Photo illustration by Pai/Bay Area News Group

Press A7 for that golden oldie about being on deck when teammate Hank Aaron hit home run No. 715 to surpass Babe Ruth for the all-time home run record on April 8, 1974

Dusty talks with his son Darren Baker, who was the 3-year-old bat boy that was saved by J.T. Snow from a potential collision at home plate. All grown up, Darren is now a freshman at Cal and plays second for the school's baseball team.

Baker, at 68, is like the greatest jukebox in baseball. He plays nothing but the hits.

I was here, too, at the Turlock Golf and Country Club on April 12, to moderate the on-stage discussion. This was the easiest gig in sports, something akin to batting practice pitcher at the Home Run Derby.

“Because I’ve missed so much of his life, all the way up,” he says now.

Dad is such a Bears fan that when the Giants called to offer Baker a job, he had one stipulation: To be able to attend all of Cal’s baseball games so he could watch Darren play ball.

The three-time manager of the year was here at the “Building Future Champions” dinner, a cause close to Baker’s heart now that his own son is student-athlete in the UC system. Darren Baker, the memorable bat boy saved from catastrophe by J.T. Snow in the 2002 World Series, is now a freshman second baseman at Cal.

Dusty Baker, back as special advisor to the Giants front office, got a warm welcome at the team's home opener, on April 3 at AT&T Park, where he made his first appearance in a Giants uniform since Game 7 of the 2002 World Series.

Baker’s words can have a lingering impact, like ripples drifting toward the shore. And he got a reminder of that again on this night, where he was stunned to encounter a child he had given a pep talk to more than 35 years earlier. More on that later.

The thing about Dusty’s stories, though, is that the best ones have the narrative arc of a fable. There’s a moral in the story somewhere, a lesson about sportsmanship or childhood or parenthood or even life and death.

Baker riffed on Hank Aaron and historic high-fives and a little bat boy who grew up to become a ballplayer. Baker can tell a ripping good yarn — talk about spin rate — and even managed to conduct a one-way conversation with Rufus, the school mascot, about how mascots aren’t allowed to talk.

The former Giants manager, back in the fold for the team as a special adviser to the front office, was telling tales as soon as he rolled into the parking lot for this fundraiser in support of UC Merced athletics.

Baker came here to talk, and on that front it was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

USTY BAKER barely touched his spinach salad. The chicken and mashed potatoes sat ignored.

“But I’ll tell the world that Glenn Burke created the high-five, not me,” Baker said. “I just gave it back to him.”

As he headed back to the dugout, on-deck hitter Glenn Burke raised his hand high and waited for Baker to respond. Baker reached up and smacked away, and the rest is history. By 1980, the Dodgers were selling “High-Five” T-shirts with a trademarked logo.

“This is no lie. The ball, like, stopped,” he said, mimicking placing a ball on a batting tee. “It was going 100 miles per hour and it just stopped. I hit it over the center-field fence.”

When Baker came up in the seventh, he believed. And the darndest thing happened.

“You have to believe! You have to!” Lasorda persisted.

“Dusty! I don’t want to hear that! Did you think the children of Israel were going to die before the parting of the Red Sea. If they didn’t believe, they would have perished!”

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Behind the legend of the legendary hand gesture

He was still muttering his disgust in the dugout when manager Tommy Lasorda overheard him. Lasorda exploded.

When Dusty struck out in the fourth inning, he mentally surrendered any chance of making the Dodgers the first team in major league history with four 30-homer sluggers. It didn’t help that on his way back to the dugout, he saw a fan forking over a wad of cash to his friend — they had clearly just bet on Baker striking out.

To make matters worse, Smith had brazenly told Richard a few days earlier Baker was going to tag him for No. 30. “I’m like, man, he didn’t need any more motivation, Reggie,” Baker said.

Richard was 6-foot-8. “He was my nemesis,” Baker said. “I’m serious. I hated facing J.R.”

EARSOME FIREBALLER J.R. Richard was on the mound for the Houston Astros, an unwelcome sight for Baker who was looking to become the fourth Dodgers hitter with 30 home runs that season. Steve Garvey, Ron Cey and Reggie Smith were already there; Baker was on 29 heading into the regular-season finale.

