Dick Williams was another manager from the old no-nonsense school. He probably had to become a little crusty to maintain control of the volatile Oakland A’s who ruled the American League in the early seventies. The last time Williams was in my clubhouse, he was managing the Seattle Mariners, and Pete Ladd was one of his relief pitchers. Pete was a huge guy who used to work as a prison guard in Maine during the off-season. Obviously, he had to deal with some pretty tough people.

Pete was terrified of Dick Williams.

The Mariners were in town for a weekend series, and all three games were ridiculously long. There were rain delays, extra innings, high scores, you name it. One game didn’t get over until two in the morning. That night, the third inning didn’t start until around midnight, and some of the players were starting to get hungry. The players in the dugout started coming up into the clubhouse and grabbing a sandwich, a bag of chips, or a candy bar. The bullpen in County Stadium is in right-center field, so the relief pitchers and bullpen catchers couldn’t come up for a snack. They came up with a better idea and called the clubhouse.

“Big Jim,” somebody said. “Can you order some pizzas and send them out to the bullpen?”

No problem. I called a pizza place, had some pizzas delivered to the clubhouse, and had one of the clubhouse kids run them out to the bullpen. Then my phone rang again. It was Pete.

“Jim,” he said. “I didn’t call you.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“OK. I just want you to know I had nothing to do with this.”

I didn’t know what the joke was, but after the game, Pete was sitting at one of the tables filling up on the postgame meal. One of his teammates talked me into kidding him a little bit.

“Hey, Pete,” I said. “You got a little pepperoni on your cheek.”

Pete totally lost his composure and walked away. He was trembling.

He told me later that Williams was sitting right there, and if he found out they had pizzas in the bullpen, the whole staff might be released the next day. One of the Mariners’ relievers told me that Pete didn’t even eat any of the pizza, because he was afraid of what Williams would do if he found out.

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