All about the legendary Ted Williams and his first turkey hunt

By JOE BYERS
Trucker's World

3/10/2008

The turkey hunting challenge began in the Texas Ranger’s dugout as, then Manager Ted Williams introduced his good friend Karl Smith to Dizzy Dean.

 “Where are you from?” Dean asked inquisitively.

“Tennessee,” replied Smith, adding, “Ted and I hunt and fish a lot together.”

 “Are you a turkey hunter,” continued Dean.

“I sure am,” he said proudly.

“Have you taken Ted turkey hunting?”

“No, but I’ve invited him.

Dean pointed a long finger at Williams and commanded, “You take this big lug turkey hunting.”

And so the campaign for Ted William’s first spring gobbler began although excitement and adventure were second nature to this duo, each veterans of air combat during times of war. 

“We were roommates at the Navy air training center in Pensacola,” says Smith who breaks into laughter at the thought of their first meeting.  “I had just made up my bunk at Pensacola when I heard a knock at the door and this big hunk of a man entered.  I followed sports closely and recognized him immediately.  He extended a hand and introduced himself as Ted Williams.  I returned the greeting as Karl Smith without much expression.

“‘I am THE Ted Williams,’ said the man, but I didn’t bite. After a brief pause, I said,’I’m THE Karl Smith.’

“Williams backed up a step and persisted, ‘I’m the Ted Williams from Boston’ to which I countered; ‘I’m the Karl Smith from Bristol, Tenn./Va.’ The city is split between two states you see.

“Next Williams crossed his arms and said, ‘Bush (he called everybody Bush), you are either putting me on or the dumbest person I ever met.’

“With that we both hugged and had a great laugh.  We have been great friends ever since.”

As two fledgling pilots going off to war, the chances of Smith and Williams seeing each other again were remote, whether to hunt turkeys or just come back alive.  Each man would face the prospect of death on a daily basis.  Both would literally “crash and burn.”

Smith was assigned to the Carrier USS Langley and flew in combat at Iwo Jima and Okinawa, staying at sea more than two months with several flights each day.  Later he participated in the first carrier raid on Tokyo.

“During the approach, a Japanese Zero slipped onto our tail and shot down the skipper and then tipped over on me,” said Smith.  “I didn’t realize I was under attack until tracer bullets whizzed by.  I kicked away and maneuvered sufficient to dodge its attack.  I was fortunate enough to dive and shoot down the Zero, yet my plane was badly damaged in the fight.  I crashed into Tokyo Bay and spent seven hours in a May West until I was rescued.  Another pilot witnessed the demise of the zero and I was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.”

Williams flew as a Marine aviator, yet was frequently moved from squadron to squadron.

“All the guys at the base wanted Ted on their baseball team,” said Smith, “so he never saw combat in World War II.  However, he was called up during the Korean War and flew as the wingman for the Air Group Commander, John Glenn.  That was quite an honor.” 

Smith saluted Williams’ flying skill in a near tragic incident.   Official accounts of the landing read like a Star Wars movie.  Returning from a dog fight, Williams realized that his plane had been hit by enemy fire when the stick oscillated violently and all his controls conked out.  Ground observers saw that the jet was on fire and pleaded for him to bail out, yet the radio receiver was dead.  Once the F-9 engine caught fire, Williams was in extreme danger.  He considered bailing out over partially frozen ocean; yet saw thin ice as a death trap.  With landing gear up, instruments out, and the jet engulfed in flames, and mere seconds of fuel remaining, he belly-landed the craft at full speed.

 In Smith’s words, “He was one hell of a pilot.”

Williams  returned to baseball after Korea and he and Smith often hunted doves, quail and pheasants.  Williams was an excellent shot, perhaps assisted by incredible eyesight that became a two-edged sword with the press.

 “The vision portion of Ted’s physicals would come out 15/15 or 15/10, “ said Smith. “Medical personnel often commented about his outstanding eyesight, a sensitive point with Ted.  He would get hot when sportswriters attributed success to his vision.  Ted would say, ‘I want to be the best baseball player ever and work hard at it.  I am dedicated, that’s why I’m successful.’”  Williams often had a full-length mirror in his room and relentlessly practiced swinging to improve his hitting. 

