Players such as Chipper Jones and Brian McCann have given the Braves a picturesque model of the father-son baseball relationship.
For 20 years, fans have seen the fruits of the time Larry Wayne Jones Jr. and Larry Sr. spent in the backyard and the high school field where Larry Sr. coached. Fans reveled in their matching smiles the night in June when No. 10, a jersey number they had both worn, was retired at Turner Field.
It’s not uncommon to see Howie McCann, a former college and now self-employed hitting coach, standing alone down the left-field line during Braves batting practice. That’s his favorite vantage point to watch McCann as he works the ball from one side of the field to the other.
Some of the best pure hitters to come through the Braves organization have been bred by baseball fathers. Now Chris Johnson, son of a baseball coach, too, leads the National League in hitting with a .339 batting average.
Johnson was a relative unknown in Atlanta when he arrived in an offseason trade, a so-called “throw-in” to fill a third base need in the deal that brought Justin Upton from Arizona. His new teammates and coaches quickly came to respect his clubhouse demeanor, work ethic, and uncanny knack for what both Jones and McCann call “staying inside the ball.”
Given Johnson’s upbringing, it only makes sense, right? But for Johnson, the father-son relationship was more complicated than picket fences and backyard catch.
One of the hard truths for those with baseball as a lifelong passion is the distance it can create. Chris’ father, Ron, is a minor league baseball lifer. Outside of two seasons as first-base coach for the Boston Red Sox under Terry Francona, he has managed and coached for nearly 30 years in the minor leagues. After working jobs from Pawtucket, R.I., to Portland, Maine, and from Omaha, Neb., to Wichita, Kan., he’s now manager of the Norfolk Tides, the Triple-A affiliate of the Baltimore Orioles.
The distance caused a rift when Johnson was growing up.
“It took me until I got to pro ball to figure out why he wasn’t around,” Chris said. “Why it was harder to see him and talk to him and stuff like that.”
His parents divorced when Chris was 8. He grew up in Ft. Myers, Fla. He would spend time in the summers going to the field with his father, but when baseball got serious for him, too, with travel ball and high school baseball, his father couldn’t be there. Ron Johnson went to only one of Chris’s high school games and one of his games at Stetson University. The Red Sox paid to fly Ron to Chris’ major league debut in 2009 with the Astros.
“I think for a long time Chris thought I just went away,” Ron Johnson said. “It was tough. It always bothered me. Once he got in pro ball, I think he realized what the deal actually was. It is hard. This business is hard that way.”
That’s part of what has made this season so special.
Pinned to the wall in Johnson’s office in Norfolk, Va., is the Sunday sports section listing major league batting leaders. Second from the top, trailing only 2012 AL Triple Crown-winner Miguel Cabrera, is Chris Johnson.
“My players are sick of reading about him, I think,” Ron said laughing. “And once I get those Braves highlights — he hits a bomb or something — I’ll replay them 100 times.”
Having the Braves play Sunday night games on ESPN each of the past two weeks worked out well for Ron. Norfolk’s game was over in time for him to catch most of the Braves-Phillies game Sunday. He loved watching Johnson shoot a two-strike fastball that was thrown middle in to right field off veteran left-hander Cliff Lee.
Chris played only about 200 miles north of Norfolk this week against the Washington Nationals. The Tides, ironically, hosted the Gwinnett Braves. But their games were at the same time every night. On Monday night, though, Ron managed a glimpse of his son facing Stephen Strasburg.
“I got kicked out of the game in about the fifth, so I got to catch the last part of that one,” said Ron Johnson, who was ejected after arguing a play at first base. “Worked out perfect.”
Chris and his father stay in touch over the phone. His father has encouraged patience when he needs it and kept the conversation light when he’s on a streak, like the eight consecutive multihit games Johnson compiled recently to match a Braves franchise record.
“He’s a baseball guy, so he understands all those ups and downs,” Chris said.
From his father, Johnson learned not to complain but appreciate hitting low in the order if that’s where his manager wants him, to stay patient in a platoon before he claimed the everyday job over Juan Francisco, and to appreciate most of all being in the major leagues, playing on a winning team.
“The personal goals are great,” Ron said. “I can look at those because I’m his Pop, but I just like the fact that he’s developed into a quality major leaguer, that’s on a winning team and that can help them win.”
When told what his father had said, Chris said, “Yeah, that’s cool. That’s the best part.”
Ron is quick to credit Chris and the Braves coaches for the work he’s doing at the plate this year.
“I wish I could say it was me, but he’s done it on his own,” Ron said. “He really has.”
What Chris got from his father was baseball in the blood and a new understanding of the sacrifices it requires.
“Now I understand the business,” said Johnson, 28. “I understand how it works, and I don’t have much time myself. It makes sense as I grow up and understand.”
When Ron remarried, he was quick to explain to his wife, Daphne, what baseball means to him.
“I told my wife, ‘You’re going to find out, this is not what I do, this is what I am,’” Ron said. “And whether it’s a gift or a curse, Chris has the same thing. It’s what you are. He’s had the fever since he was little.
“He turned into a great big ol’ strong boy who can swing the bat. He plays good defense, too. I think he’s done a nice job. Couldn’t be more proud of him.”
