One Man's Mission

(Right to Left) Louis, Spiller, Rhodes and an unknown companion often played big money matches with the Champ coming .out on the short end

The suit Rowell brought claimed that Spiller and Rhodes were being denied their right to earn a living as professional golfers and was based on the PGA being a closed shop, which under the Taft-Hartley Act was against the law. A court hearing was scheduled for the following September, and Spiller and Rhodes did not play at Richmond. However, a few days before the court date, Rowell met with the PGA's attorney, who said if the suit was dropped the association would no longer discriminate against blacks. Rowell took that word in good faith, which was not returned in kind. The suit was dropped, but the plaintiffs were snookered. The PGA suggested the sponsors begin calling their tournaments "Open Invitationals," invitational being the operative word. The deceit had virtually total participation. No blacks got invitations.

It was not the end of the story, of course, although the golf establishment and the press effectively buried it for four years. In that time Spiller could not pursue the issue if only because he didn't have the means. He lived in Los Angeles while Rowell, who lived in the Bay Area and had gotten into elective politics, was no longer able to pursue the matter. Furthermore, Spiller and his wife, Goldie, began raising a family that eventually numbered three children. Except for Maggie Hathaway, an energetic black activist in Los Angeles with a newspaper column through which she spoke out, no other blacks appeared inclined to attack segregation in mainstream American professional golf. Spiller once stood a lone picket at a local tournament in Long Beach, Calif., that denied black entries, but the protest gained little notice.

Then, in 1952, another real opportunity arose. This time Spiller had a celebrated ally who brought to it maximum public awareness. The sponsors of the San Diego Open, looking to get attention for their inaugural tournament, and perhaps unaware of the Caucasians-only clause, invited former heavyweight champion Joe Louis to play in the event. They were following George S. May's lead. May gave Louis a sponsor's exemption as far back as 1945, not only because he was black but was a draw at the gate. Louis was a zealous amateur golfer with a high single-digit handicap. Rhodes, one of the best black golfers in the game's history, was Louis' personal pro, and Spiller played a lot of golf with Louis. The San Diego people also invited Spiller and Eural Clark, a talented southern California black amateur, to try to qualify. Louis accepted the invitation, as did Spiller and Clark. Spiller qualified, Clark did not. Then, the Richmond scenario was replayed, with a twist. Not only was Spiller barred, but so was Louis. No reason was given publicly, but everyone knew it was because he was black.

Spiller had apprised Louis that this might be coming and advised him to accept the invitation, because he was certain that when one of the most famous athletes in the world was prohibited from playing, the discrimination issue would be revived and receive significant publicity. It did just that. As the first black heavyweight champion since the flamboyant Jack Johnson, Louis had been trained to be quiet, unassuming and to not react to racist taunts. But having recently had his last fight -- taking a severe beating from Rocky Marciano -- he no longer felt bound by that propriety.

When told he was barred, Louis said of Horton Smith, president of the PGA and the man who informed him of his exclusion, "We've got another Hitler to get by ? Horton Smith believes in the white race [the way] Hitler believed in the super race." Louis also took it upon himself to phone Walter Winchell, a popular nationally syndicated newspaper columnist who also had a weekly radio program with a large audience, to tell him what was going on in San Diego. Winchell aired the story on the radio, commenting that if Louis could serve his country in the U.S. Army, he could surely carry a golf club in San Diego. Or words to that effect. A substantial clamor arose, with newspapers around the country reporting on it. To tamp it, Smith called a meeting with Louis; his secretary, Leonard Reed; Eural Clark; tour pros Leland Gibson and Jack Burke Jr.; and San Diego Open officials. Spiller was not invited to attend, surely to avoid his tongue, and was unaware it was going on until Jimmy Demaret spotted him on the grounds and said he should be in the room. According to Spiller's account in the book Gettin' to the Dance Floor, an Oral History of American Golf, when he entered the room, Smith acknowledged him and said, "You're Bill Spiller aren't you? Is there something you want to say?" It was like un-tapping a dam. "I know and you know that we're going to play in the tournaments," said Spiller. "We all know it's coming. So if you like golf the way you say you do, and I do, I think we should make an agreement so we can play without all this adverse publicity. And take that Caucasians-only clause out of your constitution so we can have opportunities to get jobs as pros at clubs."