant Sharpie.

Sharpie was a Dodger.

“I’m glad you called,” outfielder Chris Gwynn of the Padres said, on the phone Tuesday from the visiting clubhouse of Olympic Stadium in Montreal. “I wasn’t really ready to talk about this until today.

“It hit me like a ton of bricks. I’ve been trying to deal with it for the last couple of days, knowing Sharpie’s gone.”

Sharperson and Gwynn practically broke in together, each joining the Dodgers for the first time in 1987.

They sat with one another, cheered for one another, consoled one another on the bench. Days before the end of the 1988 season, infielder Dave Anderson was injured and Sharpie was pressed into duty. He made the Dodger postseason roster, even got to bat once in a thrilling seven-game National League playoff series against the Mets.

“Randy Myers,” Gwynn remembered.

Eight years later, and Gwynn can still tell you the pitcher his friend faced in the only championship series at-bat of his life.

“I don’t recall what he did,” Gwynn said. “But I remember how excited he was, getting up to hit that one game.”

Because that was all there was. Sharpie didn’t get to play in that World Series. He never played in one.

But Sunday, he was on his way to join the first-place Padres, who believe they have a shot at playing in the World Series this year. That’s where Michael Tyron Sharperson was going when he got killed.

Gwynn said, “I don’t think the guys around here really knew him, or know what they’re missing.

“Sharpie was in camp with us, but we were just loaded [with talent]. There wasn’t a spot for him. I know they had plans for him, but I don’t know what they were. He may have gone right into our lineup, soon as he got here. I think these guys would have loved playing with him.”

The Dodgers did.

They so enjoyed having Sharperson around. That was why Eric Karros wept at the news of his death, calling him “one of the nicest guys ever,” and why Mike Piazza’s first recollection was of a man who didn’t have a vindictive bone in his body. The Dodgers once again feel a loss worse than any defeat. At least, they can check in with Brett Butler, to see how he is doing. Mike Sharperson, they will never see again.

He was this solid kid from South Carolina, 6 feet 3, 210 pounds, whose mother made home-cooked meals that Sharpie brought into the clubhouse whenever the Dodgers were in Atlanta. You could see him with nieces and nephews in tow, carrying in barbecue, carton upon carton.

Sharpie could play anyplace you put him. His second season in the minors, he spent time at second base, third, shortstop . . . and catcher. The Dodgers used Sharperson at all four infield positions, first base included.

“You name it, he could play it,” Manager Tom Lasorda said.

On the bench of the ’88 team, players laughingly called themselves “the Stuntmen,” ready to be anybody’s stand-in at a moment’s notice. There was nutty Mickey Hatcher, hurting himself by forearm-bashing the team’s trainer after a homer, and dignified Mike Davis, surprising everybody one afternoon in Chicago by holding up a handmade sign that read: “Mike Davis Is Alive and Well and Living in Los Angeles.”

Sharpie was proud to be a stunt guy.

Plenty good enough to play every day, he never did appear in more than 129 games in a season. Even after making the 1992 All-Star team, playing regularly was something Sharperson rarely did. He hit .300 that season and was second in doubles only to Karros, but still sat out 34 Dodger games with his other stunt brothers.

The first person Sharpie looked up at the All-Star game that summer in San Diego was pitcher Juan Guzman of the Toronto Blue Jays. They had been traded for one another, and now they were authentic stars together.

“I still can’t get over that he’s gone,” Gwynn said.

“I’m only feeling better today because the shock has worn off, and because now I can be happy for the privilege of knowing him. I’m thankful that he’s in a better place today. It’s kind of selfish, I know. He was a stand-up guy, and I’m only sorry the Padres won’t get to know Mike Sharperson the way the Dodgers and I knew him.”