Like most best-friend relationships, one humorous event stands out and Smith is quick to relate an incident occurring on a fishing trip in Florida.

“We were introduced to a friend and his 12-year old son on a fishing dock.  The lad listened to us chat very patiently and then asked me a question off to the side.  ‘Mr. Smith, how come you were roommates in flight school, yet you flew for the Navy and Ted for the Marines?’

“Well, I responded, making sure that Ted could hear the response. “You see, they send the top 90 percent of pilots go to the Navy while the bottom 10 percent go the Marines.  Ted exploded!”  

With half a life-time of trial, tribulation, and good times behind them, Smith took Dizzy Dean’s request seriously and in early 1980 set about to organize a hunt.  At that time Smith was on the Alabama Game and Fish Commission and set up a hunt with Billy Bonds who managed a large timber tract for Hammermill near Montgomery, Ala.

Williams flew from Chicago where he met Smith and Ben Roger’s Lee.

“Ted was a little shy back then,” remembers Smith.  “He thought the hunt would involve just a few people, however, when we arrived at the Portland Landing Lodge, it seemed like Bonds had invited everyone in the county for a catfish dinner. I assured Ted that this was just a celebration.  The next day, only the hunting party would remain.”

Early the next morning, the hunting trio arose, gathered their gear and headed out.  Ted carried an Ithaca 10-gauge, a powerful shotgun with plenty of reach.  Although Smith also carried a shotgun, his prime concern was seeing his friend succeed.

“You could almost set your watch by the sequence of events,” remembers Smith. “As the first hint of dawn approaches, the barred owls are first to sound off.  Next the whippoorwills (or morning birds) greet the day followed by the first crow calls.  Once the crows begin, you listen carefully, because the turkeys begin to gobble.  The anticipation and sequence of events really makes it exciting.”

Gobblers thundered from distant limbs and the trio moved several times until Lee decided upon the best spot.  Smith remembers Ben Rogers Lee as a “wild man” about turkeys and the first to use a diaphragm caller effectively.  (“Why use a friction call where you have to lay the gun down?” reasoned Lee.) 

Lee’s inviting turkey talk soon had five gobblers focused on their location, approaching like a line of advancing generals.  Williams sat to Lee’s right, Smith to his left.

“The third one is the biggest,” whispered Lee as the toms drew closer. Williams raised the hefty Ithaca briskly and shot, hitting the gobbler like a belt-high fastball down the middle.  

Joe Champion managed the lodge for the Hammermill property and stood with a friend as he awaited the outcome of the hunt.  They couldn’t detect Ben Lee calling or the turkey response, yet he was sure the report of the 10-gauge would be heard.

“Ben took them down toward the Cyprus ponds, about a quarter mile from the lodge,” Champion reflects.  “We waited patiently outside until we heard the shot.  There was a pause and then a shout from Williams celebrating his success.”

When Williams returned to camp, he was aglow with the experience.

“Ted said he’d been all over the world; caught a lot of fish, but that was the most exciting thing he’d ever done,” remembers Champion. 

Champion guided Williams in succeeding years, yet was never able to call in a bird for the Boston slugger.

 “Mr. Ted was an excellent hunter,” said Champion.  “He was a good shot, quiet in the woods, and listened to a guide’s advice.  His incredible eyesight sticks out most from our hunts together.  He would see a turkey two or three minutes before I could and see movement in the woods at 200-300 yards.  It was unbelievable.”

Whenever Williams visited Portland Landing, he often sought out Thomas “Sunny” Hunter who previously owned a baseball team in the Colored League during the 1930’s.

 “Ted would visit Sunny at his small country store or have dinner at the lodge, talking for hours about baseball.

“When we hunted together, he wasn’t a baseball star, just a good friend and companion,” said Champion.  “He once asked if turkeys could smell like a deer, keenly aware the birds had good eyesight and hearing.  No, Mr. Ted, they can’t, I told him.  But if they could, I don’t think we’d ever see one.  He remembered that phrase and commented about it with others in succeeding years.  He was a very special man.  We still cherish his signature in the guest book at Portland Landing.”