PLACER COUNTY, Calif. — In a nook of Dusty Baker’s brightly lit kitchen, there is a framed photo on the wall featuring Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed and some rosy-cheeked children ’round the Christmas tree.The picture is unmistakably the final scene from “It’s a Wonderful Life,” which, come to think of it, would have made a heck of a name for Baker’s autobiography.“I know that,’’ he says softly. “That was gonna be the title, I swear.”Baker, who turns 77 on June 15, bowed out of baseball with a happy ending that indeed seemed Capra-esque (that’s Frank Capra, not Buzz). Baker won a World Series as a manager in 2022, after 25 years of trying, likely securing future residence in the Baseball Hall of Fame with an induction that could come as soon as next year.With his ideal title spoken for since 1946, the manager landed on another name for his own nostalgic (and surprisingly painful) look back at a lifetime of tragedy and triumph. “Crossroads: A Memoir in Baseball and Life” will be released by Crown Publishing as a 416-page whopper on Tuesday.During a visit by The Athletic to Baker’s house about 30 miles northeast of Sacramento, there is the Hollywood photo, yes, but also a wall dedicated to music memorabilia from the likes of the Rolling Stones, Tom Petty, Carlos Santana and dear friends John Lee Hooker and Elvin Bishop.His two beloved hunting dogs, Gracie and Rylie, are on this level, too, and Baker has to intervene to make sure one of them doesn’t devour a reporter as a midday snack. “It’s OK, he’s with daddy,” he explains to the snarling one.Dusty Baker relaxes in his garden in front of stadium seats from some of the ballparks he visited during a lifetime in the majors. (Daniel Brown / The Athletic)Oddly, there is no trace of Baker’s baseball career, a surprising decor choice for someone whose hardware includes a Gold Glove, two Silver Sluggers, an NLCS MVP and three Manager of the Year awards.Surely, there are a few mementos he’d want to display.Baker smiles wryly.“Come with me,” he says.We are in an elevator going up, which is as good a place as any to introduce how Baker’s childhood forever shaped his worldview.This is an elevator that takes passengers from the first floor of his house to the second floor, and it exists solely because of a day in the early 1960s when Baker’s ostentatiously rich schoolmate decided to be a snot. “The kind of kid who would make the all-star team in place of me, just because of who his dad was,” Baker writes in the book.As detailed in the memoir, Dusty and his dad, Johnnie B. Baker Sr., were on a gardening job at a stately home in Riverside, Calif., when the kid from the wealthy family called Dusty over. “Pick up that piece of paper,” he ordered.Dusty was gearing up to respond with his fists when his dad approached with calm resolve. “You go over there, and you pick up that piece of paper,” Johnnie B. told his son. “We need this job. You hear me?”But the lesson didn’t end there.“Then on Monday, when you’re back at school, and they’re playing flag football, well, you’ll be playing tackle. You just run right over him.”Dusty did as instructed on both counts, clearing the debris and delivering a delayed wallop on the playground. “Oh, man, he didn’t know what hit him.”Then he made a solemn promise that reverberates even now. You see, that rich kid had an elevator in his house.“And I remember thinking, ‘someday,'” Baker says.His words land just as the doors open to reveal the glorious wonders of the Baker family’s second floor. Notably, the first room to the left is a cozy lounge with televisions and recliners. This is where Baker watched games with his aging father before Johnnie B. died in 2009.Dusty Baker’s massive and eclectic memorabilia collection dominates the second floor of his home. (Daniel Brown / The Athletic)Up here, the concern about the lack of baseball relics on display proves laughably misplaced. This is Cooperstown West, lacking only a ticket window and a turnstile. There are hundreds of jerseys, autographed baseballs and game-used bats. There are boundless photos on the walls bringing bygone eras back to life, from the Negro Leagues to the majors, from black-and-white to the Technicolor splendor of the 1970s and ’80s.And what makes this tour — and “Crossroads”— so much damn fun is that Baker has a personal connection to nearly every face hanging in this 9,000-square-foot home.Some people name-drop. Baker name-storms. And for every photo we stop to admire, the manager supplies a backstory like a kindly museum docent.Is that … Satchel Paige? “He used to make me carry his fishing rods.” (The two crossed paths while Baker was in the Atlanta Braves organization, when the Negro Leagues legend insisted on calling him “Daffy,” not “Dusty.”)Bob Uecker? “Clete Boyer and Bob Uecker bought me and Ralph (Garr) our first suits. And then they took us to the Playboy Club. I was 19!” Baker took a Polaroid photo from that night and sent it back home to a childhood friend, Dennis. His note began, “Man, this is the life.”