BOSTON --Fenway Park had long cleared out of fans and players when the scoreboards offered up another tribute to Ted Williams.

AB: 9.

AVG: .406.

You can't blame the Red Sox for wishing that the game's greatest hitter was still in the lineup. But now the team would settle for just having him around, giving advice to a young player, grumbling at reporters, and talking about hitting.

Always talking about hitting.

"At times he would just call me,'' Boston shortstop Nomar Garciaparra said after Williams died Friday at the age of 83. "I'd get a random call in the clubhouse, and (the switchboard operator) would say, 'Your hitting coach is on the other line, and he would like to talk to you.' And it would be Ted.''

Ballparks across America paused Friday to remember Williams, a two-time MVP and triple-crown winner who is the last major leaguer to hit better than .400.

At Fenway, the crowd observed a moment of silence while the Boston and Detroit players lined up on the baselines, their caps off and their heads bowed. A solo trumpeter stood in left field and played "Taps'' while a Marine Corps honor guard -- a nod to Williams' military service -- carried the American flag.

A video of highlights from Williams' career was played on the scoreboard, accompanied by the song, "The Kid's a Natural.'' The Boston players wore black armbands with a stark, black No. 9 on their right sleeves.

The Red Sox said they would leave empty for the rest of the season the red bleacher seat 502 feet from home plate where Williams' longest home run landed. On Friday, a single red rose was left there in Williams' memory and the fan who purchased Seat 21, Row 37, Section 42 was given another in a luxury box.

Across the ballpark, groundskeepers mowed a ''9'' on the grass in front of the Green Monster, where Williams played left field from his debut as a gangly but cocky 20-year-old in 1939 until he homered in his last at-bat Sept. 28, 1960, finishing with a .344 lifetime average.

Other ballparks around the majors also honored Williams with lowered flags and time for reflection.

At the Oakland Coliseum, a fan in the outfield seats posted a simple sign reading: "Farewell Ted.'' At the Ballpark in Arlington, the Rangers stopped and watched the broadcast of the pregame ceremonies at Fenway.

A's manager Art Howe remembered talking to Williams at an old-timers' game.

"I felt honored just to be walking next to him,'' Howe said. "Then he turned to me and said 'Art, I really like your swing.'

"I'll never, ever forget what it felt like to have Ted Williams say he liked my swing.''

Still "The Kid'' at 83 but in deteriorating health for years, Williams died Friday in Florida after a heart attack.

Although he's best known as baseball's last .400 hitter, the statistic is only part of the legend: Williams took a .39955 average into a scheduled doubleheader on the final day of the season -- good enough for the record books, but not for him.

He played in both games, went 6-for-8 and finished at .406.

"That would be tough to beat,'' said New York Mets first baseman Mo Vaughn, who came up with the Red Sox and first met Williams in Triple-A. "That's one thing that probably left with him. He deserves to have that alone.''

Williams led the league in total bases as a rookie, in batting average and homers in 1941 and won his first triple crown in 1942 _ leading the league in average, homers and RBIs.

Then, at the peak of his career, he took off three years for World War II and two more in Korea, putting his celebrated eyesight to use as a Marine pilot. The time off diminished his career statistics but elevated his stature into the realm of legends.

"This guy was courageous, bigger than life, tough as nails, and he had that rare ability to sum up perfectly in his character a generation, a game, a country,'' said Sen. John Kerry, a Massachusetts Democrat and veteran of the Vietnam War. "I'd say we won't see another like him, but for America and baseball's sake I sure as hell hope we do.''

Slowed by a series of heart attacks and strokes, Williams made few visits to Boston in recent years. "He told me on the phone he was tired of being sick,'' said former Red Sox pitcher "Broadway'' Charlie Wagner, Williams' roommate for seven seasons of road trips, who spoke to him a couple weeks ago.

Williams came for the 1999 All-Star game to take part in a pregame ceremony honoring the century's top players. He needed a golf cart to get onto the field; when it was over, the greatest players in the game's history all swarmed around Ted.

"He came out on the field and everyone just gathered around him -- just showed the appreciation of every single player past and present,'' said Garciaparra, who was on the AL roster that year.

Less publicized was a trip that week to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, where money from the Jimmy Fund that Williams adopted as his cause a half-century ago has been curing kids with cancer since the 1940s.

"During his lifetime, Ted was uncomfortable when praised for all he did for the Jimmy Fund,'' said Dr. Edward Benz Jr., the Dana-Farber president. "But, let me say now, that his commitment to the Jimmy Fund and to the children facing cancer should go in the record books as among the most any professional athlete has done to advance a cause.''

The off-field work helped erase Williams' reputation as a reluctant hero who quarreled with reporters, spit at fans and refused to tip his cap after his farewell homer.

And it is why Williams is immortalized not just with a plaque at the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., but with one on a tunnel under Boston harbor that bears his name and the likeness of the sweet swing that brought the Red Sox everything but a World Series title.

"There is no doubt in my mind that Ted is the greatest hitter baseball has ever known, especially considering his service to our country,'' former San Diego Padres outfielder Tony Gwynn said.

"Given back those five seasons in his prime, Ted's number would be untouchable.''