'The greatest hitter who ever lived'

Remembering Ted Williams, who died five years ago today

BOSTON. Remembering Ted Williams is easy.

   The good-looking, sweet-swinging, Hall of Fame Red Sox legend was a war hero and a pioneer in the development of the Jimmy Fund. You didn’t need to enjoy baseball to like Teddy Ballgame.

   Even still, those black and white images of Williams at the plate resonate with Boston sports fans in the same manner as Red Auerbach smoking a victory cigar and Bobby Orr flying through the air in the Stanley Cup finals.

   Williams died five years ago today at the age of 83, and the Sox will again honor him with a tribute video towards the end of the second inning at tonight’s game. But it doesn’t take an anniversary to get former friends of Williams to share stories or awe at his hitting ability. Just a few weeks ago, former teammate Johnny Pesky was talking about baseball in general when he brought up one of his best friends.

   “Williams was like a hitting instructor when he was here,” Pesky said. “Everyone hit .300.”
    Red Sox executive vice president of public affairs Dr. Charles Steinberg got to know Williams during his days with the Padres.

   Steinberg was working to save the Padres’ future in San Diego with Bob Breitbard, Williams’ childhood friend who founded the San Diego Hall of Champions Sports Museum, and Teddy Ballgame often visited.

   “Ted Williams did not speak,” Steinberg recalled, “he bellowed. He did not converse, he pronounced.”

   Steinberg remembers one exchange fondly.

   “He asked me if I ever played baseball,” Steinberg said. “I said I played two years of Little League, and I only got two hits. He laughed.

“Then I said, ‘Both hits came in my second year.’ He kept laughing and then he said, ‘Well, at least you showed an improvement.’ Here is the greatest hitter who ever lived talking to the worst hitter who ever lived.”

   Steinberg recalls a fundraising event at Larry Lucchino’s house in La Jolla, Calif. in February 1997. Williams and Tony Gwynn regaled a crowd of about 60 patrons in Lucchino’s backyard, while former Yankees second baseman and Padres broadcaster Jerry Coleman served as the moderator.

   Williams razzed Gwynn on his physical appearance — continually poking him in the gut and calling him “a porker,” according to Steinberg — but also his approach at the plate. Williams, of course, may be the only ballplayer to thumb his nose at the career .338 hitter.

   “[Williams said to Gwynn], ‘You should turn on the inside pitch to hit home runs. That’s where history is made.’ And Gwynn said, ‘I had success turning on that inside pitch to hit the ball to left field,’ and Williams said, ‘History is made on hitting the ball inside, and jump on that inside pitch to hit it out of the park,’” Steinberg said.

   Gwynn listened and changed his approach in the 1997 season, turning more on the inside pitch. He had career-highs in home runs (17), RBI (119, previous high was 90) and hits (220).
    Williams asked to be known as the greatest hitter who ever lived, but he was almost trumped by his mentor.

   Now, that would have been something worth remembering.