The Ballad of Old Bill Williams

EDITOR’S NOTE: In August of 1982 James K. Gaynor, Professor of Law Emeritus of Northern Kentucky University, sent this long narrative poem to TNP. In the letter accompanying it he wrote: “The current SABR directory indicates that only seven of the 1,161 members are interested in umpiring, but I am one of the seven. . . . These ballads were given to me in 1935 when I was umpiring in the Nebraska State League. There the donor was a young baseball writer in Norfolk, Nebraska; I long since have forgotten his name. He said they were written by a Dr. Starkey, a local physician whom I did not meet.” Our thanks to Mr. Gaynor, and to “Dr. Starkey,” for this marvelous find. (P.S. The tough character below might have stood in for Old Bill Williams, but he is in fact Jack Sheridan, a big-league ump from 1892 to 1914.)

 

 

I. The Master of the Umpires

Old Bill Williams was chief of the umps
In a roughneck league in the West,
They made him the chief because he had stayed
Far longer than all the rest.
He welcomed his work in the afternoons
When he went to his daily task,
And he smiled as he put his uniform on
With shin guards, protector, and mask.

He looked a lot like old Charley Moran,
When Charley was looking his best,
And he weighed pretty close to two hundred and five,
With most of it up ’round his chest.
He had his own system of handling men,
With scarcely no trouble at all.
He seldom used fines, but said, “If they’re big,
It’s an awful lot harder they’ll fall.”

He was boss of the field from the time he arrived
And his methods were always the same,
The players might kick but it got them no place,
For they found he was running the game.
Recruits did not know that Bill ran the show
And some of them argued too long,
‘Til he said, “Twenty-five and be glad you’re alive,
I never yet called any wrong.”

‘Twas a wonderful sight to see Bill in a fight,
The knockouts were his as a rule,
And many that knew of his famous “one-two”
Would say he could fight like a fool.
There was never a stall after he’d call, “play ball,”
For the old heads all hated the sight
Of getting bawled out with the crowd all about
And they knew ’twas a fine or a fight.

I remember one day when they went out to play,
A stranger appeared on the scene.
He looked mighty rough and said he was tough
And the very best “grabber” there’d been.
When he put on his mask to work at his task,
A bulldog and he looked a pair,
And the spectators thought of the man as he caught
That a muzzle seemed natural there.

The first of the game, there were none very close,
So no one had much chance to kick,
But then from the seventh up to the eleventh,
The close ones came in pretty thick.
But Bill worked away and was on every play
And called them all just as they looked,
When the last man came up with two on and two out,
It was darn sure that trouble was booked.

The man up at bat was the catcher so tough,
And he turned to Old Bill with a growl,
“If you miss one on me, you will not live to see
All the things I will hang on your brow.”
But Bill never heard, not one single word,
Nor knew what the man talked about.
With a call of two-two, a nice one came through,
And Old Bill rightaway called, “You’re out!”

The fight that took place is history now,
Folks thought that it lasted for hours,
But Bill got his man, laid him cold as a clam
Before the teams went to the showers.
When he got to his feet he was still half asleep
For what Bill had done was a crime,
But he’d made a good fight, was a terrible sight,
So Bill didn’t fine him a dime.

The players knew Bill was straight as a string,
That he tried to be on every play,
Though he’d never admit that he made a mistake
And when questioned he always would say,
“It’s a ball or a strike, it’s fair or it’s foul,
He failed or the base he did make,
There are none quite so close as to leave any doubt
And I’ve never yet made a mistake.”

He stayed quite a while in that league in the West
But one day there came quite a dearth
Of umps they could use in the two major leagues,
But Bill had falled off of the earth.
The scouts for the bigs hunted three times as hard
As they hunted for players that year,
But about all the word that they ever sent back
Was the line that “Old Bill is not here.”

I was walking one day through a nice little town
And I stopped at a place where they sell
Automobiles and tires and things of that sort
When I thought that I’d come out and yell,
For there was Old Bill, he was selling a car,
I was sure that my brain was awhirl,
And I asked, “Is that Bill?” of a man standing there
And ’twas then that I heard of the girl.

Yes, Bill found a girl, a darling she was,
And it worried her none to talk back,
But then if Bill did, she would just say to him,
“I don’t want another wise crack.”
Yes, back in his days when calling the plays,
A man talked back once, not again,
But the girl in the case bossed him over the place
And she weighed one hundred and ten.

II. Old Bill Comes Back

The men that play professional ball,
While playing a game will jump
And yell and kick and bawl about
A decision that comes from the ump.
They don’t stop to think that he watched the play,
The whole thing was right in his sight,
And that he has to call two hundred a day
Of which every one has to be right.

