All about the legendary Ted Williams and his first turkey hunt
Ted Willians (right) and a prized turkey bagged on his first 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