Professional Athletes Who Went To War

For professional athletes who find their careers intersecting with military conflicts, what to do isn't always clear-cut.

Take Joe DiMaggio. He was playing for the Yankees when the U.S. entered World War II, and according to Tinker Air Force Base, it was the same time he was doing some pretty heavy negotiating for a pay increase. Even though President Franklin Delano Roosevelt issued an official statement saying that the games should go on (and provide some much-needed entertainment and distraction for the nation), DiMaggio's negotiations didn't go unnoticed. Soldiers from Florida's Camp Blanding told him via telegram that he was more than welcome to enlist if the pay raise fell through, and ultimately, that's what he did.

DiMaggio's experience was far from that of the ordinary soldier: When most professional athletes joined the military — even when there was a war going on — their purpose was entertainment. They entertained the troops, boosted the morale of the nation, and at the end of the day, they were mostly kept out of harm's way.

Mostly. Even as DiMaggio played baseball games on the mainland and in Hawaii, others did see active combat. Their stories — like the stories of other, more "ordinary" soldiers — are pretty incredible.

All-American offensive lineman Bob Kalsu was poised on the edge of a breakout career. It was the late 1960s, he was making a name for himself in Oklahoma, and he was drafted by the Buffalo Bills. He would go on to be their Rookie of the Year, and then, he would go on to the military, where he would find another kind of fame — as the only professional athlete to die in the Vietnam war (via Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund).

As reported by Sports Illustrated, after eight months of training, Kalsu got his orders to head to the front. He shipped out, and his wife wrote to him shortly after he left to tell him the news — she was pregnant.

Kalsu saw her once more — seven months later, for a week's worth of leave. Then, it was back to Vietnam. She was due on July 21, 1970, a day that Kalsu would find himself in the middle of the bloodiest conflict he'd been involved with, this one at the ominously named Firebase Ripcord. With him was Pfc. Nick Fotias, who recalled the moment Kalsu read the letter from home, confirming the baby was coming. A split second later, a mortar landed only a few feet away. Fotias saw everything go dark, and when the darkness faded, he pushed the weight off his chest.

The weight was Kalsu. He was dead, and his family received the news on the same day his son was born: July 23, 1970. He was named James Robert Kalsu Jr.

The word "legend" gets tossed around a lot, but ask anyone from Boston — especially anyone who follows baseball — and Ted Williams is bound to be mentioned. In addition to taking home MVP titles and a whole bunch of other accomplishments most efficiently described as "etc., etc.," Williams also served on active duty during both World War II and Korea.

NBC says that he already had the nickname Teddy Ballgame when he temporarily left baseball for the military, where — according to the National Baseball Hall of Fame — he went to flight school and became part of the elite 10% of students who earned their wings. Between 1942 and 1946, Williams was a part of the U.S. Navy Reserve and saw active duty as a naval aviator.

After the war, he had the chance to apply for a full discharge but opted not to. Instead, Ted Williams signed up for the inactive reserves and returned to baseball and the Red Sox, but just a few years later, he found himself getting a call to return to duty.

So, he did. After attending 1952's spring training, Williams went through a flight school refresher course and then, to the front lines of the Korean War. Boston.com says that he would go on to fly 39 combat missions, including several with future astronaut John Glenn. Although there were close calls — including one crash landing — Williams eventually returned to baseball yet again, after being sent home after developing ear trouble stemming from a bout of pneumonia.

When it comes to the military careers of professional athletes, few have been as headline-making or as controversial as that of Pat Tillman's.

Tillman made waves as a college football player, and became a starter for the Arizona Cardinals the same year he was drafted: 1998. He broke records, per History, and he seemed poised on the edge of an award-winning, accolade-filled pro football career when he decided to join the Army.

The Intercept says Tillman's decision was born in the aftermath of 9/11: Tillman's decision was simple and deeply personal. Not only did his brother join him in his enlistment, but he turned his back on both a $3.6 million contract and on all interviews regarding his decision to leave football for the military.

Tillman's military career was very much hands-on: He served in Iraq in 2003 and was deployed in the midst of the rescue of Jessica Lynch — something that he infamously called "a big Public Relations stunt" (via CBS News). In 2004, he was sent to Afghanistan, and there, he was killed — not by the enemy, but by friendly fire.

