Moore’s Widow Forgives Him : Victim Prefers to Remember the Good Times

The words flowed in whispers, but her tears spoke louder.

They rolled Monday from the drowsy eyes of Tonya Moore as she recalled her husband, Donnie, the former star relief pitcher for the Angels who fired three bullets into her last Tuesday before killing himself.

“He had a lot of problems, but I still love him,” Tonya Moore said from her hospital bed, an inch-long scar visible on her neck where she said one of the bullets penetrated. “He was a sweet guy.”

This was the same man with whom relatives said she had had frequent quarrels in recent months. Donnie Ray Moore, 35, had become deeply depressed after being cut in June from a minor league team in Omaha, Neb., according to the family’s lawyer. In a final and desperate act, he nearly killed his wife with a .45-caliber pistol, then fired a fatal bullet into his head at their 1.5-acre estate in the Anaheim Hills as their three children watched.

Yet Tonya Moore, 35, said Monday that she bears no grudge. In an interview at Kaiser Permanente’s Anaheim Medical Center, Moore preferred to talk of the Donnie she knew from happier days.

She alluded to the pitcher’s “problems” but would not elaborate except to say he wouldn’t talk. Donnie Moore kept his problems to himself, she said. “Donnie wasn’t like normal people.”

Donnie Moore’s career, too, was anything but normal. He reached the pinnacle of the game--a 13-year major league career that included a three-year, $3-million contract in 1986 with the Angels. But he was dogged by a single pitch, hit for a home run in Game 5 of the 1986 American League Championship Series that allowed the Boston Red Sox to win the game and go on to the World Series. After that, Moore’s fortunes declined.

Tonya Moore said she remembers every detail of the shooting. But this was not the time for tragic recollection, she explained softly. Maybe next week, but not now. She denied reports that the couple had any major dispute about selling their luxurious home.

Over the past week, she said, some days have been harder than others. Sunday was especially difficult, since she had been unable to attend memorial services in Santa Ana the day before and knew she was too weak to travel to Lubbock, Tex., for today’s funeral.

“My Donnie was leaving. I thought I wasn’t going to get to see him,” she said, holding back tears.

Family attorney Randall Johnson of Santa Ana said that to help her, he arranged to have Moore’s body brought to the hospital. The body was delivered to a vacant room at the hospital, and Tonya Moore was wheeled from her private room.

“I contacted the mortuary and told them Tonya was unable to come to the funeral services,” he said, adding that at the hospital, “she was able to see him. . . . They (the hospital workers) were kind enough to bring him into a private room.”

Moore said the viewing gave her a chance to express her love--and forgiveness.

“I told him I forgive him,” she said, laboring with each word and in obvious pain from the bullets that pierced her lungs, stomach and neck. “I told him I love him. I asked, ‘Why?’ ”

In Tonya’s darkened hospital room Monday, the mood was somber and mournful. She strained to talk above the sounds of the equipment next to her bed. Her eyelids were heavy, and she dabbed them often with tissue grasped tightly in her left hand, particularly when she recalled her fondest memories of Donnie Moore.

Those remembrances were of a sportsman and family man. She said that when he went on an overnight fishing trip or a road game with the Angels, “he called once every day (sometimes) twice a day, three times a day.”

Despite Donnie Moore’s millionaire salary, Johnson said, the family now is having financial problems. “A lot of things are coming out of the woodwork now that Donnie’s dead,” the attorney said. So far, he said, no one has contributed to a trust fund he established for the Moore family.

“Zero--I have gotten absolutely nothing,” Johnson said. “I’m pretty shocked. I’m beginning to think people thought this guy had this $3-million contract, and maybe the guy doesn’t need anymore. I’m here to say they have financial problems.”

Tonya Moore made no mention of family finances, preferring to speak only of Donnie, whom she married in 1973.

The telephone rang several times, and she dutifully answered. The calls were from friends and fans alike, wishing to send condolences or cheer her up. She was so weak that she appeared to have trouble returning the receiver to its cradle.

Others sent bouquets of flowers--some topped with cheery balloons--enough to crowd one side of the room and fill the air with a heavy fragrance.

By Monday evening, she was feeling a little better. “I have friends with me, and family,” she said. She said she still didn’t know when she would get out of the hospital but said, “All I want to do is get well, be with my kids and go on with my life.”