Pros vs. Joes No. 16: Frank Peters at 78: ‘Everything has been replaced except my balls and my brain, and they’re both still working’

Peters, flanked by ex-NBA centers Leroy Ellis and Dale Schlueter, as a member of the East Bank Saloon masters world champions (courtesy Frank Peters)

Frank “The Flake” Peters was in my conscience from a young age.

I grew up in Corvallis, the son of John Eggers, the Oregon State sports information director for 30 years. As a youngster, I was a diehard fan of Oregon State athletics. Somewhere in my attic, I have a pile of autographed 8 by 10 glossies of my heroes from the ‘60s, arranged for me by my dad. “Best wishes, Mel Counts.” “Good luck, Terry Baker.”

Along the way, I must have taken a liking to the 6-2, 195-pound Peters, a starter on Oregon State’s Final Four basketball team of 1963 and also star third baseman on the Beavers’ baseball team. (His father, Norman Peters, had been a member of the OSC football team that beat Duke in the transplanted Rose Bowl game of 1942.) When I was in fourth grade, I asked for a signed photo of Peters. Frank took his autograph a little further than any of the rest with, “Keep up the good work, Kerry, and I’ll see you next year. Frank Peters.”

That made this nine-year-old like Frank even more. He seemed to have an extra dose of personality. Funny thing about what he wrote was, I didn’t see him the next year. He left school after his junior year to play pro baseball.

That kind of personality proved true through the provocative, controversial, entertaining life of Peters, who will turn — can it be? — 78 on March 25. Peters played 10 years of minor league baseball, including five at the Triple-A level, and finished with two seasons as player-manager of the Independent Class A Portland Mavericks. (Check out the documentary “Battered Bastards of Baseball” if you’ve not heard of them.)

Frank today, 78 going on 18 (courtesy Frank Peters)

Peters owned restaurant/bars in Portland for 40 years, ran for governor, did a prison term, charmed the media, filed for bankruptcy and enjoyed more female companionship than a man has a right to.

Always willing to be helpful, Peters stands outside the Grand Cafe with this sign, hoping to drum up business (courtesy Frank Peters)

Peters has slowed down, but he is still alive and more than ticking. I asked him to be part of the “Pros vs. Joes” Bracket Challenge, picking NCAA Tournament games for kerryeggers.com, and though it’s not his thing, he was willing to oblige. I think he likes the celebrity part of it.

The following is the result of an interview/conversation that lasted for nearly an hour. His first quip was borrowed from the lips of Mickey Mantle. I still laughed.

KE: How does it feel to be approaching 78 years of age?

FP: If I’d have known I was going to live this long, I’d taken better care of myself. I feel pretty good. I made the comment to someone, “If you wake up in the morning and don’t hurt, then you’re dead.” I woke up this morning stiff. I loosened up and found out I was still alive.

KE: Do you try to be a character, or does it just come naturally?

FP: What happened was, I had two stepfathers growing up. The first stepfather would be working in a different place about every six months. I changed schools all the time. I went to three different junior highs in Southern California. I had to do all this crazy stuff to get attention. Otherwise I was just another dork-asaurus in the corner. You never want to be a dork. Then when I went to Oregon State, I met your dad. He was a rebel. He went totally against the grain by publicizing Terry Baker with an unprecedented media campaign that got Terry the Heisman Trophy and set the tone for Heisman campaigns of the future. I must have taken after him.

KE: He wasn’t a rebel.

FP: You could call him a rebel, or you could call him somebody with foresight.

KE: Did you have a relationship with your father? I know he was gone when you were very young.

FP: He went off to serve in World War II. I was born in 1944. It was all different when he came back from the war. My mother (Desdemona Peters) and him didn’t have the same magic. He moved back to Southern California. He started a new life. I visited him a few times. There was never any animosity. My mother’s family was from Klamath Falls. I was born in Corvallis but lived in K-Falls most of the time until third grade, when we moved back to Corvallis. I was there through sixth grade, and then we moved to Southern California. Then after my junior year of high school, Mom and my second stepfather moved back to Corvallis. I stayed in Anaheim and lived with a friend. I was on my own after my junior year.

