When Ted Williams was managing the Washington Senators he often came into the umpires’ dressing room after games to talk about pitchers. Williams knew more about hitting than any man alive, but he knew who to talk to about pitching. He’d ask about specific pitches during the game — for example, was that a good pitch Mike Epstein struck out on in the third inning? We’d tell him as much as we remembered and make up the rest. He’d also ask our opinion about potential trades. I thought deals were good for baseball, so I’d always tell him to go ahead and make. ‘Sure,’ I’d say, ‘he’s great. Get him if you can.’ ‘I don’t know,’ Williams would say, shaking his head. ‘He was 0-22 last year with a 17.50 earned run average.’ ‘Yeah,’ I’d agree, ‘but you know how statistics lie.’
Once these conversations led to a potentially embarrassing moment. Every third word out of Williams’ mouth was a swear word. These adjectives were an absolutely essential part of his baseball vocabulary. One night, in Washington, President Nixon used our locker room as his ballpark office because it was small, secure and had a separate entrance on the field right next to the President’s box. They even installed a red phone in the room — and you can imagine my temptation. After the game Nixon paused to talk baseball with us. I was my usual delightful self, being smart enough not to mention football, and was in the middle of a wonderful story about me when Williams rapped on the door. The four umpires in the room became so quiet you could have heard a stolen baseball drop. The Secret Service agents brough Williams into the room. I knew exactly what was coming and closed my eyes, although that did not affect my hearing. ‘Hey,’ Williams said after being introduced to the President of the United States, ‘How the $&#* are you?’ Nixon didn’t hesitate. He looked at the four of us and said, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve met the $&#*#$ before.’
— Ron Luciano, The Umpire Strikes Back, 1982