Dave Parker: Battling Parkinson's Disease One Day, and One Event at a Time

It's the change that strikes you first; such a drastic change from the man you remember from his playing days.

The face that used to light up clubhouses is less animated, more measured now. The arm that used to terrify opposing runners now sometimes needs special focus to move correctly and stop trembling. The booming voice, full of jive and hubris, that used to command attention is now soft and slow. The gate that made one of the most distinctive home run trots in baseball is less of a saunter and more of a cane-aided shuffle. These changes are all characteristic of the Parkinson's Disease that Dave Parker has battled for 7 years.

But don't feel sorry for Dave Parker. He won't allow it. "We're going to beat this thing," he says with assurance. And those familiar with Dave Parker back in the day know that if there's one thing he could always do, it was speak with assurance; and then back it up.

The 69-year-old Parker lives in Cincinnati, where he grew up and became one of the greatest athletes the city ever produced. A product of Cincinnati's famous Knothole youth baseball program, he spent a lot of time at Crosley Field in the summers. He opened cab doors for tips and chased down balls hit out of the park to sell, anything for a buck. As a teenager, he worked inside selling popcorn, peanuts and ice cream while watching his favorites Frank Robinson and Vada Pinson ply their trade. He admired Frank and Vada as they pulled up to the parking lot in their white T-Birds--with red interiors and round porthole windows--the sharpest cars a baseball player could own back then. Once Frank gave him a glove: "Hey kid . . .," just like Mean Joe Greene in the famous commercial.

By the time Parker was drafted by the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1970, he was a dominating force on the baseball field. At 6-foot-5 and well over 200 pounds, he was an uncommon combination of speed and power. Tools? He had all five in spades. He also had a brash confidence that came from never remembering any time when he wasn't the most talented, imposing physical specimen on the field in any sport he tried.

Once in the majors, Parker quickly established himself on the shortlist of the best players in the game. By the age of 28 he had hit over .300 five straight seasons and owned two batting championships, three Gold Gloves, an MVP award, an All-Star Game MVP award and a World Championship ring. He also temporarily held the title of the highest paid player in the game. He was the first major leaguer to sign a contract that averaged more than one million dollars a year.

And he was more than just a great player. He had style. The clothes, the bling, the funky music from the boombox--it was pure '70s. He was part Superman, part Superfly.

Dave Parker never held back--on the field or in the clubhouse. He played hard, hustling constantly. He never dogged it on a popup and he never tipped-toed around home plate on a close play. He dominated every room with his explosive smile and constant loud verbal assault of anyone near. Teammates loved him. He made them laugh. He made them play better.

After injuries and off-field problems soured his stay in Pittsburgh, he experienced rebirth when he signed with his hometown Reds in 1984. It was the biggest free agent contract the team had ever offered and he proved to be worth every penny. He averaged 108 RBIs over the next four seasons, including a narrow miss for his second MVP in 1985 when he hit 34 home runs, 125 RBIs and batted .312. More than great play, he brought an intangible to the clubhouse, proving to be a priceless mentor to talented young players like Eric Davis and Barry Larkin.

Baseball historian and stat guru Bill James, in a book written just after Parker's career ended, predicted that he would be selected by the Baseball Writers for the National Hall of Fame in 2003. He never came close but he's back on the ballot by the veteran's committee this year. Ask him about his prospects for the Hall and he would rather talk about his idol Vada Pinson. "I loved watching him play. He could do everything. And he did it all so smooth, so effortless. He deserves to be in the Hall of Fame."

That term "effortless" would take on new meaning for Parker, in ways he may have never realized. He enjoyed a good life after baseball, living comfortably on the profits from his numerous Popeye's Chicken franchises in the Cincinnati area, but his life changed dramatically one day in 2012 when he noticed that his hand had developed an annoying, uncontrollable tremor. A doctor told him it looked like he had "a touch" of Parkinson's and referred him to a specialist who confirmed the diagnosis. Only it was more than a touch. You don't get just a touch. It can take over your life. Armed with this new information, Parker went home and read about the disease.

