Life With Luchy Special for Them

It happens every time. From the moment Luchy Guerra clears customs and steps into the sunshine of her homeland, memories flip through her mind like pages in a day planner.

She remembers tending to ailing third baseman Adrian Beltre after his appendix burst, urging prized prospect Joel Guzman to fit in with less heralded teammates, and journeying to a remote corner of the country to welcome pitcher Yhency Brazoban to the Dodgers.

That’s Guerra, a one-woman bienvenido wagon, the most comforting hue of Dodger blue to Latin American players.

Her official title is assistant director of minor league operations. But her contribution in 12 years with the team spills all over the map, from greeting newly signed rookies at Dodgertown in Vero Beach, Fla., to ensuring that signing bonuses for uneducated Dominican teenagers aren’t cashed by unscrupulous pseudo-agents.

“Luchy is an amazing person,” said Beltre, who signed with the Seattle Mariners Dec. 16 after seven years with the Dodgers. “She is always there for you, from the minor leagues to the big leagues. I went to her when I didn’t understand things, and we are still close today. Luchy will always have a big place in my heart.”

On a November visit to the country where she spent her first 19 years, Guerra has a different agenda than usual. She is attending the Major League Baseball Scout Development Program, an eight-day course in evaluating talent, writing scouting reports and debunking the image of tobacco-chewing men hunched over radar guns.

Some things never change, though. It’s only the second day and the high-strung Guerra, 40, has a migraine headache. Not because she is apprehensive about embarking on a new career as a scout -- her enrollment is strictly to broaden her baseball knowledge for the purposes of her current job.

She is stressed because that’s just the way she is.

“It’s me being a perfectionist,” Guerra said. “I am pretty intense about everything I do.”

In the classroom she listens while instructors lecture in English and a translator repeats the lesson in Spanish for the 30 mostly Latin American students, all of whom were sent to scout school by a major league team. Guerra is the only woman.

At noon, the class boards a bus and heads for a game at Campo Las Palmas, the stunning 50-acre Dodger complex of fields, offices and living quarters carved out of the tropics. It’s a second home to Guerra and she loves everyone there, but today the visit has her ulcer acting up.

“Normally I am going there to solve issues,” she said. “Sometimes there are people lined down the hallway to talk to me. But this time I have to watch the game. I’m going to say I’m not wearing my problem-solving cap.”

Instead, she’s donned a straw hat bearing an MLB logo, just like the other scouts. But soon she is recognized and Campo Las Palmas becomes the set of “I Love Luchy.”

Former Dodger infielder Mariano Duncan, in uniform after spending the morning teaching prospects the fine points of turning a double play, pays his respects, giving Guerra a hug and a peck on the cheek.

“It’s comforting when she’s here,” Duncan said. “Problems disappear. She cares so much for these kids.”

The young players dream of becoming Dodger rags-to-riches stories like Raul Mondesi, Pedro Martinez and Beltre. More than 100 major league players and about 1,450 minor leaguers are from the Dominican Republic, but the road to the top is difficult.

The Dodgers were the first team to develop Latin American talent, and the number of Dominican players under contract with the team has risen to nearly 80. Longtime player and coach Manny Mota, one of the earliest Dominicans to make the major leagues, is an on-field father figure.

Guerra is less visible but no less crucial. When Beltre’s appendix burst in 2001 and he remained severely ill after spending 18 days in a Dominican hospital, she begged Dodger brass to transport the ailing player to Los Angeles.

Guerra and her husband, Jim, met Beltre at the airport, helped him into their van and whisked him to a hospital. Beltre returned the favor a couple of years ago when Guerra asked if two minor leaguers could stay at his home until their visa problems were sorted out.

“I didn’t know these guys, but coming from Luchy, I would never say no,” he said. “If they weren’t good guys, she wouldn’t have asked me.”

Problem-solving takes many forms. When Brazoban was acquired from the New York Yankees in a trade a year ago, Dodger officials dispatched Guerra to find him in the tiny Dominican outpost of Palenque and ensure that his visa was in order before spring training. She had no idea how to find him until she saw a motor scooter plastered with Yankee stickers zoom past. She flagged it down and the driver knew where Brazoban lived.