KE: Why did you decide on Oregon State?

FP: I was considered one of the 10 best basketball prospects in Southern California. I had quite a few scholarship offers. Washington, Arizona, Arizona State, Oregon. … the only one I didn’t have was USC, and I wanted to go there for baseball.

KE: But your scholarship at Oregon State was for basketball only.

FP: Right. I asked my high school basketball coach what I should be looking for in a college. He said, ‘Find a program that has a great big man and go to that school.’ Oregon State flew me to Corvallis with a kid named Freddie Goss (who wound up at UCLA) for a weekend recruiting visit. They put us into uniform for a game — totally against the rules — with referees and clock. We played against a team with Counts, Baker and (Bob) Jacobson, and we gave them a real battle. I think we had (reserve center) Grant Harter on our side. We made a good showing. I was really impressed with Counts. I never saw a big man shoot that well. I was familiar with Oregon State. I wanted to go to more of a baseball school, but that worked out well, too.

KE: Under Ralph Coleman, you went 49-18 and won back-to-back Northern Division championships, making the NCAA playoffs both years. But basketball was where it was at during that period at Oregon State under the legendary Slats Gill.

FP: A two-hour practice consisted of an hour and 45 minutes of defense and 15 minutes of throwing the ball into Mel. I bet I didn’t say 20 words in my whole sophomore year to Steve Pauly. He was on the other side of the court. There was very little “rah rah” stuff. It was all business. Slats said, “School is important, but you’re here to play basketball. You can go to school any time.”

KE: Did you like Slats?

FP: It was not a matter of liking him. I had a great deal of respect for him. We always had one of the best scouting reports you could have. We were better-prepared than the other team. Yes, I did like him. He was not warm and fuzzy. (Assistant coaches) Paul Valenti and Jimmy Anderson were there for that. Interestingly enough, our team doctor (Waldo Ball) delivered me as a baby. When my mother got mad at me, she would say, “I had a three-day stay in the hospital when you were born. The bill was $50, and I think I paid too much.” But she was a good one. Stayed with me through all my problems. She lived to be 90.

KE: You are digressing here.

FP: The neat thing about the Final Four team is, all the starters (Peters, Counts, Baker, Pauly and Jim Jarvis) are still doing pretty good. I had a triple bypass two years ago, and they all called to see how I was. We still have a camaradarie among us. They’re a bunch of good guys.

Frank as a starting member of Oregon State’s Final Four team of 1963 (courtesy Frank Peters)

KE: You’re the only one, Frank …

FP: I’m not the black sheep of that team. However, I am the spotted lamb, because I’ve alway been the one who got in trouble. The other guys are all goody two shoes. I was always pushing the envelope. Now I’m retired. I’ve had a bypass and two hip replacements. Everything has been replaced except my balls and my brain, and they’re both still working. They’ve always been kind of connected.

KE: You had a good minor-league baseball career, playing every position but pitcher, but never made the major leagues. Your next-to-last season with the Portland Beavers, you hit .317 in 125 games. And the parent Minnesota Twins didn’t call you up?

FP: I was a great defensive guy, too. For whatever reason, they didn’t have an interest.

KE: Are you bitter that you never got a chance in the bigs?

Peters’ Topps rookie card with the Baltimore Orioles. Unfortunately, he never made it to the major leagues (courtesy Frank Peters)

FP: It was the luck of the draw. I got drafted by Baltimore when they had Brooks Robinson at third base. There was nowhere to go. I played for Earl Weaver in Triple-A Rochester. At some point, I asked them to trade me. But they were good people with the Orioles. You have to be in the right place at the right time. I needed to make the best of it, and had to make sure I enjoyed it. I was always positive. I didn’t complain. I tried to contribute. My theory has always been —  and it’s really worked for me — it’s better to be good on a great team than great on a good team. I’m in the Oregon Sports Hall of Fame only twice — with our Final Four team and with the East Bank Saloon (of AAU basketball). I’ve nominated the Mavericks to be in the Hall of Fame, and I suspect some day I’ll be in for a third time. And all because of the team, not so much me.

