It might not seem very long ago that Darryl Strawberry was terrorizing major league pitchers with his big, left-handed power swing, a smooth but fearsome cut that evoked such legends as Ted Williams.
Between 1983 and 1999, the 6-foot-6 right fielder clubbed 335 home runs, drove in 1,000 runs, made eight All-Star teams and contributed to three World Series championships.
But as he spoke at a state prison in Western Maryland, the 61-year-old with the shaved head and imposing voice made it as clear as a screaming line drive that as far as he’s concerned, the Darryl Strawberry who earned fame, fortune and a life of worldly privilege as a ballplayer no longer exists.
“He’s dead. I killed him,” Strawberry told a hushed crowd of 150 inmates in a gym at the Roxbury Correctional Institution. “If I hadn’t, I’d never have been born again in the spirit.”
The life Strawberry lives today, to borrow from biblical parlance, is as far from the world of Major League Baseball as the east is from the west. An ordained minister and evangelical preacher since the early 2000s, he’s on the road about 250 days a year, often traveling solo, sharing his take on the Christian gospel in prisons, churches and schools.
Strawberry addressed inmates Wednesday at two medium security prisons in Hagerstown, Roxbury and the Maryland Correctional Institution-Hagerstown, then spoke at the Western Correctional Institution, a maximum security prison in Cumberland. All three are prisons for men. Strawberry plans to speak Sunday at Bridgeway Community Church in Columbia.
“I make time for prisons,” he said in an interview with The Baltimore Sun. “I like the people. These are men living outside society. They’re broken. They’re hurting. They end up in here because of bad decisions. That’s just like me; I made bad decisions.
“Was I a criminal? No, I had addiction problems. But I made bad decisions. I think there are a lot of men in prison who think they’re losers, but they’re not. They’re empty on the inside.”
The final “Amen” of Strawberry’s appearance at Roxbury was followed by resounding applause.
“I love the walk that he’s on,” said Christopher, a 32-year-old inmate from Baltimore who said he’s a lifelong Christian. “Sometimes a brother just needs to hear a piece of advice he might not be getting from his home environment. [Strawberry] shows if you put Jesus in the center of your life, there’s no wall that can hold you in.”
After making his mark during the first portion of his career — an eight-year stint with the Mets in which he hit 252 home runs and helped propel the team to a World Series title in 1986 — Strawberry seemed bound for the Hall of Fame.
After he left for the Los Angeles Dodgers as a free agent in 1990, though, his play and his life in general began a downward spiral. He never made it to Cooperstown.
Strawberry was arrested twice in the early 1990s for allegedly striking women. The Dodgers cut him in 1994 after he missed an exhibition game and admitted to a drug problem. A year later, he was suspended again after testing positive for cocaine. He was suspended twice more while a backup player for the New York Yankees. By 2000, his career was over.
The next half-dozen years saw Strawberry in and out of drug rehabilitation centers, disciplined for violating the terms of court-ordered probations, and getting arrested in the wake of cocaine binges. He spent 11 months in a federal prison in Florida.
“I was crazy, like a lot of these guys in here,” he said.
He shared Wednesday the personal story he hopes will encourage his fellow imperfect humans. Microphone in hand, he spoke of being raised in troubled South Central Los Angeles, where his alcoholic father told his children they’d never amount to anything, often beat them and their mother, and once came home with a shotgun threatening to kill the whole family.
“If my mother hadn’t stopped us, my brothers and I would have killed him,” Strawberry said.
Escaping to baseball, he was such a star in high school he became the No. 1 pick in the 1980 MLB draft. He was named National League Rookie of the Year in 1983. The accolades and money poured in, and the success went to his head.
“I thought I had it going on,” he said, striding back and forth in front of his audience. “I thought I was all that and a bag of chips. I was a fool living a foolish life and had a bunch of fools following me.”