“We show up, and it’s siesta time, so we waited until he woke up,” Guerra said. “I told him, ‘The Dodgers care a lot about you.’ ”

Brazoban said he was broke. Guerra didn’t have the authority to give him cash, but within days an advance on his contract was authorized. The investment proved worthwhile -- Brazoban was 6-2 as the set-up man for Eric Gagne the second half of last season.

Frank McCourt assessed the front office after buying the Dodgers a year ago and quickly concluded the team is lucky to have Luchy.

“Most of us can’t appreciate the transition these players make, trying to work their way to the Dodgers despite culture and language barriers,” he said. “Imagine if the roles were reversed. Luchy has a great awareness of what they go through.”

Baseball wasn’t Guerra’s ticket out of “the D.R.,” as the island is called by expatriates. Born Luchy Binet, she left her hometown of San Pedro de Marcoris at 19 to live with an aunt and uncle and attend the University of Maryland.

“The spring before I started school I took an English as a second language class each morning and went to a Smithsonian museum every afternoon, learning everything I could about English,” she said.

She met Jim Guerra at college and they moved to Los Angeles after marrying in 1989. Her three brothers rarely played baseball and her mother’s five brothers and father’s 20 siblings did not play at all. But after meeting a Dodger employee through her church, she put together a resume, invented a job title, “Dominican-American Resources Liaison” and sent it to the front office.

“I wanted to help the players assimilate into American culture,” she said. “I knew of Latino players who were not really being taken care of.”

It took more than two years of persistence, but she was hired in December 1992, and has gradually added responsibilities.

Around Dodger Stadium, Guerra is a valued middle manager who was selected Rawlings minor league woman executive of the year in 2003. In her homeland, she is a revered figure. But at scout school she is just another student trying to determine whether a prospect is using proper arm action.

One day after the visit to Campo Las Palmas, Guerra could use a third hand as she tries to get situated at a game between Arizona Diamondback and Cincinnati Red prospects at a four-team complex surrounded by sugar cane fields. She is holding two rosters, an evaluation form, a pen and a stopwatch.

A Reds’ coach offers his can of chewing tobacco, saying, “All scouts gotta chew, right?” Guerra just laughs.

The game begins and she reminds herself to focus on evaluating players. Normally when she attends a game involving Dodger minor leaguers, the action on the field is secondary to danger signs.

“I’m looking for the 14-year-old girls hanging out by the clubhouse,” she said.

Guerra is wary for good reason. Perils abound for players with little formal education and lots of money in their wallets.

A Dominican pitcher for the Class-A Great Falls (Mont.) Dodgers was charged in 2000 with sneaking into the bedroom of a 25-year-old woman and holding a knife to her throat, intending to sexually assault her.

Ramon Martinez -- no relation to longtime major league pitchers Ramon and Pedro Martinez -- was acquitted at trial, but he spent seven months in jail, the Dodgers released him and he was deported. Now he gives speeches to young players at Campo Las Palmas about the cost of making a mistake in the U.S.

“I trained in this camp for three years and I lost it all in one heap,” Martinez said. “It’s painful to lose it all so quickly, especially if you are poor.”

Another Dodger prospect, infielder Willy Aybar, had the first installment of his $1.4-million signing bonus -- nearly $500,000 -- taken by the man who trained him as a youngster in the Dominican town of Bani.

Guerra participated in an investigation and bank records established that the man, Enrique Soto, deposited the check, but charges were never filed. She hand-delivered the second portion of Aybar’s bonus and offered to take him to a bank. When she asked him whether he wanted Soto prosecuted, Aybar said no.

“He said, ‘Luchy, it’s OK, he deserved it. He found me, he helped me,’ ” she said. “For a kid who doesn’t know the difference between $20 and $1,000, that infuriated me.”

It is episodes such as those that bring on Guerra’s migraines.

“It’s my worst fear that something will happen that is a big embarrassment to the organization,” she said.

So she employs preventive strikes, making stops at every Dodger minor league facility during the summer, checking on players. Many feel comfortable talking to Guerra about personal problems they wouldn’t discuss with the manager.

And when a player finally makes the major leagues, Guerra feels a special pride.

“I know they are taken care of on the field,” she said. “But a lot of them feel lost when they leave the ballpark. I’ve seen guys fall by the wayside. It’s very difficult for them to reach the Dodgers and it’s my job to be there for them.”