Peters, striking his “Clown Prince of Baseball” pose, mimicking the great Max Patkin. Frank actually was an excellent player who spent 10 years in the minor leagues (courtesy Frank Peters)

KE: You were versatile through your career, but you outdid yourself by playing every position in a game with the Portland Beavers in 1972.

FP: Bill Cutler owned the team. He wanted to promote it. I did what I could to help the team out. During the offseason, I helped out by making speeches to groups and talking to the press. The Beavers were going to trade me to Tacoma for (outfielder) Cap Peterson. Not only did I play all nine positions, I also worked out a deal where I traded for myself so I could stay in Portland.

KE: When you were managing the Mavericks, you had all nine players play every position in a game against Tri-City. Seems almost impossible to pull off.

FP: I put nine players on the field. I put the rest of the team in the stands and bought them all beer so we had a rooting section. I started (outfielder) Reggie Thomas at pitcher and Cliff Holland at catcher. He used his first baseman’s glove. A lot of the guys were afraid of catching; Cliff wasn’t. He called a pitchout after Reggie walked the first batter and threw the guy out at second. It was supposed to be Jim Emery’s chance to win his 10th game, pretty good in short-season A ball. He would up pitching in the eighth. We won 8-7. We win, Reggie gets to pitch, Cliff throws a guy out at second base and the rest of the team gets totally drunk in the stands. So everybody was happy.

KE: Did you ever have more fun in baseball than your time with the Mavericks?

FP: No. The Mavericks were really fun because of the players. You didn’t have to teach them anything. All you had to do was point them in the direction of the enemy. The year before I got there, they had a lot of infighting. It had been the Southern California guys against the Northwest players. The thing I did best was put them in the right direction. It’s like, if they’re pissing upriver, get them to piss downstream. I put them on a path to believing that organized baseball was our enemy. “They’re no damn good. Let’s go get them.” One game we stole seven bases and had two bench-clearing brawls in the first inning. I tried to find out what they could do best and put them in the situation where they got to be a star. Every ballplayer got to be a star for us.

KE: Your first year, the third-base coach was Dave Blackford, who had been your chief bartender at the bar you owned. The next year, it was Ralph Coleman, your former OSU coach who was 80 by that time. Who was better?

FP: Blackie. I made a mistake on that. I should have kept him around longer. I didn’t know how good he was in the clubhouse. We thought we needed the publicity with Coley, and the credibility. As it turned out, we didn’t need either. Well, maybe we did. Coley was a good baseball man, but Blackie was unique. People liked him. He made the difficult conversion from bartender to third base coach. That was a good move. My head scout and the person I asked for advice on whether or not to keep a player was the person who got me hired by Bing Russell as manager of the Mavericks — (Oregon Journal sportswriter) Ken Wheeler. And guess who fired me?

KE: I’m guessing Kenny.

FP: Yeah. He talked (owner) Bing into hiring me. And when Bing made the change in 1976 to a traditional, legitimate, recognized baseball manager (former major league pitcher Jack Spring), he said, “Ken, you hired Peters; you fire him.” But Bing and I got along great. We never had a conflict. I really liked him. Getting fired was the best thing that ever happened to me. I opened a bar in Seattle and never would have done that otherwise.

KE: You spent 2 1/2 years in prison for drug and sex offenses in 1989 and ’90 at the Oregon State Penitentiary. How bad was it?

FP: I was admitted as a minimum-security inmate because I was an older person, first offense, non-violent crime. I was not a threat to society. But the lifers wanted me in maximum security so I could play on their slow-pitch softball team. It was a very big deal for them. So I was there for about a year. But I had a cell that had a better view than my previous two apartments. When you go in, they say, “This is the last time you’re going to see a tree.” But I was on the third floor and I could see over the wall. I could see the freeway and the women’s prison. I knew there was life on the outside.

