The little-known story of golf pioneer Bill Spiller

Jimmie Tramel

TULSA, Okla. — This is shameful.

Bill Spiller is one of the most significant sports figures ever to call Tulsa home. But mention Spiller’s name to anyone in the city limits, and you probably get this response: Who is Bill Spiller?

He’s a forgotten hero.

All Spiller did was change the face of golf. He rebelled against the PGA of America’s “Caucasian-only” clause, which was rescinded in 1961, and was a catalyst in dragging golf into the era of desegregation.

“Bill Spiller kicked the door down,” said Tulsa native Roy S. Johnson, editor-in-chief of Men’s Fitness magazine and a former Sports Illustrated editor.

Yet, somehow, when compared to racial pioneers in other sports, Spiller has remained anonymous.

Perhaps you didn’t know who Spiller was, but Tiger Woods does.

In 2004, when Charlie Sifford became the first black player to gain a spot in the World Golf Hall of Fame, Woods said, “I’ve said this many times. If it wasn’t for Charlie and players like Teddy Rhodes, Bill Spiller and others, we wouldn’t be here. I certainly wouldn’t have been introduced to the game of golf because my dad wouldn’t have played the game of golf. He wouldn’t have had access to the game of golf.”
This is shameful.

Unlike Jackie Robinson, Spiller never reaped the fruits of his labor.

“When the PGA was truly opened up to anyone that wanted to qualify or could qualify and join, he was past his prime,” said his oldest son, William Spiller Jr., a California attorney. “He was in his 50s and over the hill in terms of being able to compete.”

“That’s why I call him a tragic hero,” said Pete McDaniel, who wrote a book, “Uneven Lies,” about the history of black golfers.

All Spiller ever wanted was a chance to make a living playing the game he loved. Instead, he worked various jobs and caddied.

“He had to do what he had to do to make ends meet,” William Spiller said.

Bill Spiller never forgot the people who blockaded his dream. According to a Los Angeles Times story published nine years after his death, he often woke up in the middle of the night cursing the folks who prevented him from playing. The story also said Spiller would sometimes grab a pistol and pledge revenge.

William Spiller said his father was the angriest man he ever met.

“He was beyond bitter,” the son said.
This is shameful.

When 75-year-old Bill Spiller died in 1988, his son called media outlets to alert them. It seems astonishing, but no one seemed to care enough to do anything with the information.

“Not even ESPN or anyone else,” William Spiller said. “Nobody was interested.”

How many guys never get justice in life or death? It’s time to do Spiller justice in what was once his hometown.

This is his story.

Bill Spiller was born in Tishomingo, Okla., in 1913. He moved to Tulsa to live with his father and was a standout athlete at Booker T. Washington High School.

After securing a degree at Wiley College in Texas, Spiller migrated to Los Angeles and made himself into a golfer.

Spiller played in the 1948 Los Angeles Open, one of the few big-time tournaments open to blacks at that time, and fired a first-round 68, matching Ben Hogan’s second-place score.

Spiller and Rhodes finished high enough to qualify for a subsequent PGA event, the Richmond Open. Because of race, they were turned away.

That triggered a no-holds-barred battle between Spiller and the PGA that lasted more than a dozen years.

Many black golfers of that era took a pacifist approach and were willing to embrace equal rights in increments. Not Spiller. McDaniel said Spiller once threatened to take on a whole country club when told that blacks couldn’t use shower facilities.

“The guy, he was in the same mold as the Black Panthers and those guys who were radical to the point that they recognized a wrong and they weren’t afraid to stand up and fight it head on and basically, that was Bill Spiller in a nutshell,” McDaniel said.

“Not only was he a radical by nature, he was also intelligent. So he could argue pretty much his own case and he knew his rights and he knew his rights were being broken. That was unbearable for him. He was a civil rights activist long before it was fashionable simply through the game of golf and the game he was determined to play, no matter what.”

Spiller’s battle was waged on several fronts, including the courtroom. He and Rhodes sued the PGA for $315,000 in damages when they were denied an opportunity to play in the Richmond Open. They got suckered. They dropped the lawsuit when the PGA promised to stop discriminating, but the PGA changed its open tournaments to open “invitationals.” Only white men got invitations.

“It’s important to note that a significant group of black golfers had a tour,” Johnson said. “It wasn’t as if blacks were sitting around waiting to go play with the whites. But Bill felt it was important to have equal access. That’s what that era was all about … equal access.”

In 1952, Spiller qualified to play in the San Diego Open, but was again denied because of race. Defiant, he stood on the first tee box and refused to move, delaying the start of the tournament until he was coerced away by friends.

Spiller again threatened to sue the PGA. Heavyweight boxing great Joe Louis, who played in the San Diego Open as a celebrity amateur, used his media pals, including famed gossip columnist Walter Winchell, to get the word out nationally that the PGA was discriminating against golfers like Spiller. Louis went so far as to compare the PGA chief to Hitler.

Spiller continued to buck the establishment, “invading” clubhouses and locker rooms where blacks were prohibited.

“I’m very proud of him,” his son said. “My dad took a chance to essentially put himself at risk at a time when the general thinking was that you shouldn’t put yourself at risk. While he was foolish in one sense, he was absolutely correct in another.”

Nine years after the San Diego standoff, legitimate access finally came when the rule that prevented African Americans from playing in PGA events was stricken. The breakthrough came after Spiller contacted the California attorney general, who applied the necessary leverage.

Published accounts also credit Sifford for contacting the attorney general. Johnson said it certainly took more than one person to break golf’s racial barrier.

“But when you talk about the people who played a role in changing the American sports landscape and gaining access across the board, you have to put Bill Spiller’s name at the top of the list and give him recognition as one of the prominent trailblazers of that era,” he said.

Johnson used to oversee the Bill Spiller/Homeboy Golf Classic. Johnson said it was a no-brainer to name the event after Spiller.

“The PGA should figure out some way to recognize his contributions with some sort of annual award or gift or contribution for a commitment to the development of minority golfers at every level,” Johnson said.

Many believe Spiller deserves to be in the World Golf Hall of Fame alongside Sifford. William Spiller indicated his father paved the way for black golfers who came later.

“The work had already been done,” he said.

What should people in Tulsa know about the trailblazer who once lived here?

“That they had someone that didn’t intend to be a hero, but wound up being one anyway. … He would have been more than happy just to be able to play golf and to try to make some money doing it,” William Spiller said.

William Spiller said his dad never wanted to be a banner-carrier. But then again, when did his dad ever get what he wanted?

(The Tulsa, Okla., World)