As I was driving down Route 93 in New Hampshire, I saw a bumper sticker on a green van that merely said: “Thaw Ted.” I was saddened to see that the general public has had to resort to that means to express their feelings regarding the “final state” of this patriot, Red Sox star and Jimmy Fund advocate.
A recent announcement (2/19/03) that his son, John-Henry Williams, was embarking on a career in baseball was even a worse reminder. At 33, he has signed with the Schaumburg Flyers — a minor league baseball organization (www.flyersbaseball.com) in the Northern League. He apparently spent the winter training in California. One wonders at the Flyers’ motives. The Williams scion remarked, “I only regret is that my teacher, mentor and best friend, the greatest hitter that ever lived, is unable to accompany me on this exciting journey. I dedicate this day, this season and my career to the memory of my dad.”
After July 5, 2002, the date of Ted Williams’ death, many people assumed that he would be given the proper respect that DiMaggio and Mantle received — a prominent and heartfelt tribute to their accolades and impact on the game. It did not require lying in state like Ruth did in Yankee Stadium; New Englanders knew Teddy Ballgame wouldn’t want a fuss — but no one expected the circus that followed.
To pay respects to Joe DiMaggio, one needs only to visit the outdoor crypt in Holy Cross Cemetery in Colma, Calif. For Mantle, one visits at Sparkman Hillcrest in Dallas, Texas. For Ted, one stands in frustration outside the Alcor Life Extension facility in Scottsdale, Ariz., a macabre, private foundation that cryonically preserves humans after death.
The remains are referred to as “patients,” yet they are deceased. There is no memorial plaque on the liquid nitrogen filled, stainless steel tank that has an inside temperature that exceeds that of the dark side of the moon. Apparently two or three other bodies and a preserved head or two share the same tank as The Greatest Hitter Who Ever Lived.
There in the vast absurdity of the “Foundation” is the lifeless frozen body of Ted Williams, willfully placed there by two of his three siblings. Most people that were close to him mentioned his desire to be cremated and to have his ashes dispersed over the Florida Keys, a favorite fishing spot, and his second favorite sport. His Will requests the same.
Since his death, no one except his daughter Barbara Joyce Ferrell (Bobby Jo), his first born, has had the guts to fight to free her father from the absurd belief that he might one day come back from a cryonic state. Even Alcor promises nothing. With the current knowledge of medicine and the biology of life and death, educated people know that frozen steak once thawed, returns to thawed steak, not the living cow. As a Ph.D. reproductive biologist by training, and avid baseball fan, my formal education tells me that it will be three centuries, if ever, before an entire deceased animal or man might be revived from a frozen state. Curing all that ailed Ted, especially at age 83, would add to the challenge and is probably insurmountable.
Then there is the question. What do you do with an 83-year old baseball player? After all, biology has only succeeded in revitalizing life from a frozen state at the cellular level (frozen eggs, sperm, early embryos), not whole bodies, whether animal or man. Those single or multiple “cells” are living, not dead tissue, when properly frozen in protective, nutritive biological media. Ted was no longer living and death is just that – “death,” the finality of life in a biological state.
The third travesty is the fact that, with the exception his first-born daughter, Bobby Jo and a few dedicated sympathizers, no one of sufficient celebrity cared to voice their opinion strongly enough to save Ted from his despicable fate in an Arizona storage facility. For his admirers, there is no finality to Mr. Williams’ current “state of limbo.”
Where were Major League Baseball, Mr. Bud Selig, the commissioner, Ted’s closest living contemporaries and Red Sox teammates and current players, or the prestigious Hall of Fame in Cooperstown through all of this insanity regarding the intended disposition of his body? “The cries of silence,” I call them.
Where was the outcry from the Bobby Doerrs, the Tony Gwynns, the Nomars, and the others who knew him best, or knelt in his honor in the infield for a photo op. Where was the Red Sox organization, or the Jimmy Fund in Boston for that matter? Sure, Dom DiMaggio voiced his opinion on the matter and strongly, but what of the other players and executives that could have impacted the situation and maybe altered the course of Ted’s fate?
Were they somewhere out in “left field,” beyond the Green Monster that Ted defended all those years? They seemed out of reach and deaf to the fans’ plea for sanity and respect for their departed hero — a man who’s life was greater than Boston itself. Any one of the celebrities, players, or executives mentioned above could have probably impacted the situation and shamed the siblings, John-Henry and Claudia into complying with their father’s official last will and testament in 1996 — the one he signed with his official signature (Theodore S. Williams), not the “autograph” signature “Ted Williams” oddly centered on a scrap of paper, as though the other words on the page had been added later. Few people believe that the oil-stained, hand-written note that graced the trunk of John Henry Williams’ car is a bonafide document, non-notarized or drafted and formalized in 2000 by legal staff two years preceding Ted’s death. Not a nurse, doctor or hospital administrator could even be found to witness the document.
More importantly, few people believe that Ted desired his current fate in Arizona, purportedly awaiting his daughter and son to join him when they expire. He was too smart for the absurd possibility of being revived from a frozen state. He found old age to be difficult enough as it already was, as detailed in a sympathetic Sports Illustrated article.
These “cries of silence” and inaction may have even contributed to Ted Williams’ ultimate fate — a bizarre state of purgatory. The silence continues to this day as the 2003 season begins. A new Web site (February 2003) dedicated to save (release) Ted has been created, albeit too late in many ways. Another site that existed a few months back (Ted’s Last Wish Fund) died a slow death due to apathy and the lack of commitment from people who could have made a difference in the legal battle to free Ted from his “frozen rest.”
Sadly, John-Henry, a handsome, tall reflection of his father’s image in many ways had the world by the lower anatomy and could have been respected today had he honored his father’s wishes, and had he donned the mantle of charity for which his father was so well known. Time is against John-Henry as well. No doubt he could easily have been a movie star, a prominent spokesperson for his dad and his legacy, an advocate for his father’s Hitter’s Hall of Fame Museum in Hernando, Fla., and a “willing participant” in the official Ted Williams Tribute at the 2002 Fenway Park memorial. Rather than appreciated as Ted’s only son, he is ridiculed and even hated across the land. Sadly, one worries how fans in Chicago will receive him in May 2003 if he makes the team and appears on the field. Signs like “Free Ted”, Thaw Ted” or “Free Tedsicle” are likely to greet him, a further rebuke which reflects not well on Ted himself.
Ted Williams’ legacy in baseball will remain no matter what. There are books and tributes by the people that knew him well, some of whom have researched Ted’s life thoroughly.. The Jim Primes, Bill Nowlins and Boston sportswriters may have known Ted best. Those writers can review the past accomplishments but none will be able to predict the future — Ted’s future. There can be no finality, or grave site, or historical marker by a Florida Keys dock to visit and pay respects any time soon. There can no finality for Theodore Samuel Williams or his fans, because there is no finality to Ted’s fate — not until he is granted his final wish. Ah, the travesty of it all.
J.P. Polidoro is an alumnus of UMass, earning a M.S. and Ph.D. in 1968 and 1972, respectively. Polidoro is author of three novels, one of which is the fictional account of the cloning of Ted Williams, titled “Project Samuel.” The book (by Longtail Publishing) preceded Williams’ death by 10 months. Polidoro is vehemently in favor of granting Ted his final wish and proper respect. Polidoro has worked closely with Ted’s daughter, Mrs. Ferrell, in that quest.