The Splendid Whiffer

Son of Ted Williams struggling to find a groove in pro ball

MONTGOMERY, Ala. -- Say this for The Kid’s kid -- he’s tight enough with his money not to blow a few grand on a fantasy camp. No, John Henry Williams is actually getting paid to suit up with the pros -- if you consider $700 a month (plus a nightly motel room and $12-a-day per diem) in the Southeastern League of Professional Baseball a pro gig.

Then again, if you think being Ted Williams’ only son, walking up to the plate as a 34-year-old, knee-rattling rookie can’t also be nightmarish, you haven’t caught the boy’s futile swings. Tuesday played out like most nights when 252 folks spread throughout Paterson Field to catch the local Wings host John Henry and the Selma Cloverleafs.

First at-bat: The son looks like a ballplayer in his kelly green Cloverleaf jersey (think Boston Celtics), built tall and lean (6 feet 5, 220 pounds) along the lines of dad. Since he’s DHing, you expect to find him parked in the middle of the order, but the giveaway is that John Henry bats ninth. His call to the plate isn’t announced with fanfare, either. Just a simple: “J. Williams."

The good news is John Henry’s right-handed swing puts the bat on the ball. The bad news is he grounds into a 5-4-3 double play to end the second inning.

Q&A with John Henry Williams In light of developments since the passing of legendary slugger Ted Williams last July -- the controversial decision to store the Splendid Splinter’s body in a cryonic freezing tank and the family feud over his will -- his son, John Henry Williams, has found himself vilified and condemned as a parasite. Comics and columnists, alike, have had a field day at his expense. John Henry understands the passion baseball fans hold for his father, though he’d prefer folks stay out his family’s business. “He was a public baseball player and his life is public -- but they don’t own him," Williams said. The Kid’s kid shared his thoughts on the public debate since his father’s death with SI.com senior writer Mike Fish. SI.com: How has the media scrutiny and criticism affected you? John Henry: It is aggravating. I have definitely gotten tougher about it. I used take it very personal. In a way, there are a lot of similarities between me and my dad in that category. He took lot of abuse, too. In the end, he got very good at it, too. It is maybe just a legacy we are gonna live with as the Williams clan. I guess what really aggravates me is the lies that get printed. SI.com: What specifically? John Henry: Well, the whole idea of selling [Ted Williams’] DNA. The whole idea of forcing my dad to sign signatures. The whole idea of putting a hat on someone’s head [a hitter.net cap worn by Williams at the All-Star Game]. The whole idea of controlling [him]. One thing is for sure, nobody controlled Ted Williams till the day he died. That was his freedom, to be able do as he wanted. He had a fulltime chef and fulltime driver. He could get up in middle of the night if wanted to and go somewhere. And these are things [written and said] -- it bothers me because that is not how I was. In fact, one guy working for us was getting dad to sign autographs on the side and selling them on his Web site. I released him. And he went to sheriff’s office and told them or made a complaint that I was abusing my father. So the sheriff had to come out with this other person and do an inspection. They wanted to make sure there was food in the refrigerator. Well, there are four refrigerators with food in them, along with the French chef. It was just hilarious. Stupid things like that, but the media pick up on them with headlines: “John Henry abusing his father." SI.com: Any thoughts on the reflective piece HBO's Real Sports is currently running on the family feud? John Henry: They sent me an e-mail saying what the show is about. It is more bull. More totally stupid stuff. Just trying to bring up the old controversy, things that already are settled. ... They interviewed an awful lot of people we let go over the years. I heard they were like running around [outside] dad’s house with a TV crew three weeks ago or so. SI.com: You’ve been reluctant to talk about it, but what do you say those who asked about the decision to cryogenically preserve your father’s body? John Henry: First off, it is none of their business. I don’t poke my nose into what they are gonna do with their loved ones after they die. That is the way it should be. SI.com: Trying to play pro baseball isn’t a way to duck the subject or stay out of the public eye. Do you hear much of a reaction from fans? John Henry: Very little things every once in awhile. I think that is all part of the game. I heard there was promotion somewhere some team [in Arizona] had done -- “Popsicle Night." I heard some guy yelling “Popsicle" in the stands the other night when I was hitting. It doesn’t bother me. I know in my heart what things are, and that really is the most important thing anybody can have. SI.com: Why do you think people have reacted so emotionally towards you since your father’s death? John Henry: I guess there are certain facts. My dad loved Claudia [John Henry’s younger sister, who supported the decision to freeze her father’s body] and me more than anything. Claudia and I loved him more than anything. That is a fact. Anything else that contradicts that is not. If you have [noticed], friends who really knew my father haven’t said anything. These are guys that say, “It is none of my business. I may believe something differently. I may not agree with it. But it is none of my business." And so, all these other people who have been swayed by the media -- who has really done the damage here -- it is too bad that they are feeling like that. SI.com: Has it mostly been the Boston media, or have you found critics everywhere? John Henry: Totally the Boston media. Big-time, the Boston media. SI.com: How do you explain that? John Henry: It is the legacy of the legend.

