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Day spent with one of the greats
By David Halberstam, 7/7/2002
My representative had been Mr. Robert M. Knight of Bloomington, Ind., who, in addition to being my occasional appointments secretary, is coach to the Indiana University basketball team. Mr. Knight, on occasion, has had troubles with members of the press himself, and was almost as celebrated as Mr. Williams in this regard. It had taken no small amount of time to win over Mr. Knight's good opinion, for somewhat early in our relationship I had failed him on a serious literary point. Mr. Knight, unbeknown to many, is a literary man and I would not be amiss if I referred to him as a kind of literary executor for Mr. Williams. On that earlier occasion, he had quizzed me on my qualifications to write about Mr. Williams. I had done reasonably well until the final question. Mr. Knight had asked me to quote the best-known sentence of John Updike's famous New Yorker piece on Mr. Williams. I had not known, and Mr. Knight had, with no small measure of disdain, pointed out that it said, ''Gods do not answer letters.'' Still, I had gradually managed to win my way back into Mr. Knight's good favor, and the fact that someone such as Mr. Knight recommended me as a worthy reporter-historian to Mr. Williams had weighed heavily in my favor. Mr. Williams was reported to have said that if Mr. Knight gave his goddamn approval, why that was goddamn good enough for Mr. Williams. I arrived well in advance at the motel where Mr. Williams would call on me, and I was told he would come by at eight the next morning to summon me to our meeting. The motel itself was not exactly memorable. Simpler America, vintage 1950s southern Florida, I would say, if architecture were my specialty, which it is not. But I do remember that the cost of it for the night was roughly what the cost of orange juice is at a hotel in the city in which I live, New York. At exactly 8 o'clock in the morning there was an extremely loud knock on my door. I answered it, and there was Mr. Williams, and he looked me over critically and then announced, ''You look just like your goddamn pictures.'' So, I might add, does Mr. Williams. He has reached his 70s, admirably tanned and handsome and boyish. He seems not to have aged, though he no longer, as he did in his playing days, looked undernourished. Mr. Williams took me to his house and granted me that agreed-upon interview. The interview with Mr. Williams, who is enthusiastic about whatever he undertakes, was exceptional. Not only did he answer my questions with great candor, but he also managed to give me several demonstrations of correct batting procedures. He emphasized that I should goddamn well swing slightly up since the mound was higher than the plate. Referring to his close friend Mr. Robert Doerr, of the Junction City, Ore., Doerrs, with whom he has been negotiating on this point for 50 years, he said, ''I still can't get that goddamn Bobby Doerr to understand it.'' His advice was helpful, particularly since I, like him, bat lefthanded, and for a moment I wondered whether with coaching like this, I might make a belated attempt at a career as a designated hitter. I was a mere 54 at the time. I found Mr. Williams on the whole to be joyous and warmhearted. He had opinions on almost everything, and it was clear that he had loved playing professional baseball and had stayed in touch with a large number of his teammates, which is unusual for a professional player, 30 or 40 years after his career is over. Mr. Williams also sought to advise me about political developments in Salvador and Nicaragua. There seemed to be a considerable difference in our opinions on how best to bring a measure of happiness to those two countries, but Mr. Williams did not hold against me my lack of enthusiasm for greater military involvement. Late in our meeting, Mr. Williams found out that I was a fisherman. It was not information I had volunteered readily since I was afraid that if he found me inadequately skilled with a fly rod, his judgment of me as a writer and interviewer would decline accordingly and he might even report back unfavorably to Mr. Knight. The interview took up most of the day, and that night Mr. Williams and his lady friend Lou took me to dinner. It was a wonderful dinner, and Mr. Williams paid for us. We had been together 12 hours and he was everything I had always hoped he would be. I considered it to be one of the happiest days in my life.
This story ran on page C5 of the Boston Globe on 7/7/2002.
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y appointment with Mr. Theodore Williams of the Islamorada, Fla., Williams family had been agreed on well in advance, though we had not yet talked to each other. That is normal in matters of this gravity, and our earlier arrangements had been conducted through intermediaries.