THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, August 25, 1996 TAG: 9608261117
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
LENGTH: 83 lines
When the crisp breezes of October nudge the leaves from the trees, it would seem that Bill White's fancy would turn to baseball and the World Series.
After all, with more than 40 years in the game as a player, broadcaster and executive, baseball has cast a large shadow across his 62 years on Earth.
But each fall - at least for the last seven Octobers - the former National League president has been hit by the blues. And his only tonic is found on the curative waters off Hatteras Island.
Each fall, White and three of his friends from Philadelphia visit Buxton's Ollie Jarvis to catch some bluefish.
``We don't catch as many blues as we used to,'' White concedes. ``Mostly spot and croaker.''
White and Jarvis became instant friends, from the first fall the former Giant, Phillie and Cardinal great walked into the Buxton tackle shop.
``He's a jock, too, you know,''
White says. ``He's a great guy. Over the years, he and his wife have come to New York and stayed with us. We see some shows, things like that.''
When White and his pals stay in a Buxton cottage, baseball isn't the center of things.
``I do the cooking, another guy does the cleaning, and another does the dishes. It's a lot of fun.''
White, whose family moved from Florida to Ohio when he was small, left life as a pre-med student at Hiram College to sign with the then-New York Giants. Unlike many former athletes, for whom time paints a golden sheen on their careers, White recollects his b l days gently.
``It was OK,'' he says. ``I was going to go to medical school. I had other options.''
White signed for a $2,500 bonus. What he did with that money tells far more about Bill White than the numbers he compiled in his 13 years in the big leagues.
``I put it in the bank,'' he said. ``It's probably still there.''
White's roommate in New York and San Francisco was a graceful kid from Fairfield, Ala., who was already on his way to Cooperstown - Willie Mays.
Mays' impact on the game is the stuff of legend. The ``Say Hey Kid's'' impact on White is as powerful as Mays' graceful back-to-the-plate grab off the bat of Vic Wertz in 1951.
``I learned as much from Willie off the field as on,'' White says of his former roommate. ``He taught me to keep my money and to keep my own counsel. Willie would have been a great baseball manager or a great executive, if he had wanted to do that.''
Bill White has had his time in baseball's corridors of power, where he earned a reputation as a competent, hard-working leader who took a key role in trying to get more minorities into major league front offices. But he has no desire to fill the long-vacant commissioner's chair.
``I was in the game for 40 years,'' he said. ``I have other things I want to do. But baseball needs a commissioner. And it needs to be someone from outside the game. There have been too many people hired because they're someone's friend, not because they're competent. We need to hire competent people.''
White also speaks bluntly on why fewer African Americans are playing baseball. At the Babe Ruth World Series in Manteo there were few black athletes.
``Basketball is attracting more kids,'' White said. ``The money is so attractive. Plus, all you need is a ball. You don't need space for a field, or money for a glove or uniform.''
Asked if he reads books about the game, White responded, ``No, I knew all the guys'' who wrote them.
White also raised eyebrows when asked which of today's players he would pay to see.
``Willie Mays,'' he said.
The questioner repeated his question again, thinking White had misunderstood.
``Willie Mays,'' White said. ``I heard you the first time. He had the best understanding of the game of anyone I ever knew.''
White doesn't concern himself much with the business of baseball. Following a stopover at the Babe Ruth World Series, White was off to Buxton, to Ollie Jarvis, and the blues.
``I've been out there when people were surfcasting shoulder to shoulder,'' he said. ``That's something. But it's not like that much anymore. I remember the first time I tried to grab one of them, I started to put my hand in its mouth. Somebody said, `That fish'll take your hand off.' ''
As Bill White speaks in his rich baritone voice about Hatteras Island, a gleam comes to his eyes. A youth baseball game may be just outside the window. But his mind is on Buxton, and fishing and friends, and doing other things. by CNB