DETROIT — as the routine and repetition of batting practice unfold on the field, there’s Bobby Jones, standing by the cage, animatedly talking ball with Michael Young and manager Ron Washington. he is, in this moment before an American League Championship Series game against the Tigers, a world away from the Army firebase he once occupied in a remote region of Vietnam and, for that matter, a world away from the Triple-A terrain he calls home. Maybe the Rangers didn’t have to have Jones on board for another ride through the rigors of the postseason, but they know that their success as an organization is due, in some part, to the grizzled war vet who has been molding minds, young and old, in their system for more than two decades. “You won’t find a guy on this team that doesn’t love him,” general manager Jon Daniels says. “He’s universally loved.” and he owes a great deal to the war that changed him and the game that saved him. * * * the 62-year-old Jones spent 20 seasons in professional baseball as a player and has spent another 24 in the Rangers organization as a manager and coach. But those experiences have been shaped, in part, by the 14 months he spent in an infantry brigade artillery unit in Vietnam from 1969 to 1971. “Vietnam helped me,” Jones says. “It made me a better person. It made me realize how important life is, how short it is.” Jones was 19 years old, two years removed from being selected by the Washington Senators in the 36th round of the First-Year Player Draft, when a decidedly different kind of draft came calling his name in April 1969. an outfielder for Class A Shelby in the Western Carolinas League, Jones got a call from his mother. She was crying. “I said, ‘What’s the matter?’” Jones recalls. “I figured somebody was sick or passed away. She said, ‘Your draft notice came.’ I said, ‘Oh, my God.’” three other members of that Shelby team were drafted at that same time. they all reported for their pre-induction physical, but only Jones was assigned to an Army unit that would eventually ship overseas. he was officially drafted that July, then spent eight weeks at Fort Bragg, N.C., for regular basic training and another eight at Fort Sill, Okla., for artillery training.
during those final weeks of training, Jones was first told to prepare to go to Korea. Then Germany. and then, finally, Vietnam. he spent 29 days on leave before shipping off to parts unknown. “You come home, and you have 29 days to think about it,” he says. “You spend some time with your family, and then you fly from Baltimore to Oakland, and the next thing you know, you’re on an airplane heading to Vietnam. You’re going to some country you’ve never heard of. You’re 18, 19 years old, and then, all of a sudden, you’re in the thick of it.” and it was awfully thick for Jones and his fellow soldiers in the Army’s Americal Division. they were stationed at Landing Zone Siberia, an artillery base that sat atop a hill overlooking the Song Tran River, about 35 miles southwest of Da Nang. For 45 consecutive days in the spring of 1970, the North Vietnamese Army barraged the base with enemy fire. from early morning to late at night, the attacks were frequent in their persistence and unpredictable in their schedule. “They tried to overrun us,” Jones says. Jones and his infantry brigade fired back. many of the soldiers who had stood by his side were killed in the seemingly endless struggle. Jones survived, but he sustained significant, permanent hearing damage in both ears.