In our natural state, he told his rapt audience, human beings want to live like gods, striving to do what we want, when we want. His stature as a famous ballplayer only worsened the situation. Showered with temptations, he took full advantage and came to believe he needed no advice from anyone.
It wasn’t until 2003, Strawberry said, that he began seeing things differently. Still in the throes of addiction, he met Tracy Boulware, a recovering addict and devout Christian, at a Narcotics Anonymous convention. She was the only one there who knew nothing of his fame and he recalled her displeasure at the hordes of people crowding around, seeking autographs.
“She said, ‘Leave the man alone; he needs help,’” he said. “That’s why she was so easy for me to talk to.” They married three years later and live in the St. Louis, Missouri, area, where they operate Strawberry Ministries.
Strawberry said he surrendered over a course of years to Tracy’s insistence that he seek wisdom in the Bible. Locking himself in his study, he pored over the material day after day and found himself remembering swaths of Scripture with ease.
“God says, ‘My people perish for lack of knowledge,’” he said, quoting a passage from the Book of Hosea. “I had worldly knowledge, but now I have kingdom knowledge.” That, he said, is the kind that comes through prayer, “saturating yourself in the Word,” and “crushing the ego” enough to leave room for God’s love.
“This here is just a blueprint of who we are,” he said, holding up a worn Bible. “It shows you how to live; it shows you the reason for being here. And then when God can trust you, he’ll give you the platform to go help somebody else.”
Strawberry joked that many of his old friends in baseball predicted his life of faith wouldn’t last, that he’d be back to his old ways before long.
“I’m 17 years in recovery, fellas, and I’m still doing this,” he said. “They don’t have the last say.”
If there were skeptics in the crowd, they didn’t show it. Many attendees nodded as Strawberry made his points.
“That’s better than any home run, isn’t it?” one man in the front row said, and Strawberry shook his hand.
After he prayed for the group, and the inmates clapped with enthusiasm, a dozen people crowded around him to trade hugs and words of encouragement.
Carlos, 38, of Baltimore County, carried a copy of Strawberry’s latest book, “Turn Your Season Around: How God Transforms Your Life,” which he said a friend had sent him months earlier. A state prisons spokesperson didn’t allow inmates to provide their last names to a reporter.
“It touched my heart,” Carlos said, flashing his newly autographed copy. “When I heard Darryl Strawberry was coming, I said, ‘I’m going to make that. I’m a fan now.”
“We’ve all seen him on TV, and I was intrigued to hear him talk about how he learned from his mistakes,” said Lawrence, 62, from Prince George’s County.
@baltimoresun Darryl Strawberry, a former Major League Baseball right fielder who is an ordained minister, addressed #Maryland inmates at two medium security prisons in Hagerstown, Roxbury and the Maryland Correctional Institution-Hagerstown, then spoke at the Western Correctional Institution, a maximum security prison in Cumberland. “I make time for prisons,” he said in an interview with The Baltimore Sun. “I like the people. These are men living outside society. They’re broken. They’re hurting. They end up in here because of bad decisions. That’s just like me; I made bad decisions.” #darrylstrawberry #criminaljustice
Strawberry didn’t give the Roxbury inmates a play-by-play of his baseball career, but in an interview after his appearance, he reminisced about “beating up on the Orioles” and hitting fat home runs at Camden Yards. As a Yankee, he clobbered two in Game 4 of the American League Championship Series in 1996 in Baltimore, helping pace New York’s five-game series win. And in 1998, a mammoth 465-foot home run he hit off the Orioles’ Mike Mussina was longest in Camden Yards history at the time. That record stood for more than 20 years.
“I loved hitting in that ballpark,” he said with a laugh. “The ball really carries out of there.”
The Mets Hall of Famer, who will have his No. 18 retired June 1, still gets the star treatment. As he crossed the prison yard on the way to his car, staffers clustered around him and inmates stopped for high-fives. He shared time with each and said plenty of thanks.
“I love all those guys,” he said before leaving through the gates.
