A Father’S Baseball Dream Becomes a Son’S Journey

CHAPTER 1

A Father’s Dream Begins

As Julie Andrews sang in The Sound of Music, Let’s start at the very beginning… For me, Don Pries, this story about my life begins with: (a) a very special pair of parents, George and Minna Pries; (b) my brother Bob; (c) a life chock-full of love; and (d) a father’s dream for his son-and Bob’s brother-Don.

My dad was an experienced printer who worked for Sunset Press, a printing company in San Francisco, California. Sunset Press produced the very popular and well-known Sunset Magazine which is still very popular today. My dad’s only personal experience, as a baseball player, came from a company-sponsored semi-pro baseball team that played all of their games at Golden Gate Park in San Francisco.

Back in those days, it was the norm for companies to sponsor athletic teams. Most of the time, those teams were baseball or bowling teams. My dad played for his company team, The Sunset Press, as an outfielder and pitcher. My dad loved everything about baseball. It was playing baseball on those fields in San Francisco for his company team where my father began and grew the seeds of the dream of his lifetime.

My father had a life-long dream, and his dream was for his son to become a Major League Baseball player. The commitment of my Father to this lofty dream was ongoing and constant. I may have fallen a little bit short of your dream, Dad, but it wasn’t because your life wasn’t dedicated to making that dream happen.

CHAPTER 2

The Early Years

From the time - at the age of three - when my father gave me my first baseball glove that I took to bed with me, to the times of Dad’s building a home plate and pitching mound in our driveway at home, to the countless hours of his playing catch with me every evening after coming home from work, to the long sessions of his throwing batting-pitching to me, even until he reached the age of fifty-four - my father’s dream and unwavering goal was the major leagues for me, his son Don.

Once, at the age of six, as I lay on an operating room table with a broken arm, I remember my father asking the surgeon if the operation would prevent me from playing in the major leagues.

As I began to grow and develop my skills and strength, my love of baseball grew. By playing on organized youth baseball teams, the commitment of my father to the dream of his son becoming a Major League Baseball player was ongoing. My dad became an assistant coach on several of the youth teams on which I played. It was very special on the days that we won. However, on the days that we lost, hearing about the mistakes that we made once again at the dinner table was not always a pleasant experience. As I grew and matured, there was high-school baseball and exciting times of attending tryout camps conducted by major league teams. One tryout camp I will never forget was held by the Brooklyn Dodgers in San Mateo, California.

The Dodgers were paying the greatest amount of attention to two infielders. Indeed, those two infielders were the prize of the camp.Their names were Bobby Brown and Jerry Coleman. Bobby Brown became a third baseman for the New York Yankees and later he became the president of the American League. Jerry Coleman became a second baseman for the New York Yankees and, later he became a long-time broadcaster for the San Diego Padres.

I was only sixteen years old at the time and I was a very timid guy hiding behind a tree. There was another timid young player hiding behind the same tree, and I said, I’ll go out, if you will. He replied, Let’s go.

We gathered our courage and came out from behind the tree and approached the coach at the Dodger tryout camp. The coach conducting the camp was a long-time Dodger employee named Jake Pitler. Pitler asked both of us, How old are you two? We each answered, with all the confidence we could muster, sixteen, sir. He kindly responded, Come back next year. The other timid sixteen-year- old became a long-time major league player and manager named Frank Lucchesi. Frank managed the Philadelphia Phillies (1970-1972) and the Texas Rangers (1975-1977). For two scared boys hiding behind a tree, we both fared pretty well in the professional baseball industry.

My father was a calm man with no highs or lows by nature. He also was a very physically strong man. I can only remember his hitting me once. I was eight years old, and we were sitting at the kitchen table having dinner. I had done something wrong, and my mom slapped my hand. I responded by poking her side with my fork, and my father hit me. I wound up hiding under the kitchen stove. I learned a lesson the hard way.

Youth baseball ended as I entered high school. I progressed athletically, acquiring all-county awards in both basketball and baseball. My home city of Alameda, California, although not a large city, had two good baseball fields, Lincoln and Washington Parks. Both parks were conducive to developing players - through the American Legion program - as well as through semipro baseball programs.

Professional baseball scouts were active in the San Francisco Bay Area, and I had gained some attention at the time of my becoming eligible to sign professionally in the season of 1944. The first professional baseball scout to come to my home was Tom Downey with the Brooklyn Dodgers. He called for an appointment with my father and me, and I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I remember answering the door and upon opening it seeing Tom and Mrs. Downey standing there as well.