He has to be boss of the game at all times
And has to keep straight with the folk
That come out to the games on the warm afternoons,
Or the club owner’s apt to go broke.
Umps are mighty good men and they try to be square
But it takes time for them to get ripe,
In their judgment of plays and of balls and of strikes,
And Bill Williams was of the best type.

He watched them all close and he handled the men
So that no time was lost in the game,
And most of the time he was calling them right,
At least he’d acquired that name.
But he saw a girl in the grandstand one day
And after the game they both tarried,
And when Bill came out of the trance he was in,
He found himself happily married.

Then his wife said, “My dear, at the end of this year
Your calling of plays has to stop,
For merciful heavens, just think of Bill Evans,
He was hit by a bottle of pop!”
As she had Old Bill strictly under her thumb
And she did not care what folks thought,
She found a good town and chased him around
Until a garage he bought.

Bill stuck pretty close to the job for a year
But the business was always the same,
He wanted a change on a hot afternoon,
So he drove himself out to the game.
A scout, sitting there, recognized him at once
And hastily wired the chief
Of one of the leagues that was looking for him,
As his umpires were giving him grief.
He called up Old Bill on the long distance phone
And he talked till he’d worn off Bill’s ear,
And finally the Missus said Bill could go back
If he’d only sign up for a year.
He hit for Chicago on that very night
To see the big boss that was there,
And was told that his stuff was sure good enough
For him to get by anywhere.

There were just a few players Bill knew in the league
And none of them in the first game,
That he worked in a town where they never had heard
Of anyone bearing his name.
There was some of the men thought they would ride
The umpire from out in the sticks
But Bill only smiled, although he was riled,
And was harder than four loads of bricks.

Bill called the balls and the strikes the first day
As they put him in back of the plate,
And a lad came to bat who could murder a curve
But would miss those that came fast and straight.
With a call of two-two, a fast one went by
That cut the plate honest and fair,
And Bill called the strike and then called him out,
He was left with his bat in the air.

He dropped to his knees and folded his hands
And looked as if to make prayer,
When Bill said, “You’re funny, just stay on the bench
And see if they’ll laugh at you there.”
One pitcher was wild—he threw lots of balls
That would miss the plate almost a mile,
So he said to Bill, “Let the crowd see your ring,
Please use your right hand for awhile!”

But Bill got along mighty well with the game,
He only put one off the field,
For when he’d called a play, it stayed just that way
And never an inch would he yield.
And so the first day in the big show was through
And right away Bill made a break
To the telegraph office and wired his wife,
“I never yet made a mistake.”

III. Old Bill Faces the Mob

Bill Williams got by pretty well in this league
And when he’d been up quite awhile,
The players he met on the street that he knew,
He’d say “how-de-do” and then smile.
But out on the field, he knew no player’s name,
He treated them all just alike,
And after he’d made his call on a play,
They would go right ahead with the game.

New catchers came in who thought they were smart
And at times they would step on his feet,
And Old Bill would say, “I won’t put on a fine,
But later we’d better not meet.”
One day a young catcher started a fight
Who wasn’t familiar with Bill.
He was out for a month while they patched him up
In a hospital up on the hill.

The race that they had for the pennant that year
Was down where it was pretty fine,
The two teams in front were laboring hard
And neither had given a sign
Of blowing up under the strain of the race
And both of them stayed full of fight;
They filled up the stands in the towns where they played
As they struggled with all of their might.

And when the two met in a series of games
That was to decide on the race,
The climate was tense, they both showed the strain
Of keeping the terrible pace.
The players were crabby and fought for each play
And the managers frequently kicked,
And the chief of the umps put Bill on the games
Because he had never been licked.

They were playing five games and each had won two
On the last afternoon that they met,
And when Bill called the game and started them off,
They were feeling the tension, you bet,
So both plugged along till the last of the ninth
As each had acquired a score,
But both of these came at the first of the game
And neither could get any more.

In the first of the tenth, two runners got on,
They were standing on second and third;
The stands were so silent as all watched the play
That one hated to utter a word.
The pitcher was working as smooth as a watch
And Bill had both eyes on the game,
“No matter which wins,” was the thought that he had,
“They both are entitled to fame!”

The man up at bat at this critical time,
Was not such a very good hitter,
But everyone knew that he’d give them his best
For he never was known as a quitter.
There was only one out and he rapped a long fly
Which was hit to the man playing right,
And the man upon third raced back to the bag
And watched closely the ball in its flight.

As soon as the fielder had landed the catch,
The man on third broke for the plate,
And the fielder cut loose with a beautiful throw,
Hoping it was not too late.
The play was so thrilling, the crowds in the stands
Were all of them holding their breath
With the man and the ball on the way to the plate,
The field was as silent as death.

