THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, April 9, 1995 TAG: 9504090047
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Paul South
LENGTH: Medium: 70 lines
For Bill Walker, it's a matter of taking life's lemons and turning them into lemonade.
``It's a tough world out there,'' he says matter-of-factly, his bushy mustache almost covering his mouth. ``Out here, we're trying to teach the kids not just about baseball. We're also trying to teach them a little something about life. Sometimes things are going to be hard, and sometimes you're not going to win.''
``Out here'' is on the baseball diamond. For the last eight years, Bill Walker has been among the legion of youth volunteers working in Babe Ruth Baseball. He has been a coach and an administrator. And to many of the kids who have come through the program, he has been a confidant, a friend and in some instances the closest thing to a father they will ever know.
Walker knows how hard the world can be. He is a Kill Devil Hills police detective. Every day, he helps protect and serve his community. For most, working his beat would be more than enough. Walker does more. Why?
``About five years ago, my son William (now 15) asked me the same question,'' he said. ``I do it totally for him, and for all the kids like him who need a place to play baseball. Life is tough, and these kids need a good place to grow up. I can't think of a better place than in baseball.''
Will Walker hang up his volunteer spikes when his three sons grow out of the Babe Ruth program?
``No, I've got it in my blood. I don't think I'll be able to give it up. There are too many kids who need help.''
Walker sees kids who need help day after day. Life's tragedies are a part of his daily job. When three small Delaware children were killed by their father a few weeks back, no one saw the big detective shed tears. But he did.
``I just kept thinking about my own kids,'' he said.
And no one sees it when he pays the registration fee for a kid whose folks have fallen on hard times.
``I jut don't think any kid who wants to play should be kept out because he doesn't have the money. A few weeks back, this little boy that I coached a couple of years ago came up to me and asked, `Coach, were you the one who paid my way to play ball?' I just told him, don't worry about who paid the tab, just go out and do the best you can and have fun.''
Walker, 42, a 23-year law enforcement veteran, has his own baseball memory, coaxed from his childhood days in Newport News.
``It's kind of corny,'' he said. ``I wasn't worth a cuss (as a player). I was a fat kid who was always the last one picked. My sister's boyfriend was a guy with black horn-rim glasses. He gave me a bat that I used for the first time in our last game of the year. Our coach put me in, and I hit a ground rule double, and then another off the fence. I'll never forget that bat.''
Did he save his magic wand?
``I wish I had. But I wasn't that smart.''
These are not the best of times to wear a badge and walk the beat in America. Cops are often outgunned and outmanned in the toughest neighborhoods of our cities. And the good cops like Bill Walker don't get much of a break when bad cops, egos inflated by a gun and a badge, try a little baton practice on an innocent motorist's head.
We live in a society where there are going to be bad cops, bad doctors and yes, even bad newspaper reporters.
But we should be thankful that there are police officers like Bill Walker, who believe you can make our streets safer by speaking softly and teaching kids to swing a big stick. ILLUSTRATION: Color drawing of baseball
by CNB