Second at-bat: Overmatched by off-speed stuff, John Henry goes down flailing to end the fourth. A beer-totting fan from behind the first base dugout yells: “Yeah, John Henry, you’re bad ... .406 average, huh?"

Third at-bat: Same stuff, same result. He’s caught off-stride and his long, looping swing catches only air. The critic in the stands and two of his pals break into loud, prolonged laughter. “What a joke 3-0 (Williams' number)," one razzes. “What a joke."

Fourth at-bat: The game ends with John Henry whiffing at air. “Tough night," we say to league commissioner James Gamble. Without missing a beat, he replies, “Only can get better."

Unfortunately, it hasn’t. After 10 games, the son of the legendary Hall of Famer has a meager single in 31 at-bats -- 16 of which have produced strikeouts.

If it continues like this, John Henry can walk away, save himself the aggravation and embarrassment. Or can he? The Kid’s kid is trying to prove something to himself and the father who never got to see him swing in an organized game. He dreams of playing in the majors. He says something about having inherited the “core" of his father’s swing -- and perhaps only needing experience.

So he’s willing, for now, to put up with barnstorming around the Southeast in vans, playing in a lowly development league that didn’t exist until last year. His Selma club has been taken over by the league and now plays every game on the road. Yet he sounds genuinely thankful for a spot in the order after a failed attempt to make a team in the independent Northern League this spring.

The question is, why bother?

“It is a combination of unfinished business for myself and also something I started with my dad," explains the soft-spoken John Henry, who bears a striking physical resemblance to a young Ted Williams. “It is something I need to finish for him, too. So it is a joint feeling. He wanted me to go after this now. It is ironic that he wanted me to do it when he was at the end of his [life].

“But I’m committed to sticking with it as long as it needs to be stuck to. My arm breaks off or I can’t swing a bat anymore. Or I am playing in the major leagues. Or just too old to try any more. Failure is not an option."

John Henry's latest swing at baseball began as kind of a feel-good thing in the last couple years of his dad’s life. Looking for ways to motivate and keep up his spirits, the son built a batting cage outside the family home in Hernando, Fla., and stepped in to hit for Ted most days. The son eventually showed enough promise that dad planted the seed of giving pro ball a shot.

Years before, the larger-than-life father hadn’t been there for John Henry when other kids were playing Little League and organized baseball. His parents divorced after four years of marriage and the son lived with a younger sister and his mother, Dolores, a former Vogue model and nurse, on a 100-acre farm near Putney, Vt. Most of his contact with dad was on the telephone.

The son remembers mowing fields in the shape of baseball diamonds, but playing almost no organized ball. He tried at Bates College, but didn’t make the team. Nor at the University of Maine, where he became the first Williams to earn a college degree.

“Dad would send us some bats and balls, endorsements with Worth and Sears," John Henry remembers. “I had everything but no players. I just never had an opportunity [to play]."

He has it now and, as badly as it has gone, the son of Ted Williams clings to the hope that the game is in his genes.

"We don’t know what is running in my blood," he says. “That is a really big unknown. People say if you are around me I act like my dad acted. That is not something you learn. It is something -- I wasn’t around him that much to learn that when I was young. So something is going on.

“And just being around him as a hitter, listening to all the thing he talked about hitting -- that is something, too. Mentally, I am a very mature baseball player. It is just the actual physical side of things that need repetition. How long does that take to really get good at?"

The guess is longer than John Henry wants to keep his fantasy camp going.

Mike Fish is a senior writer for SI.com.

Comments? To e-mail Fish, click here.

 

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