On the baseball fields and the battlefields, when he was needed, Ted Williams was there.
ALLEN E. MERRILL, CLEARWATER, FLA.
On a rainy day just before the start of the 1946 baseball season, I was waiting at the bus stop in Brookline Village, Mass., for a bus to take me to Cushing General Hospital in Framingham, where I still hadn't received my medical discharge from the Army. Many cars passed by, but one stopped. The driver, an athletic-looking fellow about my age, beckoned to me to get in. He asked me about myself and where I was going and why. I told him that I had been shot through my left elbow.
He said, "Are you a righty or a lefty?"
I said, "I'm a righty."
He said, "Jeez, that's good. I worry about my throwing. You know if you can hit the ball, you can always hit the ball."
"You're Ted Williams, aren't you?"
"Yup. By the way, have you heard the fans ride that kid George Metkovich, who's been taking my place while I've been in the Marines...those bastards."
This is the way that I prefer to remember Ted Williams (Rounding Third, Nov. 25): someone who could reach out and give a fellow soldier a lift, someone who wanted to be a complete ballplayer, in the field as well as at the plate, someone who cared about those who could not play the game as magnificently as he could.
THOMAS J. McELLIGOTT, Venice, Fla.
Ted Williams hit .400 one year, but as for raising his kids when they were young, his average was .004.
WILLIAM HARBOWY, Taylor, Mich.
Whatever other reactions there were to him on or off the field, Ted Williams was widely admired as a patriotic hero who gave up much of his baseball career to be a pilot in World War II and the Korean face-off.
EDWARD H. HOFFMAN, Orlando