#CardCorner: 1978 Topps Earl Williams

Then again, Williams was one of the more intelligent players of his era; perhaps he did know that the end was coming. He was honest and well spoken, too, traits that sometime put him squarely into the center of the storm. At other times, he used his honesty to convey his sense of humor, making him one of the more interesting characters of the 1970s.

Williams’ professional journey began in 1965, the same year that Major League Baseball instituted a draft. The Milwaukee Braves selected him as a pitcher out of Montclair High School in New Jersey, taking the highly touted 17-year-old with the sixth pick overall. The Braves also agreed to pay for Williams’ college education, allowing him to take classes at Ithaca College before reporting late for a new season of ball.

In later years, Williams credited his classwork at Ithaca will helping him to become a good public speaker. “When I started college, I was majoring in English,” Williams told Bob Ibach of the Baltimore Evening Sun. Then I got into some broadcasting courses and really enjoyed it. Being able to speak is advantageous to an athlete. I feel I can convey my thoughts better.”

After wrapping up his classes in the spring of 1966, Williams began his pro career with the Braves, who had now relocated to Atlanta. Williams pitched in 11 games for Sarasota in the Gulf Coast League. He did well, but the Braves envisioned him as something other than a pitcher. Believing that he could hit with legitimate power, the Braves quickly moved him from the mound to first base.

Still a teenager, Williams struggled in his transition from pitching to hitting. Over his first three minor league seasons, he hit no more than seven home runs at any stop, and saw his batting average settle into the .230 to .250 range. The Braves remained patient. Even at the end of the 1968 season, Williams was still only 20 years old.

The Orioles’ coaches tried to work with Williams on his catching, but he was reluctant to change. He also made it clear that he did not like to catch, and would prefer to play first base. That created a problem: The Orioles had no room for Williams there, not with Boog Powell around to handle the position on an everyday basis.

The difficulties extended beyond Williams, the manager and the coaches. At one point, friction developed between Williams and Andy Etchebarren, one of the other catchers with the Orioles. The tense atmosphere resulted in an uneven debut season in Baltimore. On the surface, Williams’ numbers looked good; he hit 22 home runs and drew 66 walks. But his slugging percentage, on-base percentage, and OPS all fell off from his 1972 levels in Atlanta. Williams’ catching regressed even further, making him a liability and undermining both the Orioles’ pitching and defense.

Williams’ play only worsened in 1974. His slugging percentage fell under .400, while his home run total dropped to 14. The situation seemed to hit rock bottom in one game, when Williams flied out with two outs and the bases loaded. Returning to the dugout, Williams unleashed a long tantrum, which reached such an extreme that Weaver saw fit to remove him from the game.

Even with all of the problems, Williams reported to his third Spring Training with the Orioles in 1975. Weaver included Williams on the Opening Day roster, but did not use his veteran catcher in any games. Rumors swirled that the Orioles would soon trade Williams to the Texas Rangers, a team looking for a starting catcher. On April 17, the O’s announced a trade, but it did not involve Texas. Instead, Williams was heading back to Atlanta for the modest price of a left-handed pitcher named Jimmy Freeman.

By now the Braves had a different owner: Ted Turner. A creative and rebellious sort, Turner announced that he wanted his players to wear their nicknames on the backs of their jerseys. Williams complied, but with his own twist. Rather than put his nickname, “Big Money,” on his uniform, Williams opted for the word “Heavy.” It was Williams’ way to poke fun at himself, while also having some fun with those who had criticized him for his habit of showing up to camp overweight. This was classic Williams.

Now in his second go-round with Atlanta, Williams was no longer a frontline player. The Braves viewed him as a backup catcher and first baseman. As a catcher, Williams made only 11 appearances for the Braves, instead playing more often at first base, where he shared time with Mike Lum. Williams did not give the Braves what they had anticipated; he hit only 11 home runs, the worst output of his career. After a poor start to the 1976 season, the Braves decided to move Williams, selling him to the Montreal Expos in a straight cash deal.

Williams put up mediocre numbers for the Expos, who brought him camp in 1977 but released him during Spring Training. Only a week later, Williams found work with the A’s. Owner Charlie Finley loved nothing better than to give brand name veterans a look later in their careers. When he saw that Williams was in shape, he gladly signed him to a contract, adding him to a roster that already featured several other players near the end of their careers, including Dick Allen and Manny Sanguillen.

On Opening Day, Williams found himself in the starting lineup as the designated hitter. Williams was ready to play, but he was also ready to talk. He saw that the A’s had a bad team and believed that the manager and coaches should share in the blame. At one point, Williams referred to the coaching in Oakland as “nonexistent.” Manager Bobby Winkles did not appreciate the critique. The A’s lost 98 games that season, but both Winkles and Williams lasted the entire season.

Both reported to Spring Training in 1978, but Williams was soon hit with a setback: A broken thumb. In May, the A’s waived Williams, who had yet to appear in a single game that season. When no other team showed interest, Williams was shocked. After all, he was still only 29 and still capable of catching. Not wanting to retire, Williams did something unprecedented. With the help of his mother, with whom he lived, he took out an ad in the New York Times. In the ad, Williams made himself available to any of the 26 major league teams. The ad included the following information: Salary: Very Reasonable Excellent Health-No Police Record Have Bat-Will Travel-Will Hustle. The part about having “no police record” typified Williams’ sense of humor.

While some teams chose not to take the ad seriously, at least one team showed interest. According to a report in the Sporting News, the Expos sent three wires (in the days long before email existed) to Williams. The Expos also left a phone message with his mother. For some reason, Williams did not respond to the Expos’ inquiries. So they signed another veteran catcher, Ed Herrmann, to a contract.

Williams decided to pursue another avenue for continuing his career. He signed a contract to play in the Mexican League, where he starred in 1979 and ’80. After his tenure in Mexico, Williams made news in an article written by New York Times writer Joseph Durso. Ever outspoken, Williams told Durso that he believed race had been a factor in keeping him out of the major leagues. He also admitted to some “immaturity” on his part, another factor in short-circuiting his career.

In spite of the controversial remarks, the Pittsburgh Pirates offered Williams a Spring Training invite in 1981. Williams accepted the invitation, but was unable to make the Pirates’ Opening Day roster. The Pirates did offer him a chance to play for their Triple-A affiliate at Portland, a team that was loading up with former big leaguers, including Luis Tiant, Larvell “Sugar Bear” Blanks and Rusty Torres. Williams thought about the offer, but decided to turn it down, officially ending his career. Williams left baseball completely and went to work for a pharmaceutical company, never to hold a job within the game again.

As a result, I did not hear much about Williams, until reading a note on the Internet in 2013 that said he had passed away after a diagnosis of leukemia. He was just 64. Like many other fans of 1970s baseball, I was saddened to hear that he had died at a young age.

Williams’ career in baseball involved sadness, too. Over his first two seasons in Atlanta, he looked so promising, to the point where some felt he would become one of the best power-hitting catchers of all-time. He did hit 138 home runs during a very respectable career, but fell well short of the expectations that teams like the Braves and Orioles once held.

Perhaps Williams’ career should serve as another reminder – and there are many in baseball history – that the game is tough and offers its players no guarantees. As Jimmy Dugan once said, “[Baseball’s] supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.”

Bruce Markusen is the manager of digital and outreach learning at the National Baseball Hall of Fame