the attacks suddenly ceased in mid-May of 1970, and Jones, who received a Bronze Star for bravery, returned stateside in February of the following year. But as was the case for so many others who survived, the psychological wounds of the war would linger long after the fighting ceased. * * * Actually, it was Jones’ burgeoning baseball career that allowed him to, initially, return to some semblance of normalcy. Mere days after returning home, he reported to Spring Training in Florida, then to Class A Anderson for the 1971 season. and though his first prewar exposure to professional ball had resulted in mostly ho-hum numbers, his performance drastically improved that first year back, as he hit .321 with 23 home runs. Jones credits his Army training for making his hands and feet sharper and swifter, and the war experience for altering his attitude. “Seeing people get killed puts everything in perspective,” he says. “When I got back, I wanted to play, and I wanted to get into the big leagues more than anything in the world. But if I don’t? Hey, that’s OK. I’ve got both of my arms and both of my legs.” the Senators moved to Texas in 1972 and, two years later, Jones made his Major League debut with the Rangers. he would go on to play parts of the next nine seasons in the bigs with the Rangers and Angels as a part-timer in the outfield. It wasn’t until 1985 that the war’s horrors finally reached out from the recesses. on Opening Day that season, Jones filled in for an injured Larry Parrish as the Rangers’ starting right fielder. the game was in Baltimore, about an hour from Jones’ hometown of Elkton, Md., and Jones got in touch with a friend from his Army unit who lived in the area. the two hadn’t seen each other since Vietnam, and they spent an off-day between games reminiscing about their experiences and looking at photos from the base. A month later, the Rangers were in Milwaukee. Jones, suddenly and inexplicably, began having vivid flashbacks and nightmares from the war. Shaking uncontrollably, he told team trainer bill Ziegler about it, and the Rangers arranged for Jones to get professional help. “I saw a psychologist, a hypnotist,” Jones remembers. “They told me something had to trigger it, and they thought seeing those pictures that day in Baltimore brought it all back again. and whatever the hypnotist said or did worked, because it hasn’t happened since.” * * * Jones’ playing days came to a close in the Minors in 1987. the following year he became the manager at Class A Port Charlotte in the Texas system. He’s been at it ever since, spending 22 seasons as a Minor League skipper (including nine of the last 10 at the Triple-A level) and two on the Major League staff. In addition to notching his 1,500th career managerial victory this year, he was named the Pacific Coast League’s Manager of the Year after guiding the round Rock Express to a division title. He’s been noted for his knack of getting the most out of his players. “Love him,” says Esteban German, who has played four seasons under Jones. “He never gets frustrated, he never changes. He’s always the same guy, and he’s always positive. there are so many ups and downs in a season, but he’s always the same. he motivates.” the Rangers’ loyalty to Jones in a business prone to impermanence is striking. It’s a credit to both sides. “I’m just lucky, I guess,” Jones says with a smile and a shrug. But Daniels digs deeper. “I don’t think people realize how tough a job that is, meaning at that level, in particular,” Daniels says. “He’s got that balance. He’s able to create that baseball environment where there’s intensity and focus, but he still manages to keep things light. he doesn’t take himself too seriously, but he takes the game seriously.” before Young, Nelson Cruz, Ian Kinsler, C.J. Wilson, Neftali Feliz and Colby Lewis were postseason stars, they all played for Jones. Even 41-year-old reliever Darren Oliver played for him, long ago. and though such things can never be measured, the anecdotal evidence suggests that Jones has had a profound impact on all of the prospects who have come up the ladder in the Texas system. “It’s cool to see all these guys come up and now getting a chance to play and doing well,” Jones says. “To see this team in the playoffs two years in a row with a chance to go to the World Series, it’s a lot of fun, and it makes you feel good.” * * * here in October, with the Triple-A season long over, Jones is still lending a hand. his role is, as he puts it, to “throw BP and stay out of the way,” but his presence is clearly appreciated by Washington, the coaching staff and the players alike. when the Rangers reached the Series last year, they dubbed Game 4 at Rangers Ballpark “Welcome Back Veterans Day,” and Jones and several other player alumni spent that morning visiting with military veterans hospitalized at the VA North Texas Health Care system in Dallas. “We saw the guys who have real problems,” Jones says. “I’m one of the lucky ones.” the war still lingers in Jones’ life. He’s on disability from the government, and every three years he’s fitted for a new hearing aid in each ear. “They say I have a 20 percent loss in each ear,” he says. “My wife and family think it’s worse. But sometimes I think it’s a good thing in managing. I can’t hear when people are yelling at me from the stands!” with great humor and humility, Jones treasures each day he can spend not only at the ballpark but on this earth. he knows, more than most, the sport’s place among life’s priorities, even when such meaningful games are being played. “This is a game,” he says. “It’s not life or death. you play hard, do the best you can and, if you don’t win, that’s all right. as long as you’re giving an honest effort. That’s how I look at life now.”