Peters (back row, sixth from left) played second base for the “Lifers” slow-pitch softball team at the Oregon State Penitentiary (courtesy Frank Peters)

KE: What was the prison experience like?

FP: It was as exactly like the movie “Shawshank Redemption.” If you don’t pay attention, you’re going to get smacked. I paid attention and stayed out of trouble.

KE: You later served 1,000 hours of community service at the Portland Zoo.

FP: My friend asked, “Are you an exhibit?” I said, “No, it’s a paid position.” After the zoo, I graduated from culinary school and became a certified chef. You know what my specialty was? Toast on a stick. I was able to do minute rice in 58 seconds. The first half (of his term), my duties were to train the other court workers and pick up litter in the parking lot. The second half was mostly gardening and odd jobs. I was there for six months. I made the Zoo Hall of Fame, and then I went to culinary school.

KE: The judge who sentenced you to prison, Steven Gallagher, later served for you as a guest karaoke judge at the Grand Cafe.

Frank was always eager to stage unusual promotions at his nightspots (courtesy Frank Peters)

FP: And I did fundraisers for the district attorney and raised money for their court care for women. I paid my dues. I don’t feel guilty or bad about anything I did.

KE: You were a bar and restaurant owner in Portland for more than four decades. I may be missing something, but I know about Peters Habit, Peters Inn (Portland and Seattle), the Grand Cafe and Andrea’s Cha Cha Club, Neon Ceiling, Peters’ Super Bowl and the Korova Milkbar. And then there were Judy’s Pushcarts.

FP: We sold hot dogs on street corners. We were food carts before they were food carts. The only food carts around at the time were at Saturday Market. We did the Rose Parade and did $15,000 in one day. That was a lot of money in those days.

KE: You’ve had your ups and downs in the business world. At one point, you filed for bankruptcy. And then you began a marijuana-growing operation, which led to your prison time.

FP: I grew marijuana and made more money than I could spend. If you’re growing marijuana indoors, you’re working all the time, so you can’t spend it. But I don’t regret any of that stuff. If I hadn’t gone to prison, I’d have never met Bernhild (Nieswandt) and Andrea (Lee), my two best friends — my business partner and the owner of Andrea’s Cha Cha club. What value do you put on friendship? No, my life has been pretty good. I will quote Cliff Holland: “Attitude is everything.”

KE: What was the most unusual food item you ever served?

FP: We had a “Tongue and testicle festival” at the Grand. They were real testicles of buffalo, and they taste like Chicken McNuggets.

KE: I might vote for the time you served “Whole Roasted Beaver,” under the description, “You’ll never taste a better beaver.” What was the craziest promotion you ever staged?

FP: We had a bachelor party for members of the the Chicago Bulls at the Grand. The “Lick Sisters” put on a show they’re still talking about in Chicago.

KE: Is that spelled “L-I-C-K”?

FP: I can’t spell. You know what Mark Twain said about spelling? “Never trust a person who only spells a word one way.” The party was for (Scottie) Pippen, I think. Luc Longley had to bend his head down to participate in the events downstairs in the Cha Cha Club. The only one who didn’t come was (Michael) Jordan. The Bulls lost by 15 points to the Blazers the next day.

KE: You ran for governor of Oregon as an independent in 1982. What was your platform?

FP: The slogan was “An Oregon for Oregonians.” We wanted to focus on tourism, because that gives an immediate return. We would give rewards to somebody who would invite somebody from somewhere else to visit us. You’d get whatever we could figure out how to make it worth your while. It would have worked.

KE: You needed only 1,000 signatures to get you on the ballot. You didn’t get them.

FP: I was inexperienced. What I should have done was start planning for that. I thought I’d create momentum, I created entertainment and interest, but didn’t quite create the momentum. Politics is difficult. You have to get it right. I didn’t quite get it right. I was running against Victor Atiyeh and Ted Kulongoski, who were both very popular.

