Of all the important numbers rolling around Stan Kasten's busy brain, from a giant Dodgers payroll to shrinking Dodgers victories to the size of the line at reserved-level bathrooms, the number that most shaped his life is the one he's never known.
It was tattooed in blue on the left forearm of his father. The number was blurred because, during the five years Nathan Kasten spent in Nazi concentration camps during the Holocaust, he would continually gnaw his skin in an attempt to suck out the ink.
"His memories, my lessons," Kasten said.
The lessons are especially celebrated by Kasten on Father's Day, during which he tearfully remembers the father who pushed his son to a brilliant future from an unimaginable past, a father whose tales of life in Auschwitz and Dachau inspired the son to reach for a piece of one of the sports cornerstones of American culture.
"My father's life taught me you can never forget how incredibly lucky you are to live in a country where you can be whatever you want to be," Kasten said. "How I live my life is built on that belief."
The lessons can be seen daily by Dodgers fans as the team's president and co-owner scurries about Chavez Ravine loudly embracing and engaging and exuding an old-fashioned belief in blue.
You can see it in Kasten's relentless optimism, learned from a father who was liberated from a death camp shortly before what he believed was his scheduled execution. You can see it in his appreciation and nourishment of the Dodgers family, learned from a father who came to America alone after all 53 living relatives had been killed in those camps.
Perhaps more than anything else, you can see that Stan Kasten is his father's son when he picks up the trash.
Kasten's defining memory of his father occurred when Kasten was an adolescent working at his family's roadside motel and restaurant business in the tiny central New Jersey town of Farmingdale. One afternoon, when Kasten was walking across the parking lot from the motel to the restaurant, a trash can blew over behind him, scattering garbage everywhere. Kasten turned, saw it and just kept walking.
His father, working his daily job as the restaurant chef, witnessed the incident from the restaurant kitchen window. When the son came through the door, the father pounced.
"He looked at me and said, 'You are the laziest thing I've ever seen,'" Kasten recalled. "That never left me. That stuck with me forever. I am fundamentally a lazy person, but I combat it every day when I think about the trash can."
Sitting in his spotless office above left field at Dodger Stadium, Stan Kasten excused himself to retrieve a tissue. Talking about his father makes him weep. Thinking about his father's strong stoicism makes him uncomfortable.
"This is not fair. I'm going to choke up over all this stuff, you're going to write it, and I'm going to be embarrassed," Kasten said quietly.
In his second season of running the Dodgers, Kasten still loves walking to his window and staring out at the deep green outfield vista and pinching himself. Growing up, the most compelling visuals were those of murdered Jews.
After his father was finally liberated from the camps, he was confronted by a German soldier taunting him with Holocaust photos. His father pummeled the soldier and took the photos, which he brought to America and later pulled out to remind Kasten and Kasten's sister, Mimi, and brother, Mitch, of their great fortune.
"Piles and piles and piles of photos," Kasten said. "I grew up with thousands of pictures of dead bodies, a constant message to all of us."
That his father was among the living taught Kasten about resilience, which he has relied upon throughout his life. He worked his way from Orthodox Jewish schools to an Ivy League law degree to the Atlanta Braves, which he slowly built into champions before building a playoff team in Washington and eventually landing with the Dodgers.
"Not that my father understood any of it," Kasten said. "He thought, 'You've got this great Ivy League education and you're going into sports? Why are you throwing it all away?"'
Nathan Kasten, a giant who was not particularly large, had far simpler dreams for his children. He hoped only that they would live the productive American family life he had worked so hard to attain.
His family says one of Nathan's favorite sayings, in his native Yiddish, was, "A kratz und a mish, und a shtetl aufn tish."