September he watched with great amusement as the A's won 101 games and clinched the American League West. Soon he'd be up there with them, catching or playing center, wearing the colorful uniforms, long hair and all, part of the hippest crew in the game.
In November, he signed a contract with Topps Chewing Gum, giving the company the exclusive right to exhibit, print, and reproduce his name, face, photo, and signature on a baseball card.
Like every boy in Ada, he'd collected thousands of them; saved them, swapped them, framed them, hauled them around in a shoe box, and saved his coins to buy more. Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, Roger Maris, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, all the great players with the valuable cards. Now he would have his own!
The dream was rapidly coming true.
His first assignment, though, was Coos Bay, Oregon, Class A in the Northwest League, far from Oakland. His 1972 spring training in Mesa, Arizona, had not been remarkable. He'd turned no heads, caught no one's attention, and Oakland was still trying to figure out where to play him. They put him behind the plate, a position he did not know. They put him on the mound, simply because he could throw so hard.
Bad luck hit late in spring training. His appendix ruptured, and he returned to Ada for surgery. As he waited impatiently for his body to heal, he began drinking heavily to pass the time. Beer was cheap at the local Pizza Hut, and when he grew tired of that place, he drove his new Cutlass over to the Elks Lodge and washed things down with a few bourbon and Cokes. He was bored and anxious to get to a ballpark somewhere, and for some reason, he wasn't sure why, he found refuge in booze. Finally he got the call and left for Oregon.
Playing part-time for the Coos Bay-North Bend Athletics, he had 41 hits in 155 at-bats, an unimpressive average of.265. He caught forty-six games and played a few innings in center field. Late in the season, his contract was assigned to Burlington, Iowa, of the Midwest League, still Class-A ball, but a step up and much closer to home. He played in only seven games for Burlington, then returned to Ada for the offseason. Every stop in the minor leagues is temporary and unsettling. The players earn very little and live off meager meal money and whatever generosity the host club might offer. At "home," they live in motels offering bargain monthly rates, or cluster in small apartments. On the road, along the bus routes, it's more motels. And bars and nightclubs and strip joints. The players are young, rarely married, far away from their families and whatever structure that gave them, and so they tend to keep late hours. Most are barely out of their teens, immature, pampered for most of their short lives, and all are convinced they'll soon be making the big bucks playing in the big ballparks.
They party hard. Games start at 7:00 p.m. Over by 10:00. A quick shower, and it's time to hit the bars. Staying out all night, sleeping all day, either at home or on the bus. Drinking hard, chasing women, playing poker, smoking grass-it's all part of the seedier side of the minors. And Ron embraced it with enthusiasm.
Like any father, Roy Williamson followed his son's season with great curiosity and pride. Ronnie called occasionally and wrote even less, but Roy managed to keep up with his statistics. Twice he and Juanita drove to Oregon to watch their son play. Ronnie was suffering through his rookie year, trying to adjust to hard sliders and sharp curveballs.
Back in Ada, Roy received a phone call from an A's coach. Ron's off-field habits were of some concern-lots of partying, drinking, late nights, hangovers. The kid was being excessive, which was not that unusual for a nineteen-year-old in his first season away from home, but perhaps a strong word from the father might settle him down.
Ron was making calls, too. As the summer wore on and his playing time remained marginal, he became frustrated with the manager and staff and felt he was being underutilized. How could he improve if they left him on the bench?
He chose the risky and seldom-used strategy of going over the heads of his coaches. He began calling the A's front office with a list of complaints. Life was miserable way down in A ball, he simply wasn't playing enough, and he wanted