It seemed to the crowd they both got there at once,
The home team thought he was out;
But when Bill called him safe and said, “The score counts!”
Why, there seemed just a wee bit of doubt
That he would escape from the crowd with his life
So they called for the cops o’er the phone,
But when they arrived, Old Bill took his stuff
And said, “I will walk out alone.”

Then he walked through the crowd that wanted his hide
And not once did he hesitate
With most of them crazy to hang the old man
For the play that he’d called at the plate.
From the telegraph office he wired his wife
That he had no excuse to make
“For I saw it all, and the mug dropped the ball,
And I never make a mistake.”

IV. Old Bill’s Great Experience

When they pick out the umps for the World’s Series games,
The leaders of Organized Ball
Pick out the men that are best in both leagues
And whom they depend on to call
The close ones that come at the plate, in the field,
And there’s generally always a raft
Of games that need umpires of courage and skill,
And Bill Williams was “King of the Craft.”

His very first year he impressed everyone
With the way that he handled his games,
He finished on time, he had little grief
And never was called any names.
They knew he had courage as he’d called the play
That decided the pennant that fall,
And he’d walked out alone through a big, angry mob
When he had no protection at all.

Bill’s turn came first, so the opening game
He was calling them back of the plate,
And he never went bad on a ball or a strike,
His umpiring simply was great.
The catchers kicked some, but that didn’t count,
They were working the tricks of their trade,
For down in their hearts, they knew he was right
As a fairer ump never was made.

There was only one question about a called strike,
A curve and the lad tried to duck it
So Bill told the boy as he started to kick,
Just keep your foot out of the bucket
And maybe you’ll hit if you’ll stand up and swing
And not try to pull an old fake,
For I saw it all, ’twas a strike, not a ball,
And I never make a mistake.”

The next day at third, a catcher was out
And right away started to kick,
But Bill said, “Shut up, you know you were out
And you know when I call them, they stick.”
The next day at second and the next one at first
Were quiet and troubleless days,
But Bill thought, “Tomorrow, in back of the plate,
I’ll be calling the difficult plays.”

The second time Bill was in back of the plate,
Each inning the players he hurried,
And some of the men that knew him the best
Considered he looked a bit worried.
The leaders were standing three won and one lost
And it seemed that this game would decide
But the trailers got started along in the eighth
And the first thing they knew, it was tied.

In the last of the ninth the trailers were up
And they’d put a man on third base,
But two men were out and prospects were slim
When a batter walked into his place;
When he hit a long fly into deep center field,
The crowd simply muttered, “That’s all.”
But the man on third base scrambled over the plate
As the man in the field dropped the ball.

And so the next day when the teams went out to play,
The trailers were chock full of fight,
If they won on this day there’d be one more to play
With a possible victory in sight.
That night when the umpires were eating their meal
And allowing their fancies to roam,
Old Bill didn’t visit or say a whole lot
Except that he ought to be home.

Bill called them at third all through the last game
And there wasn’t a whole lot to do,
But a telegram arrived in the top of the sixth
Which he claimed only when he was through.
He tore it wide open and read it at once
And he gasped as though suffering pain,
Then he sprang to a cab and yelled at the man,
“Get me to that six-thirty train!”

When he got on the train, he never was still,
He bullied and bossed all the crews,
He had started right out with his uniform on
And all that he’d changed was his shoes.
But at last he got home, found the wife feeling good
And his baby there for him to take,
And he wired his friends, “She looks like her Ma,
So I guess that she’s made no mistake.”

In the spring when the players all head for the South,
The umpires ofttimes go along;
They need to get rid of some fat they’ve acquired
While loafing the whole winter long.
The Bill Williams baby might have been three
When Bill thought that she and her mother
Had best take a trip to the South with the teams
And possibly visit his brother.

He’d kept the garage and it made him some coin
So he said to his wife, “Now, my dear,
There’s nothing to keep both you and the babe
From going on two trips a year
Around the big circuit and see all the towns
And meet the good men of the game
And you might want to see how the folks regard me
As I’m rather proud of my name.”

So all of the time that the girl was quite small,
They went in the spring and the fall,
But later when she began going to school,
One trip in the summer was all
That she and her mother went out on the road
Where father was gathering fame
As a writer of sports as well as an ump,
And his prose style could not be called lame.

This arrangement was fine and they had lots of fun
As Bill was a family man,
But when the girl’s age was about seventeen,
It was then that the trouble began.
She looked as her mother had looked at the time
That Bill thought she was looking her best;
And Bill was so proud of his two womenfolk
That at times it affected his chest.

