'i Managed Good, But Boy Did They Play Bad'

Rocky has always had to scuffle. "When I was a kid," he says, "I sold newspapers, delivered them, stole them." Even when he was a big-leaguer, he was still making it the hard way. He worked winters for a foundry pouring centrifugal die castings, for Boraxo cleaning out furnaces and sacking soap, and for a pipeline outfit. "I drove a Mexican diesel," he says, "that's a wheelbarrow. I was on a jackhammer. I dug holes. It not only kept me in shape but, more important, it kept me in money." Since he has been with Los Angeles (the Bees have a working agreement with the Angels) life has been sweeter. Last winter, for instance, Rocky worked for Oscar Gregory, a Paramount, Calif. Chevrolet dealer. "I do lip flappers [luncheon and banquet speeches]," he says. "I'm very big with the Elks."

Rocky is married to the former Mary Alway. "We're just like everybody else," he says, "cat, dog, four kids and debts. I used to lead the league in windows [the envelopes that bills come in]." His children are: Melinda, 11, Lance, 9, Cory, 6 and a baby, John Roland. Rocky cannot recall where the name Lance came from. "I don't remember a bar by that name," he says. "I married my wife on her birthday to cut down on expenses. One kid was born on December 30 so I could claim the deduction. We're a family of conveniences."

Rocky is not handy around the house. "I couldn't fix a track meet," he says. He does like to cook, however. He carries a recipe for veal parmigiana in his wallet that he clipped from a home magazine. Rocky's major diversion is golf. "I play at it," he says. "I know that people who have seen me out on the course find it mighty hard to believe that golf's my hobby. Actually, it's not a hobby. It's an ordeal. I'd do much better if they'd build golf courses in a circle. You see, I have this slice...."

This season Rocky Bridges is living alone at a Holiday Inn in Sunnyvale, 11 miles from the Bees' ball park. "It's a more lonely life than I'm used to," he says. "You can't run around with the troops, and I miss my wife and kids. I write her, but she says I put more on the envelope than in the letter." Rocky sits by the motel pool with the papers until Larry Klaus, the team trainer, comes by to pick him up. In the majors, Rocky was always the first one in the clubhouse. He's still an early bird, getting to the park at 3 for an 8 p.m. game. "Rocky's lost away from a ball park," says Klaus.

At Municipal Stadium, Rocky puts on a pair of shorts and shower clogs, sticks a chaw of Beechnut in his cheek, sets up a chair in the sun behind third and reads Better Homes and Gardens or House Beautiful. His view is the outfield fence, which is decorated with ads for Berti's Bail Bonds, Robbie's Wheel Service and the Moderne Drug Co., and beyond it the Santa Cruz Mountains.

"I started chewing in this league," Rocky says. "Guy got me chewing tobacco and smoking cigars the same night. I like a fat cigar. It's easier to chew. I used to have my trips measured by cigars. From Cincinnati to Long Beach was 40 cigars. It was 50 from Washington. I can't chew much around the house. I'm a closet chewer. I always liked to chew when I played ball. When you slide head first, you're liable to swallow a little juice, though. A lot of my troops be chewing lately, but not many be buying. I expect to get irate letters from their moms any day now. It's like a PTA meeting when the moms come around. I always manage to think of something good to tell them their sons are doing." The moms try to please Rocky, too. One day he got a note from a mother thanking him for letting her son off to go to his sister's high school graduation. Accompanying the note was a gift-wrapped five-pack of cigars.

One afternoon, as Rocky was climbing into his uniform, Al Coutts, an All-America second baseman from Los Angeles State, joined the team.

"Here's our new stooge, Larry," said Rocky.

"What size uniform you take?" asked Larry.

"Thirty-two," said Coutts.