Sox 67 – All is Not Well

In December 1967 Sox manager Dick Williams seemed to be on top of the baseball world. He had taken a team that two years before had lost 100 games and gotten them a game away from a World Series title. His 100-to-1 shot had won the hearts not only of fans in Boston- the beginning of Red Sox Nation- but of the entire baseball world.
 
Yet a fatal flaw existed in Williams' personality- a brashness and cockiness that sometimes bordered on cruelty in his relationships with his players. According to an incisive column by the Globe's Will McDonough, Dick was spending the winter in Palm Beach, California, overseeing the construction of an expensive-by 67 standards-  new home, driving a Cadillac and hobnobbing with celebrities like Jack Nicklaus.
 
According to McDonough, some of Williams' fellow managers felt that the Impossible Dream success and the security of a three-year contract would "take the lash out of his whip." Dick assured the writer that this would not happen. "We're going to be in better shape-if that's possible-right from the start. And we're going to be just as strict about things as we were last year."
 
If Williams' pitching staff had remained strong, with Jim Lonborg and Jose Santiago as the top two starters and trade acquisitions Ray Culp and Dick Ellsworth taking the third and fourth spots, the 68 Sox might have repeated as champs. But injuries- always an intangible in sports- struck with a vengeance. They robbed the team of Lonborg and Santiago as effective players and-combined with the season-long absence of Tony Conigliaro- turned the Sox into fourth place also-rans.
 
The winter had already revealed seeds of discontent among some of Dick's players. Catcher Mike Ryan, the pride of Haverhill, had been quoted as being unhappy about playing behind 39-year-old Elston Howard and had given a "play me or trade me" message.
Closer John Wyatt complained about alleged remarks by Williams that he did not pitch well under pressure. And Tony C- never one to mince words- stated at a banquet that Williams, Lonborg, and Carl Yastrzemski had gotten too much credit for the team's success.
 
Some managers would respond to these remarks by talking to the players involved and at least trying to work things out. But this, unfortunately, was not Dick's way. The result was a growing "doghouse"  of unhappy men. Ryan's request was met with a trade to the Phillies, but not before a Williams observation that "he is not a smart catcher. He does not call a good game. He did not play late in the season, because we got Ellie and he calls a better game than Mike." Later in the same article, Williams talked about alleged doghouse member Lee Stange: "He does not hold runners on base well and does not field bunts well. So against certain teams which steal and bunt…you can't afford to pitch him." Another Williams target, erratic third baseman Joe Foy, also was not spared: "Joe started out the season thinking he could do things Joe Foy's way best. He found the best way is the team's way." Or maybe the manager's way.
 
On winning teams like 67, Dick might have gotten away with such open criticisms. But as the Sox faded in 68 and 69, many players began to dislike Williams to the point that they would stop giving their all. At the time of his firing in September 69, Yaz, Conig, and others reportedly had stopped even speaking to Williams.
 
Dick, who passed away last year at age 82, would go on to manage at Oakland, California, Montreal, San Diego, and Seattle. He had initial success almost everywhere he went, winning three pennants and two World Series with the A's. But he inevitably ended up leaving under a cloud. His autocratic style seemed to always alienate even his best players. As free agency reduced the power of managers everywhere, skippers of Williams' type became less and less effective. Williams' last major league managing job ended in the spring of 1988.
 
Dick Williams was elected to baseball's Hall of Fame by the Veterans Committee in 2008. He is still regarded as an excellent baseball man. It's too bad he couldn't give more as a person- in Boston and afterward.