They had a fine time, the Missus and Bill,
Till somehow it came to their knowledge
That daughter had shown quite an interest in
Some lad that came up from a college.
A mighty fine man, as straight as a string,
For no better one could you ask,
But Bill was against him, for his little trick
Was with a protector and mask.

So Bill sent them home, which he hated to do,
But he had assumed this position
That as long as the lad was a catcher he could
Be hardly a step from perdition.
The catchers and Bill never seemed to get on
As lots of them thought it a treat
To run into him while chasing a foul
And at times stick their spikes in his feet.

But once every summer she went on the trip
And most of the players went wild
About the sweet girl who looked like her Ma
And who was tough Old Bill’s only child.
The players were careful about what they said
And kicked in less violent ways,
When she was along than when she was not
And her dad was calling the plays.

The girl could never have gone on a diet,
At least one that would make her look thinner,
As most every night before six o’clock,
She had nine invitations to dinner.
Now some of the times Old Bill let her go,
As with her he’d try to be fair,
But he laid down the law that no place could she go
If an unmarried catcher was there.

The pitchers, infielders, and outfielders, too,
All seemed to get by pretty pat,
But the idiosyncrasy held by Old Bill
Was for lads that worked back of the bat.
Still, once in a while, when her dad did not know,
She’d hurriedly send out a line
To the beau in whom most of her ardor was placed,
And they’d slip off somewhere and dine.

One night as Old Bill was alone in his room,
She came in bearing some flowers,
And she told her dad, “Now don’t you get mad,
We’ve been married for nearly two hours.”
Bill needed his wife, so he sent her a wire,
‘Twas one he was certain would fetch her,
It said, “Come at once, I know not what to do,
As our daughter has just wed a catcher!”

V. Bill’s Big Surprise

When Bill Williams’ daughter and new son-in-law
Came home, of course Bill did not know
That the lad had saved most of his salary check
And had planted considerable dough.
When they came to the house to see Bill and his wife
Along at the end of the year
They were talking of renting a house for themselves
But Bill said, “You both will stay here.

“You buy half the garage and run the whole thing,
You don’t need to pay for it now
And if my daughter does as her mother used to,
She’ll operate you anyhow.
You children must live right here in the house
As mother and I won’t be here,
We are joining the teams in their trip ’round the world;
We’ll be gone for the rest of the year.”

So the next week Old Bill and his wonderful wife
Took the train and blew into New York
Where they climbed on the boat with the rest of the crowd
And soon they were started for Cork.
There they were to play the first of their games
Which the Irish would think rather queer,
For when they picked up something to throw at a man,
Their intent was to knock off his ear.

The whole outfit was sick except three or four
Who had oft’ made the trip o’er the foam,
And all Bill could say when he woke every day
Was, “Oh, how I wish I was home.”
At last they got right but Bill wanted to fight
When the managers picked out the teams,
As the batteries picked for the opening game,
To Bill, were the wildest of dreams.

“Cvengros and Picinich for one of the teams,
Yde and Grabowski, the other,
These names for a game that’s to be played in Cork
Make me wish I was home with my brother.
But then go ahead, you’ll maybe get by,
About all you can do is to try it,
But to call out such names as you’ve written down here
Is just an excuse for a riot.”

Nothing took place in the riotous line
For the players outnumbered the folk
That were up in the stands merely watching the game
Wond’ring when the Yanks’d go broke.
When they finished in Cork, they made all the towns
Where the manager listed a game,
And Bill called the balls and the strikes every day
And treated all games just the same.

They had no bad luck until nearly all through,
It was then they were up at Hong Kong,
That Bill’s Missus got sick and he said he would wait
Until he could bring her along.
So he cabled the boss, he’d be late getting back,
If he left, he knew “Mother would die,”
And that he’d have to stay until she could leave
So they returned the last of July.

When Bill got on land, he headed for home
And when he walked up to the door,
It was opened for him by a pleasant-faced girl
Whom he’d never seen there before,
And when he heard a noise that he had not heard
For many and many a year
He turned to his wife and whispered with awe,
“I wonder what’s going on here!”

So he ran in to see the pride of his life,
She wasn’t yet leaving her bed,
And he cried out, “My dear, we should have been here,”
As gently she patted his head.
Then she told the old man of the grand baby boy
That had come while they both were away;
Bill wired the boss, “I can never come back,
I got a new job just today.”

Then Grandfather Bill wired two of his friends,
Bob Emslie and Henry O’Day,
And told them as soon as they both could get loose,
They’d both have to come out and stay.
So they visited Bill when the season was closed
At his home by the side of the lake
And they exuded joy as they all trained the boy
So he’d never make a mistake.