By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Rather than face the ignominy of returning to the minors, Flores sought to play in Mexico. In 1946, the Mexican League began offering big contracts to American baseball players with the hope of luring them south. Owners offered Flores a contract after the 1947 season, but he balked at the low salary. Flores tried to argue that his presence would attract Mexican fans excited about seeing one of their own, but the owners wouldn’t budge. Their reasoning wasn’t based on playing skills. Simply put, Flores didn’t deserve a white man’s salary because he was a Mexican.
Flores was crushed by the rejections from Mack and the Mexican League, so he reported to the Padres. He fared poorly for them in 1948, posting an 11-19 record with a bloated 4.36 ERA. But Flores rebounded in 1949 with a 21-10 record, pitching well enough the powerhouse Cleveland Indians called him up. At age 35, Flores joined a pitching staff that already included three eventual Hall of Famers—Wynn, Bob Feller and Bob Lemon—and a young Mexican-American fireballer named Mike Garcia.
He did okay for the Indians, going 3-3 while pitching mostly in relief. But the Indians had no use for a past-his-prime pitcher and sold him to the minor-league Sacramento Solons. Flores pitched in the minors for the next five years but never finished with a winning record again.
SCOUTING FOR A JOB
After his playing days ended, Flores returned to La Habra and prepared for life without baseball. With the money saved from his playing days, Flores tried to buy a house near the corner of La Habra Boulevard and Fourth Street in the white part of town. But when he met with the realtor, Flores discovered the sale was off—no Mexicans allowed outside the barrio in La Habra. After he complained, city leaders offered Flores a deal: deliver us the Latino vote in the upcoming elections, and the house is yours. Flores refused and bought a house in a nicer part of the barrio.
Discrimination by whites wasn’t the only problem Flores faced from his neighbors. Latinos who had once cheered him on now accused the former big leaguer of having a big head. With no formal education, Flores couldn’t land a full-time job. “Those years were hard on him,” says Steve Flores, Jesse’s youngest son. “I was just a kid then, but I remember him hurting. He had been in the limelight for so long but now didn’t know what to do.”
So Flores returned to what he knew best: baseball. He started a semipro ball club, the La Habra Tigers, and recruited many of the sons of his former Los Juveniles teammates. Flores helped organize tournaments involving teams from Orange County and Mexico. He bought bats and balls for the kids who played at his old stomping grounds. Flores also tended to the city’s baseball fields, watering the infield and preparing the diamond.
In 1960, the Philadelphia Phillies asked Flores to scout part-time for them. He showed such promise the Minnesota Twins stole him the following year as their main man in the West Coast. Flores quickly gained a reputation in the organization as someone who not only knew the game, but also knew what made a player. Soon, his players began dotting big-league rosters; during one game during the early 1970s, the Twins’ starting lineup consisted of only Flores signees.
“Jess was all the things you look for in a man,” says Jim Rantz, who has worked for the Twins since 1960 and currently serves as their director of minor-league operations. “Easygoing, very dedicated to the game and a family man. He knew just about everybody in California. He was very instrumental in getting a lot of players into this organization.”
In the off-season, Flores and other former big leaguers visited Mexico to conduct baseball clinics, opening the country to Major League Baseball. But Flores never talked much about himself to others. “I didn’t know how big of a player he was until I was older,” says Al Molina, who grew up in La Habra. His father, Pedro, played alongside Flores on Los Juveniles, sparking a lifelong friendship that resulted in Flores becoming Al’s padrino—his godfather.
“That’s the funny part—Jesse wasn’t that type of person,” Molina continues. “I knew bits and pieces of his background—that he had made the majors for several years, something my father said was really difficult in those days. Jesse would talk about his family, our family, but he never brought attention to his career. About the most he would talk about baseball were the players he signed. As you go out and get older, you find more facts about how well-respected he really was.”
Molina accompanied Flores to many local games while his padrino scouted players. One in particular sticks in Molina’s mind. He can’t remember the date or teams involved, only that it happened at Blair Field in Long Beach. The two were following a prospective draft choice, who had just committed an out.
“The player blew up,” Molina recalls. “He took off his helmet and threw it and broke it. After the game, Jess went up to him and said, ‘You got to learn how to keep your cool. Don’t lose your focus.’ He was good at having good advice for younger people.”