Far from Common — Thoughts from Dusty Baker

With the release of Crossroads: A Memoir of Baseball and Life, the Olympic Club hosted an evening with Dusty Baker on Friday, September 11, 2026. I wasn't about to miss the chance to meet, greet, listen to, and learn from the former San Francisco Giants manager. D-Bake isn't just one of the cooler cats around; he is beloved. He is anything but ordinary.

Why do I say that? He told me so.

I already knew a little about the Riverside native. He was just four years younger than Bobby Bonds an MLB great whose son Barry played Dusty. Reading about Barry, Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds and the Making of an Antihero that gave me a deeper appreciation for the extraordinary place in which they both grew up. What is now known as the Inland Empire was a remarkably vibrant and diverse corner of Southern California, where racial diversity was part of the fabric of the community and young athletes—boys and girls alike—had opportunities to play, compete, and develop.

When Norton Air Force Base closed, the Baker family relocated to Sacramento, where Dusty's father, Johnnie Baker, found work at McClellan Air Force Base. Dusty and his brother enrolled at Del Campo High School in Carmichael. They were the only two Black students on campus—and quite possibly in Carmichael, too.

I know a little about Carmichael because it's home to Jesuit High School. As another school in Jesuits West, I've attended several programs on its campus, spoken with its coaches, and worked with its administrators. They take Ignatian spirituality seriously.

Although Dusty didn't attend Jesuit, the opening passage of his book makes me think he would have understood its approach to people:

I was raised to give everyone a chance. Or at least to try. My parents taught us to keep our eyes open and to trust our feelings about people. If you did that, you could trust that person enough to let them show you who they are. You might end up being disappointed, but more often than not, you would see the good in people. That core conviction has turned into a lifelong philosophy of mine.

That attitude isn't all that different from known a tool in a Jesuit toolbox. The Presupposition is a fancy term that essentially encourages us to assume another’s best intentions. Although Ignatius intended his guidance as a sort of grounding understanding between a retreatant and their guide, the Presupposition is excellent advice for, well, anybody who’s ever had to deal with the idiosyncrasies of another human being. 

I'd argue it's one reason Dusty has found such success in life, in the dugout, and on the diamond.

For over an hour, Dusty shared lessons he'd learned from the likes of Hank Aaron and Willie Mays. He told stories about hunting with Will Clark and working with strong personalities like Jeff Kent and Barry Bonds.

When I had the chance to ask a question, I asked about his experience taking over the Houston Astros in 2020.

You might recall that the Astros fired manager A.J. Hinch in January of that year following his suspension by MLB for his role in the team's sign-stealing scandal. Dusty took over and managed the team from 2020 through 2023, winning the 2022 World Series.

As much as I hated the Astros, it was hard to cheer against Dusty. I know I'm not alone in that sentiment.

Dusty thanked me for the question. He explained that the first thing to understand was that he'd inherited a very good team. Too often, managers are brought in without a roster full of talent. The scandal was infuriating because the Astros had assembled a talented team and then undermined the legitimacy of their accomplishments by cheating. They didn't have to do that!

But Dusty also pointed out that the COVID-19 pandemic had an unexpected benefit: there were no fans in the stands, just cardboard cutouts. The team would have faced much more heat from the fans if the stadiums had been full.

After the talk and Q&A, I went over to have Dusty sign my book.

"You're the one who asked a good question," he said.

Note to self: Make your audience feel seen, heard, and special.

I also congratulated him on his induction into the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum's Hall of Game. I told him I'd visited the museum while in Kansas City.

"With all due respect to what they have there, I think it's totally underwhelming," I said. "Considering what those athletes accomplished, especially under those circumstances, I believe the Hall should make a statement. It's housed inside a modern, multipurpose building."

"I totally agree," he responded.

I explained that I loved the exhibits and learned a great deal, but that the physical space should reflect the extraordinary significance of the people and history it preserves. Across the way is a jazz museum. The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum deserves to stand alone, too."

I purchased a book while I was there, "Satchel Paige: Maybe I'll Pitch Forever."

He responded "I played with Satchel."

I could hardly believe it! I said, "well, I'm mentioning that because if you ever want to add a quote to the front of your book, he has a good one. It was also used in the first episode of Ted Lesson, Season 4, when Higgins visited the Negro Hall of Fame." I handed Dusty my iPhone so he could read it from the screen.

“Ain't no man can avoid being born average. But there ain't no man that got to be common.”—Satchel Paige.

I said, "that's you."

"I never thought I was common. Not me" he replied.

I loved the quiet confidence of that response. Dusty knows who he is, and he doesn't need to pretend otherwise. There's something compelling about that kind of self-assurance, especially when it comes with a willingness to build others up.

Throughout the evening, Dusty spoke candidly about race and acknowledged the challenges he'd faced. But what struck me most was that he didn't seem interested in letting those challenges define him—or in allowing them to keep him from seeing the good in others. His philosophy is rooted in giving people a chance, recognizing their gifts, and treating them as more than whatever assumptions others might make about them.

Perhaps that's part of what makes Dusty Baker so special. He knows he's not common, but he doesn't need to make anyone else feel small to prove it. He remembers the person who asked a good question. He credits the talent of the team he inherited. He carries the wisdom of the people who came before him. And he makes room for others to be seen, heard, and appreciated.

Satchel Paige was right: Nobody has to be common. But maybe the real measure of an extraordinary person isn't simply knowing that about yourself. It's helping other people believe it about themselves, too.