JOLTIN' JOE DIMAGGIO

Baseball has given Americans some of its most revered sports figures. Joe D. was one of them. This story comes to me from my sister, who got his autograph after he had retired. There was an error on the play.

JOLTIN’ JOE DIMAGGIO

The news of Joe DiMaggio’s death on March 8, 1999, unleashed a tidal wave of coverage for this iconic ball player. Two months earlier, the media jumped the gun, incorrectly reporting that he had died. This time, they got it right. Joe had made his final out.

Although saddened to learn of his death, it’s true that he was not my favorite when he played for the New York Yankees. They always seemed to play better than my team, the New York Giants. Growing up in the New York area, one had three choices. You could love the Yankees, the Giants, or the Dodgers. My choice from the very beginning was to throw in with the Giants.

   If you loved the Giants, ipso facto, you hated the Dodgers, as they were in the same league and played each other twenty-two times a season, eleven games in each other's parks. In the years 1935 - 1942, the "Bums" had mediocre teams made up of minimally talented players. They lost to the Giants with great regularity.On the other hand, Giants’ fans hated the Yankees because they were won with monotonous regularity. The Giants could never match the Yank's winning record during these years..

My loyalty to the Giants carried over to their International League Triple "A" affiliate, the Jersey City Giants whose arch rival was the fearsome Newark Bears, the Yankees most prized farm team. In 1937, not only did the Bears win the crown; they wrapped it up by July 4, some 25 games ahead of everyone else. That team had players like George McQuinn, Spud Chandler, Charlie (King Kong) Keller, Joe (Flash) Gordon, and numerous other future great major leaguers. The Bears had more talent than any other Major League team that year. Columnists claimed the parent club, the NY Yankees, was the only team in all of baseball better than them.

Joe impressed my brother who one day after WW II saw him hit not one, nor two, but three triples, each one over the centerfielder’s head. Had he played in the Polo Grounds, where it was over 500 feet to dead center, instead of Yankee Stadium, each would have been an inside-the-park home run.

My sister, Helen, never saw a major league game and had no interest in the sport despite the fact that her son Joey rooted for the Yanks, and especially DiMaggio, with great passion. You can imagine her surprise when Joe D, long retired from the game, entered a restaurant where she had gone to have lunch with some of her bridge playing pals.

“Gosh, if my son Joey were here, he’d ask him for his autograph. He loved seeing DiMaggio play.”

Her friend said, “Go ask him.”

“I’m too shy.”

“I’m not. I’ll get it for you.”

This nice lady walked over to his table, politely interrupted him, pointed toward my sister, said something quietly, smiled, and returned carrying a restaurant menu.

On its front he had written, To Matthew, from Joe DiMaggio.

Helen’s well-meaning friend and Joe D. had messed up. Matthew is Helen’s grandson, and he has absolutely no interest in baseball. The autograph meant nothing to him.

The Yankee Clipper had fanned, struck out by a curve of misinformation.

Joe never earned the kind of money players do today, thanks to the union, free agency, and the revenues clubs earn from selling TV ads. A writer asked Joe how much George Steinbrenner, the multi-millionaire Yankee owner would have had to pay for his services if he played in this era. Joe said, “I would say to George, 'Howdy, partner.'" 

He would have been worth every penny.

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