I've been to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown on several occasions, starting when I was a kid with my Dad, and most recently with my own children. But no visit was more memorable than July 25, 1966. That was Hall of Fame Induction Day, and I went because Ted Williams and Casey Stengel were beng inducted. Throughout Williams' career -- one of the few major leaguers to have played in 4 decades, all with the same team -- he had had a running feud with the Boston sportswriters. One even left him off the 10-slot MVP ballot entirely in 1941, the year he hit .406. He didn't care. He had a .344 lifetime batting average, and hit 521 career home runs -- the third highest all-time when he retired -- despite losing five years to military service as a Marine in WW2 and Korea.
But the Boston writers criticized him because he never tipped his cap to the fans after hitting a home run. And he returned the favor by publicly criticizing their "gutlessness" in banning women from the press box. In later years used to spit in their direction each time he crossed the plate on a home run at Fenway. Now, in '66, after being voted into the Hall by the BBWAA in his first year of eligibility, what would he say in his acceptance speech? Would he use his few minutes in the sun to get back at his tormentors?
Casey stole the show that day, and the headlines the next, with a long and rambling acceptance speech about his colorful career from failed dentist to player and manager. Williams' remarks were an afterthought in the press the next day. But not in my mind. He devoted his few minutes to challenging MLB to start opening up the Hall and recognizing the many outstanding black ballplayers who were consigned to spending their entire careers in the Negro Leagues:
"The other day, Willie Mays hit his 522nd home run. He has gone past me, and he's pushing, and I say to him, 'Go get 'em, Willie.' Baseball gives every American boy a chance to excel. Not just to be as good as someone else, but to be better. This is the nature of man and the name of the game. I hope that some day Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson will be voted into the Hall of Fame as symbols of the great Negro players who are not here, only because they weren't given the chance."
This was the first time anyone -- let along someone with the baseball creds of a Ted Williams -- had used such a platform to utter such words. I never forgot it. Robert Peterson quoted this part of Williams' speech on the opening page of his 1970 book, Only the Ball Was White. A year later, Satchel Paige was inducted into the Hall, and Gibson the following year, and since then the floodgates have opened, culminating in MLB's decision this year to consider all Negro League records to be part of major league records. Williams, whom Mel Allen called "the greatest natural hitter of all time," started that ball rolling.
I was fortunate to see Williams toward the end of his career. I was also at the game where Mays got his last hit before the Shea Stadium faithful. He pinch-hit for Ed Kranepool with the bases loaded and none out in the 5th inning of the 5th and final game of the 1973 NLCS against the Reds. Hit the first pitch for a little dribbler in front of the plate that he beat out for a hit and an RBI. In the World Series, he drove in the go-ahead run in the 12th inning of the Game 2 victory in Oakland, but only saw action in three of the seven games.