8THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

recruited from college. I and only a few more of my teammates
came straight from high school, but none carried the weight of
the expectancy like I did.

Everybody wants to be the #1 draft pick. It is an honor
and a privilege for young boys who have given their whole
childhood chasing that American dream. I had it, thus, I had
the Bull's eye on my back. I felt the sting of it, especially the
first day.

After the manager tells me I am late. I went to change and
came back with the intent to try to mix in with the guys.

Instinctively, I started looking for all the black people on
the team. From where I was from the white boys were
considered our rivals. It was not that we hated or disliked
them, or vice versa. It was always, I guess, a competitive
battle of pride and ego, even at that early age. I played
baseball against them in little leagues throughout my youth,
but never on the same team.

It was never, as it would be now, that close and
professional, or dare I say, personal. I knew that would
be another obstacle to overcome. How could it not be

somewhat personal when we would be expected to spend
our days together as a team, day in and day out, traveling on
buses and moving around the country in and out of hotels?

People seek familiarity in new places. Just two days before,

I was with my black family, at my all black school, with my all
black friends, in my all black neighborhood. I am from
the South Side of Chicago, which is probably one of the
most segregated cities in America. Primarily, black people
live amongst black people, period.

THE FIRST DAY ON THE JOB

Me and my teammates pictured rookie season
with Martinsville Phillies.

I was now the houseguest of a white family, living in their
home in what seemed like my own apartment. Tom and Sue
were their names. They were gone a lot, as they were always
working. The experience itself was something to get used to
considering I had never been away from home alone, or away
from my family, in such a way. They trusted a young black
teenager to do the right things, and I had to trust myself.

At 17, there was no chaperone, no mentor assigned, no
liaison. It was just me, feeling like I was invincible, but yet
feeling the pressure of living up to all the hype and
expectations that others, and I, placed on myself. That was
the deal from day one.

68

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

The Cla)s are Ion& Jeff Jack.son. who lives., a SUburtl of Martms\'llle, Ve, w,th Tom end SuP !KUnNye[�p rt11)

Tom, Sue and I having a chat before the game.

But now here I was, in this small town of Martinsville, Virginia
all within 24 hours of graduating high school.

I always asserted a sense of leadership and solidness that
may have given the impression that I had it all together and I
could handle it all but the truth of the matter was I was culture
shocked. My behavior and reactions to the unfamiliar, and
sometimes rude, or insensitive, actions of my teammates, fans,
and even management would reveal the truth soon enough.

Ironically, the first two black guys I walked up to on the
field that day spoke Spanish. I admit I was a little thrown off
by that. Again, I hadn't seen that from back home. However, I
found my way to two young black guys that ended up being

69

THE FIRST DAY ON THE JOB
straight out of high school like myself. Paul Carlson and
my boy Corey (C.T.) Thomas ended up being the guys I
gravitated to the most as our age, and common experiences
help us form a decent bond. I am still friends with Paul
today, we talk and hang out from time to time when we can.

Paul, Corey and Me chilling in the locker room before a game.

70

CHAPTER SIX

THE WOODEN BAT, THE WRONG SWING?

ajinor League Baseball is supposed to be where you take

J�'lthe time to develop the up and coming talent within that
system. It is a starting point where the future stars of baseball
can emerge as they prepare for the Major Leagues.

To the small towns who had no real entertainment beyond
baseball activities, the Minor League team is a big deal.

To the baseball world, the first round draft pick is the best
possible talent that an organization will take to help turn
around a team, or help a franchise win games, and eventually a
championship. He, like myself, is given a hefty size signing
bonus (hence, the word 'bonus baby", a name that's given to
first round draft picks). The organization usually gives him

71

preferential treatment over the other players. With that kind of
attention, money and special treatment you automatically
come with a target on your back unbeknownst to me.

So, when it was my turn to step into the batting cage to take
batting practice for the first time I was nervous as hell, it was
all eyes on me.

It should‟ve played out better, however, it didn't.
I was given a wooden bat, for the first time.
Now let me explain, in my entire baseball experience, up

until that time, in little league, and all throughout high school,
I played with an aluminum bat! It never crossed my mind,
even to try to get used to a wooden bat.