KE: You made a campaign tour of the state in your Mercedes. Who went with you?

FP: George “Memphis” Bryson, my best friend. Went from janitor to principal of the grade school he worked. He was the driver and would tell me when it was time to leave the bar before they threw us out or shot at us. We visited towns throughout the state — Klamath Falls, Coos Bay, Astoria, Bend, Pendleton, Burns. I went to all the newspapers and did interviews. I’d go to a bar the night before and go in looking like some nerd and say, “I want to buy the house a round.” I’d pay with rolls of Susan B. Anthony dollars. I created controversy wherever I went and had everybody sign what I called my “Sacred Book.”

KE: For years, you played for the East Bank Saloon teams that won national age-group championships. How old were you when you quit playing for them?

FP: I was 70. All my business partners ran off and got married. I couldn’t leave the Grand Cafe anymore. I had no life. But I still play some ball on the playgrounds in the parks. I lure young, unexpected hard-body males into games of H-O-R-S-E. Once you can shoot, you can always shoot. I beat the s—t out of them.

KE: Where are you living now?

FP: The same apartment above the Speakeasy Tavern in Southeast Portland. Been there for 20 years.

KE: Do you drive a car?

FP: No. I ride my bicycle and take the trolley. And I have a saying: Always be willing to accept the kindness and hospitality of lonely desperate women.

KE: You’ve only been married once?

FP: That was enough for me. The reason I didn’t get married again — I met some very fine women — and I didn’t want to ruin their lives.

KE: You’re a grandfather through your only child, daughter Daryn.

FP: I have two granddaughters, Reed and Pierce. I recently had the misfortune of teaching Reed how to drive. Scary proposition.

KE: How many women have you slept with in your lifetime?

FP: 600. It’s good because I’ve only had VD three times and I never had AIDS. During the sexual revolution, you could bunch them up. You could do two or three at a time. They used you for their own lust. Peters Inn was right where the path ran through.

KE: How is your love life now?

FP: Currently at this moment, I’m suffering from sperm pressure.

KE: What does that mean?

FP: My love life is a little slow.

KE: Is it fair to say you were once a playboy, and if so, are you still one?

FP: I don’t know that you can be a playboy in Portland. You can be a character. I was a character. But, anything you do is more fun when you do it with women. I was probably the beginning of keeping Portland weird. Certainly, the Mavericks were.

KE: What projects are you involved with now?

FP: One is to get ready for whatever movie they’re going to make on the Mavericks. Justin Lin, who directed the Fast & Furious movies, owns the movie rights. I just sent a 100-page character sketch of me to Chapman Way, Bing Russell’s grandson, who directed “Battered Bastards of Baseball” (based on the Mavericks). The original idea was to have Bradley Cooper play my part, Kurt Russell play his dad and (Hollywood screenwriter) Todd Fields, who was our batboy, write the script. Whether I’m alive or not, at least they’ll give my character some depth.

KE: I’m sure it would have plenty of substance.

FP: If you’re going to play a part in the movie, I’m the best character to have. Bradley Cooper is going to love me. I’m controversial, I have a sense of humor, I went to prison, I opened a bar, I became a chef, I like women. I’ve got all the things. I want to make sure my character is at least understand. I’m planning ahead. Any fool with a plan can beat a wandering genius any day. I’m never the smartest man in the room, but I have a plan.

KE: You’ve always been willing to give advice. What’s the best piece of it you can offer up today?

FP: Stay in school, be nice to your mother, never break more than one law at a time.

KE: You threw the first pitch at a game at Volcanoes Stadium at the Mavericks Independent League last summer. How did that go?

FP: It took less than a minute. I got a standing ovation. What did I say to the crowd? In the words of the great Mick Jagger, “It’s always special to be rewarded for bad behavior.”

KE: Have you ever filled out an NCAA Tournament bracket before?

FP: This will be my first time. Like sex and the coronavirus, the first time is always the most interesting.

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