Dodgers outfielder Glenn Burke, an Oakland native, celebrated a Dusty Baker home run on Oct. 2, 1977, by raising his hand above his head and waiting for Dusty Baker to smack it back. Some sports historians now point to that act as the first documented “high five.”

To get his milestone 30th home run on the last day of the 1977 season, Dusty Baker had to overcome J.R. Richard of the Houston Astros, one of the hardest-throwing pitchers of his day. “My nemesis,” Baker called him.

Press B17 for the disco-era classic about taking part in what is sometimes hailed as the first documented high-five, on Oct. 2, 1977

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“I turn around and everybody’s gone,” Baker said. “I’m like, ‘Wait a minute. I’m about to hit!’ I hit a double and nobody saw it.”

After Aaron hit No. 715 that night, there was an on-field ceremony with the slugger’s family that Baker recalls taking about 30 minutes. By the time he finally got to the plate, he had resolved to hit a home run, too, in Aaron’s honor. The only problem? He was distracted by clattering throughout Fulton County Stadium. It was the sound of clanking metal seats snapping back into place as fans headed for the exits.

Aaron would always, always conclude those conversations by asking the kid, “Do you understand?”

“This guy wasn’t being like Muhammad Ali and telling you what round he was going to knock somebody out,” Baker said. “He was actually teaching me and I didn’t know he was teaching me. He’d say, ‘Dusty, this guy is going to throw me a slider low-and-away and I’m going to hit it over the right-field fence.’ Or, ‘This is how I’m going to set this guy up and get a fastball.’ “

The prediction was not unusual. Aaron used to say stuff like this to Baker all the time. It took a while for Dusty, who was in his early 20s while with Atlanta, to realize that Aaron wasn’t showing off.

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Dusty shares his story of Hank Aaron breaking the home run record and having to follow that up being the next batter up.

“He told me he was going to break the record. He wasn’t bragging. He just said, ‘Hey, I’m going to get it over with right now,’ “ Baker said.

Before heading to the plate to face Al Downing with one out in the fourth inning, he casually mentioned something to the on-deck hitter.

Lesser known is that Aaron called his shot, too, with No. 715, but he did it in his typically understated style.

UTH purportedly called his shot, pointing to the bleachers before hitting the ball there in the 1932 World Series.

Minutes before Hank Aaron launched this pitch from Al Downing for his 715th career home run, he told Dusty Baker — the on-deck hitter — that he was about to break Babe Ruth's all-time record. 'He wasn’t bragging,' Baker recalled. 'He just said, ‘Hey, I’m going to get it over with right now.'

Press D22 for the grungy ballad about the little batboy who wandered into harm’s way during Game 5 of the 2002 World Series

Jeff Vendsel/Marin IJ J.T. Snow scoops Darren Baker out of the way of David Bell who was on his way to the plate as both Snow and Bell score in the 7th inning. Before the game, Dusty Baker's mom told him she had a bad feeling and urged the manager to give his 3-year-old son a night off from bat boy duties.

