Dream became reality in moment

Near the end of the 1976 season, the Dodgers were nine games out of first place and I was finishing my fourth year as third base coach for Walter Alston. When Alston, who was the skipper for 23 years and a future Hall of Famer, stepped down, everyone was shocked, including myself.

The next game was Alston’s last. Peter O’Malley, who was then team president, told me that he was going to call me the next morning at 9 o’clock.

All night I wondered. Of course I wanted the job, but no one ever said to me that I was going to be the next manager of the Dodgers. I believed that when the time came that Alston would step down that my loyalty, my contribution and my hard work would warrant my getting the job.

I knew I was prepared for the job. I knew I could win. I managed for eight years in the minor leagues, and in six winter ball seasons in the Dominican Republic. The majority of the players on that Dodgers team had played for me in the minor leagues, and together we won in the Rookie League, we won in triple A and we won in the Dominican, so I knew we could win in Los Angeles.

The phone finally rang at 9 the next morning and Peter told me he wanted to see me in his office at 10.

On my way in I was saying to myself, “Don’t speed, don’t get stopped by the police, don’t get into an accident.”

I stayed right within the 65-mph speed limit. While I tried to concentrate on following the rules of the road, I couldn’t help but wonder about the possibilities.

A year earlier, I was preparing to go to the Dominican to manage. John McHale, the general manager of the Montreal Expos, called my house looking for me. I had played in Montreal for a number of years and loved the city and its people. My wife called me at Dodger Stadium to let me know that Mr. McHale was looking for me.

When he called, Peter told me to take the call in his office because he had given the Expos permission to talk to me.

I told Peter that I wasn’t interested, but he convinced me to talk to them as it could never hurt me.

I knew they were going to offer me the manager job. I was already a coach, and I knew they wouldn’t offer me another job as a coach.

When McHale told me that he wanted to meet with me, I thought he was going to pick some hotel in downtown Los Angeles, but he surprised me and told me he wanted to meet with me the next morning in Denver.

“Denver?”

He told me there was a plane that would get me in at 10 a.m., we’d meet at the airport and I’d get in a plane and go back.

“OK.”

I met with him and flew home. A couple weeks later McHale called me and told me I was the new manager of the Montreal Expos. He was offering me a three-year contract for $50,000 for the first year, $75,000 for the second year, and $125,000 for the third. He told me there would be a first-class ticket waiting for me, and as soon as the World Series was over they were going to fly me to Montreal for the big announcement and that if I wanted to go back to the Dominican that would be fine.

I said, “John, if I ever left the Dodgers it would be for a guy like you. You are a classy gentleman and one of the best guys in baseball, but I can’t take the job.”

There was dead silence.

“You know, Charles [Bronfman, the Expos’ owner] told me you wouldn’t take the job. He said, ‘That boy’s got too much blue in him.’ ”

I walked into Peter’s office that day in 1976 and he asked me to sit down. He said, “You are now the manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers.”

Tears came out of my eyes. My dreams, my hopes and my prayers were all answered. What I had hoped for, what I wanted to see, what I believed in became a reality.

I thought about my father, an Italian immigrant. He had five sons and a wife, and sat at the head of the table. One night he looked at us and said, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

I jumped up out of my seat and said, “Pop, how can you say that? You work in a stone quarry, five, six days a week. You get your check on Friday and it doesn’t even belong to you. It belongs to someone you owe. How can you tell us you’re the luckiest man in the world?”

“Sit down and shut up,” he said in broken English. “When I came to this country I had nothing. Now I have a beautiful wife, and five sons. See this house? It’s mine. See that car out there? It’s mine.”

To him, that was success.

During my eight seasons in the minor leagues, there were many times that I questioned myself. I wanted to be at Dodger Stadium. I wanted to manage the Dodgers, but I knew that I first had to put in the work.

Later I told myself that if he was saying he was the luckiest man in the world, what should I be saying? I’m playing baseball for a living!

Never once did I ever complain again.

Peter had the press conference all set up in front of the Stadium Club. Before we made our way down to the onslaught of media, I walked over to the office of my mentor, Al Campanis.

Al had me primed to become the manager for many years. He made me become a scout to learn about tools. He made me become a minor league manager to learn about teaching young players to become better and to believe in themselves. He made me become a coach on Alston’s staff to learn about the other players in the National League.

I walked into his office and gave him a hug. He looked me in the eyes and said to me, “Now you are going to have to prove how good you are.” Those were his exact words.

Outside of my family, it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. It was everything I wanted. It was everything I worked hard for. All those hours I spent in the minor leagues, hoping and praying that one day I would get the job.

Over the 20 years I managed there were good times and bad times. But the good times and great times outweighed the tough times. I look at what I’ve had, I feel like I’m the luckiest guy in the whole wide world. To be able to do what I loved more than anything, and make it into baseball’s Hall of Fame, I feel like I’ve lived a dream.

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Tom Lasorda, the Dodgers’ special assistant to the chairman, managed the club from late in the 1976 season through 1996, and has worked for the organization since 1949.