Luverne's Don Talbert received the opportunity to meet the late Ted Williams during a four-year teaching stint in Princeton. Talbert was a high school baseball coach at the time, and he shares a story of fanning the Splendid Splinter during a practice session.
By John Rittenhouse
When Ted Williams retired from professional baseball after the 1960 season, he had compiled 2,654 hits.
Had Williams not missed five full seasons (1943-45, and 1952-53) for military commitments during a career that started in Boston in 1939, he surely would have surpassed baseball's coveted 3,000-hit plateau.
When Williams succumbed to cardiac arrest July 5 in Inverness, Fla., the baseball world mourned the loss of man who wanted to be known as the greatest hitter who ever lived.
In the days after Williams' death, a lot of the attention was placed on his spectacular 1941 season. It was his third year in the Major Leagues, and it ended with Williams sporting a .406 batting average, which was the last time anyone batted over .400 for a full season.
When news of Williams' passing reached Luverne's Don Talbert, it stirred memories of days before the Splendid Splinter's playing days with the Boston Red Sox.
Before busting in on the baseball scene for the American League Team on the nation's East Coast, Williams played a few seasons with the Minneapolis Millers, a Triple A minor league team of that era.
Talbert taught high school shop and mathematics for the Princeton School District from 1936-1940, and his path crossed with Williams a number of times when Teddy Ballgame was courting one of Talbert's students at the time.
"I taught his first wife in my math class," Talbert recalls. "Her name was Doris Soule, and Williams always picked her up from our school when he was in town. I would guess I visited with Ted between 12 and 15 times after we first met."
A man named Jack Kallas owned Princeton's biggest restaurant at the time, and it was one of Kallas' sons who persuaded Williams to spend an off-day with the Millers in the community about 60 miles north of Minneapolis. Talbert was in the restaurant that day, and the Kallas boy introduced him to the future Hall of Famer.
Williams, who Talbert estimated to be around the age of 19 at the time, also met Soule that day. Both individuals shared a mutual attraction, and Williams graced Princeton with his presence many times after that.
Talbert remembers Williams being an avid sportsman who would go deer hunting with some of the friends he made in Princeton during the late fall.
After getting to know Talbert better, Williams persuaded the school's shop teacher to make a wooden case to lodge a .32 caliber pistol he had recently purchased.
"Every time Ted met a new person, he would let them know that he was the dominant, top man," Talbert said. "That's just the way he was. After that first meeting, he was as friendly as the next guy."
Talbert found out that Williams' friendly demeanor had its limits when it came to baseball.
The son of a man who once hit a home run that was measured longer than 500 feet, Talbert loved the game of baseball, and he knew the game well enough to be Princeton's varsity coach.
Talbert fancied himself as a solid pitcher, and he got to prove it to his Princeton players during a practice session.
"I was pitching batting practice, and Williams was there watching. After a while, he grabbed the bat out of one of the boy's hands and said he was going to show him how to hit the ball," Talbert said.
Talbert obliged the future legend, and tossed a couple pitches past the surprised batter. The situation angered Williams, and he cussed at the pitcher while asking him to deliver one more offering over the plate at the same time.
Not wanting to be shown up in front of his players, and equally angry for being sworn at in front of them, Talbert rose to the occasion and threw a pitch he remembers fondly to this day.
"I threw him a breaking ball, and he swung so hard I thought we might break his back. He missed it. Ted was never very friendly to me after that."
Considering the way Williams was trying to steal the show at the pitcher's expense that day, Talbert didn't seem to mind having a strained relationship with the batter from that day forward.
Although no one will ever know, Talbert may have earned some respect from Williams that day.
At the least, citizens of Luverne can see Talbert walking down the street and say, "There goes the man who struck out the greatest hitter who ever lived."