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ALK ABOUT CALLED SHOTS. Christine Baker saw this one coming. “My mom told me before the game, ‘I have a bad feeling about this game. He shouldn’t be bat boy today,’ “ Dusty recalled. Baker, not for the first time, ignored his momma. “I’m like, ‘Mom, come on. He knows what he’s doing.’ ” In this case, Baker’s stubborn streak was premeditated. Less than a year earlier, in December of 2001, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. The reason he insisted on Darren being the bat boy that night, even at age 3, is that he was thinking about his own mortality. “I was in a bad way,” Baker said. “You’re always fearful that the cancer is going to go back on you. So I just said, ‘Hey, man. I don’t care. I’m going to give my son everything that I can give him in case I’m not here anymore.’ “ The problem is that the bat boy system unraveled that night. In general, kids got their father’s bats. J.T. Snow, Shawon Dunston and Barry Bonds all had kids working that night, too. “So Kenny Lofton was my son’s designated father,” Baker said. “Because my son had asked me: ‘Dad, what do you do? All you do is sit around. Everybody else’s dad is playing, right?’ “ But when Lofton tripled in the bottom of the seventh, another kid — one representing executive Larry Baer — ran out to grab Lofton’s bat. “And my son says, ‘No, you’re not!’ and he ran out there before the other kid did,” Baker said. “I went to grab him and it was too late.” Darren Baker toddled dangerously close to the action as David Bell was coming into score before Snow grabbed the kid by the jacket and rescued him from a wipeout at home plate. The Giants beat the Angels 16-4 that night, but Darren’s grandmother was in no mood to celebrate. “So the game is over and the phone rings. I mean, I didn’t sit down for 30 seconds,” Dusty said. He had been hoping she didn’t watch the game. Instead, Christine Baker let loose. “You’re going to get that boy killed. I told you he shouldn’t be out there. You don’t ever listen to me.” “Mom, I have to go,” Baker replied, staring at an office full of reporters. “Ohhhh, no,” Christine said. “You tell the press to wait. Because you’re going to hear this.”

Press G11 for a tale of inspiration — the kind of thing Giants fans used to call “Dustiny.”

Photo courtesy of UC Merced Dusty Baker told the crowd behind-the-scenes stories of Hank Aaron, Tommy Lasorda and the famous 2002 World Series bat boy incident during a Q&A moderated by Daniel Brown of the Bay Area News Group.

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ECAUSE THE AUDIENCE included plenty of college students, Baker repeatedly touched on education. “Teachers are so very, very, important in your life,” he said. Growing up in Riverside, he had Mrs. Shapiro in the seventh grade. She asked students to do an oral report on what they wanted to be when they grew up. “And in my book report was: ‘I’m going to be a pro,’” Baker said. “And I didn’t know what sport. I just knew I was going to be a pro.” As he delivered his report, though, his classmates snickered. And they did so loudly. Until Mrs. Shapiro did something he never forgot. “She stopped them from laughing,” he said. “She said, ‘Dusty, if you think you’re going to be a pro, you will be a pro.’ “ Baker smiled. This Sept. 7 will mark 50 years since his major league debut. At this point, a UC Merced official signaled for me to wrap things up. Dusty, meanwhile, wanted to take on a few questions from the audience.

Dusty Baker’s “Dustiny” Where he draws his source of inspiration Your browser does not support the audio element. Recorded April 12 at the “Building Future Champions” UC Merced athletics fundraiser. Moderator: Daniel Brown

Neither of those things happened. Instead, the ripples were reaching the shore. With the story about Mrs. Shapiro’s words of encouragement still fresh in the air, I told Dusty about the 12-year-old boy who had written him a fan letter back in 1982. The kid addressed the letter to Dodger Stadium to say that, even as a Giants fan, he could admire Baker because he played the game hard and with respect and with class. Baker wrote back to the kid right away, scribbling an extra note on the envelope: “Danny, that was a great letter! Work hard in school and good luck!” To his surprise, that kid was at the UC Merced fundraiser. Because that kid was me. I wasn’t here for the salad, either. I finally told him how, as an 8th-grader who hoped to become a sports scribe, hearing writing encouragement from an All-Star ballplayer only fueled my dreams. I’ve known Dusty for 18 years and been in his office hundreds of times and never managed to spit that story out. For reasons unclear to me now, I feared the awkwardness of sounding like a fan instead of a properly hardened and cynical scribe. For a spell, I kept that envelope in my computer bag — until it inexplicably vanished one day, probably swept up with the popcorn kernels and half-eaten garlic fries. So when the show was over, and the audience gave us a Hallmark-style cheer, Baker embraced me on stage. “How come you never told me that before?” he whispered. “It was never the right time,” I replied, lamely. Sometimes, the waves have to cross an ocean.

Courtesy of Daniel Brown 12-year-old Daniel Brown, posing for his Cotati Little League photo. As a kid, Brown wrote a letter to Dusty Baker, then a player for the LA Dodgers. To Brown’s surprise, Baker sent a letter back, which encouraged Brown so much, he pursued his dream of becoming a sportswriter.