I must say every coach in my youth, and throughout high
school, taught me a skill or two, or helped lead me to victory;
even though the professional baseball scouts came and sat in
my home and talked to me about everything else, no one
mentioned, and I didn‟t know to ask, that I‟d better get used to
the wooden bat, and prepare for the permanent elimination of
the aluminum bat.

It would have been nice to practice with a wooden bat a few
times in my backyard, baseball field, batting cage, or with a
coach or two before I had what seemed like twenty reporters
and the media staring me down along with my new teammates!
The scenario, under any situation, with anyone, wouldbe
nerve racking in itself, for the first time! As I said, I had no
time! One day I was graduating high school, the very next day
I was on the plane to Martinsville, VA, to begin
my professional career.

It would have been nice to have just been told any of that.
After all, wasn't everyone's reputation on the line? Simeon had
something to gain if I succeeded in the pros. The Philadelphia
Phillies looked better if their first pick makes it to the
big leagues and becomes a star, right?

I guess at 17, I was supposed to know everything, but I
didn't. Sorry.

So…
I cracked the wooden bat, and not only did I crack that
first bat, but I probably cracked the next ten to twenty bats.
It was hard for me to focus on actually hitting the ball because
of all the attention being placed on me with this new bat. I
felt like a monkey in a cage!

After a while, the coaches' dissatisfaction began to show.
On the first day, they began to criticize everything from
the way I hit the ball, by the way I held the bat in my hand, to
the way I positioned my baseball stance. To them, it was all
wrong, and they wanted me to change it all immediately!
The very first day I am being told to change the things that got
me drafted #1 in the first place.

“Why is your hitting stance like that?”
I replied,
"This is the way I hit it in high school."
Well, undoubtedly, I wasn't in high school any longer,
though just 24 hours made the difference. And though I was a
bit confused, both mentally and physically, that I
suddenly was told to change my stance, and I wasn't hitting
the ball favorable to them. But, I had already signed my
contract that was going to take care of my family and I.

I split the first half of the $185,000 signing bonus money
with my mother. So, I was present and open to learning
regardless of the sting to my ego.

I don't know what I was expecting. I was here to
play baseball the way my 17 year old mind had been
trained to play my whole life.

And though all eyes of reporters and the team were staring
at me, At that moment, I could take the pressure.

I could take the gut punch to my ego.
I could take the sudden changes I had to get used to.
But, what I couldn‟t take, was when Don Blasingame

(Minor League Field Director) looked me dead square in my
face, on that very first day of practice, and told me I'd never
make it in Professional Baseball if I continued to hit the
way that I was hitting. I don't think he even took into
consideration that a). I was nervous as hell, and b). It was my
first time ever picking up a wooden bat.

Perhaps, he was breaking me down to build me back
up. It was an adjustment that I wasn't quite prepared for.
Remember, my way had gotten me drafted in the first
round. Did anyone have anything to say before I got
chosen? Before I move on, I want to say that I don‟t think he
was trying to be mean to me in any form. I am sure he never
meant any harm with the words he spoke, the point is you have
to choose your words carefully when speaking to people. You
never know what you may say to someone that will stick
with them for a long time or perhaps forever, be it good or
bad.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

News article with comments from Don Blasingame about
his thoughts on my playing ability

News article with comments about what I need to do
to be successful as a hitter

75

On that day, at that moment, after those words that
seemed like prophesied failure was spoken from a person
who you would think would help me to be successful and
mold me with words of encouragement, he didn't. He should
have spoken to me, giving me words of confidence in my
abilities. however, that wasn't the case. I lost my confidence,
every ounce I brought with me that day. And, I am not sure,
over the course of my ten year career if I ever gained it
back. My lack of confidence would show up later as
resentfulness, bad behavior, and rebellion.

My lack of confidence would stand in my own way, leaving
me searching for something outside of baseball to fill the void
I felt. But for now, it would trigger depression and homesick
feelings I would fight for many years.

The first day drama didn't end there.

I guess we all learn that sucking things up and letting
things go just comes with the territory of maturity, but how
mature is it when adults are creating negative self – images
in a teen?

