Ted Williams' final at-bat in the majors for the Boston Red Sox is a famous episode: In front of just 10,454 fans at Fenway Park on Sept. 28, 1960, Williams homered off Baltimore's Jack Fisher in the eighth inning, rounded the bases and headed into the dugout. The fans stood and chanted ,"We want Ted," for several minutes, holding up the game, but Williams didn't appear until he ran out to left field for the top of the ninth. The fans gave him another big ovation and he was removed for a defensive replacement.
He never tipped his cap or acknowledged the crowd.
Less enduring but nearly as dramatic was another Williams finale of sorts: On April 30, 1952, he played his final game before getting recalled to the U.S. Marine Corps to fight in the Korean War. It was Ted Williams Day at Fenway Park, and Williams didn't disappoint.
He had served three years in World War II as a naval aviator, although he never saw combat, spending time in Florida as as an instructor after graduating 49th in his class of 159 during flight training. Williams was released from duty at the end of the war and was automatically assigned to the Voluntary Reserve. The Korean War broke out in 1950, and on Jan. 9, 1952, Williams learned he had been recalled by the Marine Corps.
As Ben Bradlee Jr. wrote in "The Kid: The Immortal Life of Ted Williams," "Williams was incredulous. Despite the ominous notices of the previous year that he was eligible to be recalled, Ted never thought it would actually happen. After all, he had already served in World War II and missed three full seasons of his baseball prime as a result. He'd done his duty. Now, at 33, he would have to miss two more seasons of a career with limited time left. It seemed punitive. Weren't there others available who had not already served? Did they really need him? Williams was not alone in suspecting a Marine ploy to use his star power as a recruiting tool."
Williams would have a physical on April 2 and then report on May 2 for eight weeks of training before serving 17 months in Korea.
Writers speculated it would be the end of Williams' career. The Marine Corps insists to this day that Williams' recall was fair, as were those of a few other major-leaguers. His teammates certainly thought he was getting a raw deal. According to Bradlee, Williams seethed at the injustice but kept his resentment private until 1956, when Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher Johnny Podres was called up to the Army. "Gutless draft boards, gutless politicians and gutless baseball writers -- that's what we've got," Williams said, citing that Podres had received a deferment three years previous for a bad back and suggesting the Army wanted him now only because he'd been the hero of the 1955 World Series. In 1957, Williams admitted he had resentment against the Marine Corps and "the whole damned government."
At least the Red Sox agreed to pay his full 1952 salary of $85,000 and held "Ted Williams Day" on April 30. After all, it could be the final game he ever played. Here's Williams looking at his jersey that day, and here he is giving a speech before the game.
"I've always believed that one of the finest things that could happen to any ballplayer was to have a day for him," Williams said, "and my being honored today with such little advance fanfare makes me feel humbly honored. Little did I realize in 1938 that I was joining such a wonderful organization and I was to be with so grand an owner. I wish I could remain all summer, for I feel sure the Sox will surprise a lot of people. I do hope you fans stick with them. This is a day I'll remember as long as I live, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart."
Williams, at the urging of Boston Herald sports editor Ed Costello, then pulled his cap from his back pocket and held it aloft. Maybe it wasn't quite the same as tipping his cap, but it was close. Meanwhile, Boston Globe writer Dave Egan, Williams’ sometime foil, had blasted the Red Sox that morning for honoring someone who was "ill-mannered and a terrible role model for kids."
It was Boston's 12th game of the season, but Williams had played only one full game, on an Opening Day, pinch-hitting in four other games. He hadn't played in nine days -- although that meant missing just three games -- so he was likely battling an injury. But he started on this day. He singled in the first inning, struck out in the third and then walked in the fifth. As he stepped up in the bottom of the seventh with a runner on base, the game was tied 3-3. Dizzy Trout was pitching for Detroit. Williams fouled off the first pitch and then drilled an 0-1 curveball into the right-field grandstand, the winning blow in a 5-3 victory. "His teammates pounded him heartily in their elation," wrote Arthur Sampson in the Boston Herald.
Williams did not tip his cap.
"I said I wouldn't tip my cap right along," he said after the game, "and I had no intention of doing it. That's the way I feel about it."
Unlike in World War II, Williams flew combat missions in Korea. He made one crash landing when, after getting hit by small arms fire, he limped his jet back to the dirt runway at his base. In August 1953, Williams returned to the Red Sox. He practiced for about 10 days.
In his second at-bat, he hit a home run.
