When Chambers says, ‘Hi, Pops,’ Hoover answers

In 1969, when Tim Chambers was 4 -- about 10 years before he would meet Jon Hoover, his surrogate father, the one who guided him and inspired him and loved him like a son and told him that ballplayers who throw with their left hand do not play third base -- the UNLV baseball coach developed one of the few memories he has of his biological father. It isn't pretty.

"I remember hitting him in the head with a steel skillet when he was standing on my mom's stomach when she was pregnant with my little sister," Chambers said.

And then he was gone.

"I saw him once when I was in third grade. I didn't see him again until I was 19. He was afraid I was going to beat him up. I said, 'I'm not going to beat you up. I don't even know you.' He came to my wedding ... he would send me money. Whatever. I took advantage of it."

Chambers said that was the extent of their relationship. When he was still a young man, he stopped calling and asking for money, instead waiting to see if his father would call him, just to talk, just to wish him Happy Birthday or Merry Christmas, to inquire about his granddaughter or to say,  "How 'bout them Dodgers?"

His father never called.

"The next time I saw him was after my mom called and said he was dead." 

Chambers went to the service. His father's casket was closed. Uh-uh, he said. I want to see him. Now. The funeral home was cleared. A drape was raised.

"There was a piece of cake on his chest," Chambers said, his voice neither cold nor bitter. "There was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket. OK. Good. No tears. There was no emotion.

"He was just an acquaintance to me."

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By the time Tim Chambers was 12, he had attended 13 elementary schools all over Southern California. Ontario ... Upland ... Rancho Cucamonga ... Chino ... Claremont ... Montclair ... any place there was work for his mother. Any place there was a small basement apartment to rent for the kids.

"Mom was always working three jobs and chasing another one so we would have a roof over our heads and some food to eat," he said. "When I got a pair of shoes, I'd wear 'em until they had holes on the bottom before I got another one."

By the time he was 14, Chambers was getting into fights. His aunt and uncle were moving to Utah; they were building a power plant up in Ephraim. There would be steady work. There would be fresh air, and the promise of a fresh start. 

There would be this aimless kid, standing in front of Pleasant Grove High School baseball coach Jon Hoover, saying he wanted to try out for third base despite the ratty fielder's glove on his right hand, despite the stringy hair that by then cascaded to the middle of his back.

"Usually when you have a guy go to third base and he's left-handed, he's wearing Levis," Hoover recalled. "At least he wasn't wearing Levis."

But that hair ...

"I looked like Kelly Leak," Chambers said of the long-haired star of the "Bad News Bears."

But Chambers was left-handed, and he could throw. Those traits come in handy during high school baseball doubleheaders that never end.

But that hair ...

"I told him if you listen to everything I have to say for the next four years, you can play," Hoover said. "Now go cut your (expletive) hair."

Chambers listened to everything Hoover said for the next four years. Mostly. He cut his (expletive) hair.

During summertime, Chambers didn't fight anymore. He would knock on Hoover's door. Wanna hit me some fly balls, coach?

The worst thing about not having a father, or at least one who cared, was that Chambers never had anybody to hit him fly balls.

Hoover hit him fly balls. From one side of the outfield to the other. From foul line to foul line. It was hot, and the coach figured if he made his center fielder run, he would tire and want to go home.

He would never tire. He never wanted to go home. His mom was still working two jobs. There was nobody at home who cared. Out there in the hot sun, on the dusty baseball diamond, there was somebody who cared.

"He would always say, 'One more,' " Hoover said.

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In 2003, Tim Chambers was named national coach of the year for guiding College of Southern Nevada to the national junior college championship. In 2008, Jon Hoover was named national high school coach of the year after winning his sixth state title. One didn't have to read about the other's accomplishments in the newspaper, or an alumni magazine. In the 30 years since Hoover demanded Chambers get a haircut, they have developed a special bond, the kind fathers have with sons.

To this day, Tim Chambers, 46, calls his old coach "Pops."

To this day, Jon Hoover, 60, says he has five kids: three daughters, a son and Tim.

Pops and the kid with the long hair and the ratty glove on the wrong hand got together again on Thursday. It was three days before Father's Day. Perhaps that was coincidence, perhaps it wasn't. They laughed and joked, inquired about each other's families, reminisced about ballgames won and ballgames lost, about hitting and shagging one more fly ball on a hot, dusty diamond in Utah.

There was a handshake and a hug and even some idle chit-chat about the Dodgers.

Las Vegas Review-Journal columnist Ron Kantowski can be reached at rkantowski@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0352. Follow him on Twitter: @ronkantowski.