Thinking about it all now, looking at my two children Jeff
and Asia who are in that age range in this present day, I
couldn‟t imagine them in the same situation. So many
other things would have been put in place to ensure their
success; to make sure they were protected emotionally
and mentally. Perhaps my family trusted that me being on a
“team” meant I would have built in mentors. That was not the

case.
The second day after my arrival, it was a “teammate”

who made sure to place a plastic toy bat in my locker.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

Tough Times

Pl iL"l'op Pi ·k fla,;ing tn· r \ , m

Newspaper article detailing how I'm struggling and
going through a tough time

77

This “joke” was a way to continue their teasing and taunting of
my breaking the wooden bats the day before in batting
practice.

It was a teammate that decided the first week was a good
time to do what they considered a “traditional joke” familiar to
all other baseball players, but me, at the time.

It was another hot day. I was in the dugout sitting on the
bench waiting to start batting practice. My head was down
as I was trying to get some relief from the sun. Out of
nowhere, my teammate Chris Lowe, the prior Center
Fielder before my arrival, came and spat a wad of brown
tobacco on my shoe.

Now at the time, I didn't know it was a joke, so when I
jumped up with a desire to defend myself against what
I thought was a form of disrespect, I was
immediately surrounded by the other players in an attempt
to calm me down.

All I knew before that moment was that he had spit on my

brand new Nikes. I wore a brand new fresh pair every
other day as part of a Nike contract I had. To me, that was
downright disrespectful, and he was in violation. We

didn't do that where I came from without consequences. I

consider myself a playful person by nature, however, to me

that was crossing the line.
No one warned me, I didn't understand the point of it.

We were there to work together, or so I thought. I surely
hope NOW the league gives more counsel and

mental preparation to young teen players.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY
Instances like this would spark a growing resentment and an
eventual unyielding rebellion in me. These instances would
also contribute to me being anti-social off the field. It stopped
me from hanging out and trying to get to know my new
teammates on a personal level.

The jokes and playfulnes s , while I was m my adjustment
mode was too fast and too soon.

Jackson Hasn't Been a Hit

Newspaper article detailing about how I have
not played up to my potential

79



CHAPTER SEVEN

HOME SICK

'1 remember spending my first year calling my mother every
night, as I sat alone in my room laying on my bed
after the games. I was home sick from the beginning and
ready to come home the first week.

My mother would talk me out of quitting, and coming home
every other day, with her words of encouragement. I would use
those words to make it through the next day, the next month,
and the next year. It was my mother’s words that curtailed my
longing to quit and go home.

81

I hated my everyday experiences, and it showed up in the
way I played the game.

If you asked me, I never played well or was never
satisfied with my stats; I was my own worst critic. I struggled
to hit .200 my first year, which was mediocre in
comparison to other players or what was supposed to be
expected of a first round pick.

The negative media, the ‘Boos and Jeers,' appeared much
sooner than later. I heard it on the field almost every day from
the onlookers and fans who never let me forget it. They proved
the theories running around in my head and made
matters worse. I felt like I was letting everyone down including
myself.

They say negative energy travels seven times faster
than positive energy. I can still remember the first time I heard
the ‘Boos and Jeers’ It sounded louder than the cheers.

The boos are what I held on to. It could be one naysayer in
a crowd of 99 cheers, but I heard that one 'Boo'!

I will never forget the sound of them. Every time I heard
one it made me try harder, nevertheless, I applied more
pressure to myself in order to please the fans. I was already
damaged from day one.

It wasn't until my parents showed up in Wytheville, VA. on
a surprise visit. The team was on a road trip, and I was in the
batters circle. All of a sudden, I heard a very familiar
voice call my name, "Jeffrey", I turned to see who it was
and it was my parents standing there! I was very happy
to see them. I proceeded to get two hits that game. It was
one of my best games of the season up until that point.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

News article with comments about the surprise visit from
my mom that helped me turn my game around

83

For some strange reason when I look back at my baseball
career, it always seemed my mother always brought
the best out of me when I played in front of her. If I could do it
all over again, I would have made sure she was at all my
games.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MY GOOD LUCK CHARM

'I wouldn't call myself a momma's boy, but from day one, she
was indeed my first love, and I relied on her to be my
confidante like I have never relied on any other woman. She
was unequivocally my biggest supporter and always has been.
So, if my adoration for my mother makes me a "momma's boy,"

then call it what you will. There are other things to be
called that are worse.

