'); //-->
![]() |
|
| |
|
|
Questions raised on Williams's final years Said to sign documents he couldn't understand By Raja Mishra, Globe Staff, 7/11/2002
The assistant, John Sullivan, said he was often asked by Williams's son, John Henry, to sign documents as a third-party witness, transactions involving mortgages, banking matters, and the baseball memorabilia business. Williams would often ask afterward what they had just signed, said Sullivan. ''He signed things and he didn't have a clue as to what they were. I would swear to that,'' said the 72-year-old Crystal River, Fla., resident who was at Williams's side for almost four years before stomach cancer forced him to retire in 2000. ''Ted would just kind of do what he was directed.'' Interviews with several of Williams's former caretakers from the last decade of his life paint a picture of an increasingly feeble man who struggled with conversation, often erupted in tantrums, and frequently traded harsh words with John Henry Williams. His son, they said, became ever more controlling in Williams's last years, even placing video cameras throughout the house for security, to monitor the staff, and to ensure the authenticity of Williams's signature on thousands of bats, photos, and jerseys that the baseball legend signed at a rapid clip despite myriad health problems. Williams's state of mind in those last days may soon play a crucial role in the brewing legal struggle over his final resting place. Beyond the strange feud over his body, the interviews with Williams's domestic staff - those who saw him day-to-day, away from the cameras - illustrate just how trying Williams's final years were. Lawyers for Williams's estate plan to file in the next few days the will and a motion asking a Florida judge to determine if John Henry Williams followed his father's wishes in sending his body to an Arizona cryonics warehouse for deep freezing. According to lawyers for Williams's eldest daughter, Barbara Joyce Williams Ferrell, who opposes the move, Williams's will mandates cremation. It is unclear what legal papers, if any, John Henry Williams has that could trump the will. John Henry Williams did not return several messages yesterday. If a judge cannot sort the matter out, Florida law provides an option for a court hearing to determine the intent of the deceased - in which case, Williams's state of mind during the last years of his life, as well as the quality of the father-son relationship, could take center stage. A key ingredient in that relationship, said several of Williams's caretakers, seemed to be memorabilia signing. ''He did do a lot of signing. These things were just pushed in front of him,'' said Kay Munday, 68, of Inverness, who was Williams's housekeeper from 1989 to 1995, often working 80 hours a week at his sprawling Citrus Hills home. ''Many times Ted would say, `That's enough John Henry. I can't sign anymore.' And they would argue,'' she said. Throughout the 1990s, Williams was plagued by strokes and heart trouble, eventually requiring a wheelchair while becoming ever more dependent on the household staff. ''By that point Ted was so ill, he didn't know what was going on with all the business stuff,'' said Munday. Her husband, Bill Munday, 68, served as Williams's personal assistant from 1989 to 1995, and maintained a tight friendship with Williams until the Red Sox great died last Friday at age 83. He said that Williams and his only son, despite a long-distance relationship while John Henry was growing up, became quite close after 1991, when the son moved from Maine to Florida to handle the father's business matters. ''Ted didn't want to deal with all the business stuff. It was a relief for him to have his son there,'' said Bill Munday. ''He thought the son could do no wrong.'' But others saw tension in the relationship. According to Sullivan, who assisted Williams for four years, the day would often begin with memorabilia signing. John Henry Williams would drive over in the morning from his nearby home with a pile of baseball equipment that would exponentially increase in value once the famous hitting champ signed it. ''The signing was a very raw nerve with Ted,'' he recalled. ''Ted once said, `That's all for now.' Then the two argued and Ted said, `I hope you can eat, John Henry.' The inference there was that everything came from Ted's labor.'' In his last years, Williams lost interest in business matters, said Sullivan. Sullivan said he recalled at least four instances when he was asked by John Henry to serve as a third-party witness to the signing of legal documents by Williams. ''Sometimes Ted couldn't even read the thing,'' said Sullivan, who added that he was uncertain if any of the signings involved estate documents or a will. Robert Hogerheide, 46, of Inverness, was Williams's chef from 1998 to 2000, and said that ''he could hold a legitimate conversation for maybe 20 minutes and then he would go off totally on a different tangent.'' Sometimes, Williams would not make much sense. Hogerheide recalled a discussion about chili in which Williams suggested adding orange juice and raisins and a whole list of odd foods. But more disturbing, he said, were Williams's frequent confrontations with his son. ''He'd fight with John Henry and then take it out on us. He'd go into these tantrums. We worked a lot on trying to keep him in a good mood,'' said Hogerheide. ''One of the reasons I left is that his relationship with John Henry was just so negative.'' But Williams could still lucidly discuss his favorite topics - baseball and politics. He could recall with great specificity decades-old moments from his baseball days. And the fierce Republican often expounded on the virtues of his friend and fellow veteran, Senator John McCain, an Arizona Republican, who visited at least three times, said Sullivan. Sullivan and Williams would often chat late into the night, where they covered a wide range of topics. ''His one major regret was not graduating from college,'' said Sullivan. And there was John Henry. ''Ted was at times proud of him. He wanted so badly for him to prevail,'' said Sullivan. ''But more often than not there was sadness.'' Globe Staff writers Beth Daley and Dan Shaughnessy contributed to this story.
This story ran on page A1 of the Boston Globe on 7/11/2002.
| |||||||||||
|
|