The fallout was fast, but years later, questions linger. The initial military investigation came with phrases like "gross negligence" and even "criminal intent," leaving many to wonder just what really happened leading up to that day.

Jack Dempsey's World War II service wasn't just impressive, it was born of a deep-seated need to make amends.

Dempsey was the right age to enlist during World War I, but at the time, he claimed a perfectly legitimate exemption as the sole supporter of his wife, his mother, and his disabled sibling. It happened to be during those years that his boxing career took off, and according to the Veterans Breakfast Club, Dempsey never forgave himself for a 1918 publicity stunt where he was photographed "working" in a Philadelphia shipyard. His shiny shoes and clothes gave away the fact that he wasn't working there, and by the time WWII rolled around, he was determined to make it right.

He was 47 years old when Pearl Harbor happened, and Dempsey joined first the New York National Guard, then the Coast Guard. Initially dumped right back into the world of publicity and morale, Dempsey pushed for active duty. He got it: He was assigned to the USS Arthur Middleton, which was part of the assault on Okinawa.

The U.S. Coast Guard says that the Middleton landed on Okinawa on April 1, 1945. It took until April 4 to offload all the personnel and equipment — amid constant air attacks — and Dempsey was one of the oldest soldiers to set foot on the beach. He would later say, "They branded me a draft dodger in World War I and a hero in World War II. They got it wrong both times."

Tim James went from the University of Miami to the Miami Heat, and from there, he played three seasons in the NBA. According to ESPN, he was looking ahead to the next thing even before his career in basketball was over: "I wanted to experience a new part of my life. And, I wanted to make a sacrifice."

So, he enlisted in the U.S. Army and was assigned to a division called ODIN (Observe, Detect, Identify, and Neutralize). When The Miami Herald talked to him in 2009 (via the NBA), he was sweltering in the desert more than 100 miles north of Baghdad, where he had been careful to avoid telling his fellow soldiers about his past as a professional basketball player — he didn't want the fuss, and "I didn't want to have a basketball conversation every day." He still carried two basketball cards with him, though: "to drift off on the bad days."

The stories about James' service were hindered a bit by military clearances and permissions, but it wasn't the end of his service either. The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs adds that James was later transferred to the 1st Cavalry Division and was honorably discharged in 2011.

Even those who don't follow baseball have heard of Yogi Berra, the catcher who spent most of his wildly impressive, 19-year career behind home plate for the Yankees. Before he was on the receiving end of some serious fastballs, he was under a different kind of fire.

According to the U.S. Navy Memorial, Berra turned 18 when the world was already knee-deep in World War II. He was playing in the minor leagues when he was drafted and ended up joining the Navy. It wasn't long after he got through basic training that he volunteered for a mission that was strictly classified, and set off for more training. What was it?

Berra was deployed as one member of a six-man crew helming a Landing Craft Small Support boat, or LCSS. They were going to be providing support and cover for the Allied troops going ashore at Normandy Beach, and on D-Day, they headed out with the USS Bayfield. Berra's job — when he wasn't at one of the machine guns — was to oversee the boat's weapons and ordinance.

His craft survived D-Day and went on to be deployed elsewhere during the remaining war years. Berra, however, was wounded, and according to the U.S. Department of Defense, received a Purple Heart for his actions at Normandy.

Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Grover Cleveland Alexander was lauded as one of the best in the game (via the National Baseball Hall of Fame). He started pitching in Philly in 1911 and was inducted into the game's Hall of Fame in 1938, but in between was World War I.

It wasn't a good time. Alexander was drafted into the Army, became a sergeant, and served on the front lines of France. He was subjected to gas attacks and close-quarter explosions, and when he returned to play for the Chicago Cubs in 1919, he wasn't the same man who had left.

Not only had his pitching arm been severely damaged by high-impact weapons fire, but he was deaf in one ear, peppered with shrapnel and was suffering from what's now called PTSD and struggling with epileptic seizures that were becoming more and more frequent. Still, he continued to pitch and pitch well for a shocking amount of time, only retiring in 1930.

Baseball and World War I historian Jim Leeke wrote "The Best Team Over There: The Untold Story of Grover Cleveland Alexander and the Great War," piecing together the story of Alexander's service (via Project MUSE). He believed that it was a combination of Alexander's post-war struggles and his front-row seat to the horrors of the Spanish flu that left a deep and lasting impact not only on his career, but on the rest of his life.