Also, call it a blessing because being my mother's son who
took her words and advice to heart, I stayed out of more
trouble than I could have gotten into.

85

My mom‟s name is Armone Jackson-Honeycutt. She
was my everything - my world. She still is! To me, she was a
big part of my baseball life. My whole career was centered
around my mother.

I recognized that playing baseball made her proud of me,
and that made me want to pursue it even more. From the time I
joined little league up until my eventual departure from
professional baseball, my mom was my biggest cheerleader, in
this sport, Llike any other sport, we need
our cheerleaders and a support system! It is not that I
didn‟t have an interest in baseball for myself, but my
mom inspired me to play. She is my good luck charm for
more reasons than one.

I am the third of my mother‟s four children and
the youngest son. My sibling's names are Keith, Katrice,
and Shonica. My biological father's name is Ike Thompson.
He was the papa that was the “rolling stone” as the
famous Temptations hit song indicated, whom I‟d see every
few years, and spend little time with. My mom, holding no
grudge against my dad, made her way through single
parenthood until she met and married the man I introduced to
the world as my dad, Lee Honeycutt.

Together, Lee and my mom eliminated any void that I
could've had not having my biological dad around on a
constant basis. I can't say I missed a beat. We were

the typical lower-middle-class family on the south side of
Chicago in the Fernwood neighborhood, with the one
exception that separated us from others, the swimming pool!

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

Me at age 7, giving my mom a big hug

Pictured from left to right: my brother Keith,
my niece Essence, my sister Katrice, myself

and my sister Shonica.

87

MY GOOD LUCK CHARM

Mom, stepdad and me having a chat after one of my games

My mom and stepdad visiting me in spring
training in Clearwater, Fl

88

We were perhaps the only family with a pool in our yard in my
neighborhood, and that made us a bit cooler than most. It
always served as a backdrop for some cool pool party amongst
my friends.

This transition into baseball was all new to us. There wasn't
a manual that came with my new found success. We winged it
and tried to do the best we knew how. I missed the hell out
of my family and friends back at home, but my mom
substituted for them all while I was away, by taking that
phone call every night and nurturing me through another day.
I appreciated her for that and looked forward to coming back
home to my mom's house in the off-season. We shared
space with no problem. She didn't mind the friends or the
girls coming by, and she allowed me to have my vices.

It was not that she condoned any of my behavior. My mom
just wanted to make sure I was safe, protected, and not in the
streets. And though my mom had a job, she made sure to take
off work and take the long drive, to what was normally
Clearwater, Florida, with me to make sure I arrived back to
spring training on time.

We were tight. Like I mentioned earlier, it seemed my mom
had a strange effect on my performance. I could probably

count on two hands, over the course of my ten years in
baseball that I was actually proud of my performance. In fact,
the newspapers and media never had to criticize me; I did it to
myself. It was early on that I noticed that whenever my mom
was in the audience, even if she showed up to surprise me,
which was one or two times out of the year, I always played
better than normal.

One time, in particular, I remember talking to my mom on
the phone and she could tell I was feeling down and not really
in a good space. She immediately made arrangements to
visit me in Reading, Pennsylvania. I was playing double-A, at
the time. Although she told me she was coming to visit, I
couldn't shake the sadness I was feeling.

I was in a huge slump and had not been playing well.
But yet again, after my mom and step-dad arrived in Reading,
and I had a chance to see them, and have a few home
cooked meals, I broke out of my slump and proceeded to win
„Player of the Week'. That's the kind of effect my mom had on
my game.

It was like she gave me the energy that I couldn't give
myself. She made a huge difference in how well I played.

Perhaps the homesickness that I was feeling was cured when I
would see her face, but whatever it was, it worked!

My mom also carried my burdens with her. She carries
regrets, just like I do, perhaps, about what she could have
done differently, to ensure my success and help me prosper in
baseball. Now, she often wonders if she should have quit
her job, moved the family, or just did something a bit
different to give me a better chance at succeeding.

NNow, I find myself nurturing her through
those feelings whenever we speak about it now. I let her
know that she did her best at the time, and it‟s not her fault
that I didn‟t make it to the big leagues. I am the only one to
blame!