As the evening unfolded, my father and I both learned that Tom was the evaluator, and Mrs. Downey was the negotiator. My father and I were totally unprepared, as we didn’t know what to expect - or what we would be offered, such as bonuses or salaries. These were confidential matters and not commonly discussed in those days. Out of the blue, Mrs. Downey asked, Mr. Pries, what type of bonus money would you expect if Don were to sign a contract with the Brooklyn Dodgers?

My father confidently responded: Thirty thousand dollars!

Thank you very much, Mr. Pries, responded Mrs. Downey, and out the front door they went in a flash. They were gone, and for all I knew, so were my chances of ever becoming a professional baseball player.

In disbelief, I asked my father, Dad, where did that dollar amount come from?

I don’t know, he replied. It just popped into my head.

Gone! - I thought. "My opportunities to get into professional baseball are over."

Things began to look up again soon though. Within a week of our disastrous meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Downey, a phone call came from Willis Butler, a Cleveland Indians scout and former major league player. On the phone, Mr. Butler said, I understand you’re interested in signing a professional baseball contract. Is that true?

Yes, sir, I replied.

Then, Butler told me, I live here in Richmond, California. My address is 30 Hayward Street-very easy to find. I own a chicken ranch. Come this Saturday at 1:00 p.m.

I thanked him and agreed to visit him, with my Father on Saturday. I paused and reflected for another moment. Just a minute, I thought, a professional baseball scout wants to sign me - He doesn’t come to my house; I go to his house, and it’s a chicken ranch? I continued to ponder the situation with some concern. It seemed a little strange, for sure, but I didn’t want to blow it this time.

My father and I drove to Richmond, California, the following Saturday as instructed, and, sure enough, it really was a chicken ranch, with white Leghorn chickens all over the place.

The entire meeting only took about fifteen minutes. Butler gave us the bottom line - Offer: $2,500 bonus. A $225 salary per month. My dad replied, Perfect. No chance for poor judgment this time. Not another word. Just that quickly, just like that, the deal was sealed. Right in the middle of his chicken ranch he concluded the meeting and told me, Report to spring training, in Frederick, Maryland, on March 24, 1945.

I was seventeen years old at the time, and I could hardly contain myself with joy. My father and I were both excited. We also were relieved that things were going much better with the Cleveland scout than with our first contract meeting with the Downeys.

Butler further explained to me, Your club will be Batavia (New York) of the Class D Pony League. The Cleveland Indians minor league training Camp will be shared with the Philadelphia Athletics, managed by Connie Mack.

My father, mom, and brother were extremely proud. My father’s dream had just cleared a huge hurdle and was actually closer to becoming a reality. I had signed a professional baseball contract to play in the minor league system for the Cleveland Indians. I was elated!

I then approached my high school principal, Matt Bryan. Unless something changed, my class graduation would be in June -1945. If graduating in January were possible, then I could report to spring training in time for the 1945 season. Mr. Bryan, I have decided to sign a professional baseball contract, and I am scheduled to graduate in June. If at all possible, is graduating in January realistic?

Bryan said, Let me look up your records. You are five credits shy of qualifying for graduation. What did you do this past summer?

I worked in the project homes as a playground director.

Playground director, Hmm - That sounds like national defense work to me… Five credits. I was thankful and greatly relieved!

On Sunday, March 18, while playing in a semi-pro game at Washington Park, I was in a collision at first base and dislocated my left shoulder. This was 3 days before I was to depart for my first experience in professional baseball. What was I to do? Do I telephone the Cleveland Indians and tell them of my injury? My mind was in a jumble and my heart was in a panic state. No way! I thought. They’ll tell me to stay home, and I certainly don’t want that." I was afraid my chances for a career in Major League baseball would be in jeopardy. So, with my left arm in a sling, I boarded the train at Oakland. This 17-year old was headed for Frederick, Maryland, and the start of a career in baseball. With a stop in Chicago, the train finally pulled into Maryland. There, I headed by bus to the hotel in Frederick.

CHAPTER 3

An Onward Journey

Perhaps one of my all-time thrills came about when I arrived at my hotel in Fredrick MD. Standing in front of the hotel was one of the all-time great legends of professional baseball, Connie Mack. Right in front of me, I saw Connie Mack. There he was, tall in stature, wearing a hat, black suit, and tie, the