Parkinson's is not a new condition. It's been known at least since the ancient Egyptians. Dr. Parkinson was the first to formally describe it in an 1817 paper, calling it "The Shaking Palsy." But the fact that it's been known for a long time doesn't mean that we know how to treat it. We don't.

Parkinson's is an equal-opportunity disease that affects the rich as often as the poor, with no known cause. It's an insidious condition that affects the part of the brain that tells the muscles what to do. It causes slowness of movement, stiffness and a loss of facial expression. Patients lose the ability to perform previously automatic actions, such as blinking or swinging the arms casually while walking. Speech can become slurred. Posture and balance are affected--steps slow and stride shortens-- eventually it leads to a stooped shuffle. The characteristic starting point, as it was with Dave Parker, is often a tremor in the hands, similar to continually rolling something sticky between the thumb and first two fingers. The tremor occurs at rest and increases with stress such as recognition in public. Handwriting gets smaller and cramped. The condition is gradually progressive. In the old days, patients often ended up bedridden.

It can be a very frustrating condition, for the patient and loved ones. Fortunately, Dave Parker had some help. He had married Kellye in 1983 and thirty-six years later, she rarely leaves his side.

Dave Parker went on to develop most of the classic symptoms. He found himself becoming depressed, but a man doesn't make it to the top of a professional sport by giving up easily. One day he made an oath to the reflection in a mirror that he would not give up. He decided to get involved rather than suffer and silently withdraw. He went public. "As long as I've got the disease, I might as well do something to help raise money for it," he reasoned. He already had a foundation that raised money for scholarships for needy inner-city youths. With the help of his wife, and later some friends, he expanded it and took up the cause. The DaveParker39Foundation, based in Cincinnati, assists in Parkinson's awareness and research.

Parker speaks at Parkinson's conferences and chairs events. He raises money for the cause. He talks to groups, large and small, of those afflicted. He gives them hope and encouragement. "Stay active, stay positive," he tells them. "Don't let the disease beat you."

Parker expresses no bitterness for his own condition, reminding others that there are lots of other people who are worse than he is. He tells everyone you must play the hand you are dealt. "Do as much good as you can while you're here," he tells reporters who ask why he spends so much time and effort helping strangers who share the disease.

It's not an easy disease to live with but the former competitiveness as an athlete serves Parker well. He stays active. He fought it with diet and exercise for two years before beginning medications. Now he maintains a vigorous workout regimen of exercise and stretching and medications, all of which are helped by Kellye. "She's my rock," he tells anyone who listens. "I don't think I can make it without her." They take it day to day. There are good days and bad ones.

There is still no cure for Parkinson's. Several medications help with the symptoms but also can bring new problems; doses need to be tightly controlled to avoid unwanted side-effects such as abnormal movements. Some patients are helped by newer brain surgery procedures, but at this time more important than any medical advice, medication or treatment, is the support of a patient partner and a good attitude. This is why awareness and support are so important for patients and their families.

Parker appreciates the outpouring of support he has received from the public and also from the former players who have readily stepped up to help with his foundation events, such as the Cobra Classic golf outing which takes place in Cincinnati each fall. He sits in the tent at the golf course and talks to everyone who comes by, famous and not-so-famous. He thanks them all with genuine sincerity. Large athletic men in their 40s, 50s and 60s make their way over to Dave and swallow him in enormous hugs. They exchange smiles and insults, then invariably turn serious: "You doing okay man?" He doesn't want their sympathy. "I'm all right. Don't worry about me. I'm taking care of it. We're going to beat this thing," he says again.

But Dave Parker knows as well as anyone that no one really beats Parkinson's. It's a patient disease. It always wins in the end. But maybe what Dave means is that you never really lose if you refuse to be defeated. Keep active, stay social, hope. That's the plan. Keeping fighting. And maybe, just maybe . . .