At that time, I was a 17-year-old kid from the
inner city of Chicago; given a chance of a lifetime, with
little guidance or counsel from the outside, we did the best

we could. My mom, showing up, as she did, when she
did, was all I could have asked for. It helped Then or now.

She is still, and always will be my lucky charm.





years old. Her name was Theresa. She was my first true love
and would become the mother of my first child years
later, a beautiful son named Jeffrey Jr.

At 6'3" with a medium athletic build and dark skin,
people would consider me tall, dark, and handsome.

And, yes, I let my looks work for me like any young man
would-for the ladies! I mean my story is typical. The
immediate male role models in my life were my biological dad
Ike Thompson, one who was a small-time hustler and my
Uncle Earl a certified gangster and playboy.

They showed me their versions of how to love a woman, and
I wouldn't say that was necessarily a good thing. I have been
the asshole, the player, the cheater, and so on. I never had a
shortage of woman giving me attention, and I loved it! I never
grew tired of the advantage, until perhaps, I got a little older,
and had my own beautiful daughter later named Asia.

Being attractive, and a professional baseball player at such
a young age with hundreds of thousands of dollars, I would be
lying if I told you that I didn't let ego, arrogance, and pride get
in the way of my relationship with Theresa.

Theresa was the girl that every guy wanted in high school. A
petite pretty chocolate brown girl with Asian shaped eyes, with
a swag more mature than most girls her age. She didn't date
guys that went to our school, as it seemed she was into older
guys. So, at the beginning of my senior year, when she
accepted an invitation to attend a pool party at my house I
was surprised. I used that opportunity to shoot my shot at
dating her, and that was the beginning.

I knew Theresa loved me.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

Theresa and I on Prom Night

95

We had the typical teen romance that transitioned, as any
relationship would, as my career took off and my fame grew
she got swept into the mix as well. In fact, we started dating at

the beginning of my senior year when a baseball contract
wasn't even in picture. I was a just a regular player on the
team.

In the year of 1989, the whirlwind of it all happened fast
and she was swept up into it just like my family and I. She
went through all the stages that every girl dating a
star athlete goes through.

Like everyone else, she was elated for my success. She was
supportive. I never forgot that she was there before it all
started. She would definitely receive the benefits of being a
star athlete's girlfriend; the good and eventually the bad. She
patiently dealt with the distance when I traveled for months at
a time every year.

She overlooked the rumors of me dating other women which
I made sure I tried to keep to a minimum. It was the eventual
proof of such behavior that would be something that she
couldn't ignore.

Yet, before all of that, we were happy overall; as much
as, two young teens in love turning into young adults could
be. Because she was still in school, and working a decent job,
she couldn't travel with me on a permanent basis. She didn't
travel to see me until my second year, but we kept in contact
every evening on the phone where we grew closer. After
that, she would come to see me at least once a year wherever
I was.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

My parents, Theresa and I at the Gatorade
Player of the Year ceremony

97

I would come home at the end of each season, with gifts for
both her and my mom, and we spent the winters enjoying each
others company until it was time to go back to spring training
to begin the season.

For a long time, we didn't have too much drama. I kept
anything that didn't serve Theresa away from us. I am
protective and loyal in that way. Over the years, however,
things would change. As far as other women, she was not
stupid. My arrogance and growing disrespect let her know that
I wasn't as committed as I should have been. This is where I
labeled myself an "asshole". I was just that.

One day, the evidence of one of my indiscretions
came when a young lady that I entertained out of town
decided to send Theresa pictures of our rendezvous. I still
don't know how she got Theresa's address, but she did, and
those pictures hurt her. Theresa stuck with me through
that time and many more. Truthfully, she probably took
more crap from me than she should have. Our age and
circumstances didn't allow for our relationship to grow as it
possibly could have, and I take the blame for that.

Eventually, my son Jeffrey would be born, and that would
solidify a life- long relationship between us. We would
eventually end because she would grow tired of me and what I
would now call my "bullshit." She was right to move on. I
always thought we'd get back together eventually, but her next
pregnancy and eventual marriage to her next beau stopped all
of that.

I would go on to date, and even love another woman, and
have another child. I figured I’d be just fine, but at that time,

when Theresa left, it pushed me into depression.
Depression was something that would creep in and out of my
life throughout my entire baseball career.