Joe DiMaggio: The Hero's Life (Touchstone Book) by Cramer Richard Ben

Author:Cramer, Richard Ben [Cramer, Richard Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2013-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY—WITH STENGEL, AND THE ROOKIE, MANTLE.

HANDSHAKES FOR HIS HOMER—THE WORLD SERIES, 1951.

“I’M NEVER PUTTING ON THAT MONKEY SUIT AGAIN.”

CHAPTER 13

DOUBT AND DIMAGGIO HAD SELDOM KEPT COMPANY. But after that season, they were seldom apart. Joe talked to Topping about retirement. “Don’t even think about it,” the owner told him. He wanted Joe to come over for dinner—at his place, 405 Park Avenue. Topping was married to Sonja Henie, the skating star, and he liked to impress her: Dan and his hundred-thousand-dollar man. Anyway, Topping could read the numbers: with tickets, concessions, parking, radio, and TV, his World Champion Yankees probably made three million dollars that year—with one .300 hitter, a part-timer named DiMaggio, at .346. Topping wanted Joe to know he wasn’t going to lose a nickel, just because he’d played in only half the games. He could have another hundred-thousand-dollar contract right now—just say the word. Joe wouldn’t say the word. “Take some time off,” Topping insisted. “Relax, go home, rest up. You’ll feel different.”

In San Francisco, Joe did feel different—stronger for one thing, week by week. His mamma was cooking every night, and he lost the hollows in his cheeks and ribs. But it wasn’t just bulk, the pounds he recovered. His legs came back. He could go all day—never think about his legs—like he used to when he was a kid on those hills. His old skipper (and guide to the big time), Lefty O’Doul, finally had persuaded him to try his hand at golf. Joe had always thought it was a game for rich old farts. Well, O’Doul reminded him, he was just about qualified, on all counts. Joe was thirty-five that November—the same month golf became a passion.

They’d go out early to the city course at Salada Beach—or any one of the country clubs. Lefty never bothered with memberships. There wasn’t any golf pro in Northern California who didn’t know Lefty and want him at his club. O’Doul and DiMag? If Lefty would’ve called ahead, they’d have strewn the first tee with rose petals . . . . Most days, the boys would play thirty-six holes. Lunch in between rounds. Maybe a steam at the Olympic Club after. If they didn’t play two rounds, they’d still be out all day. They’d go to the country, and wander. Lefty called this hunting. But they never shot much. They’d tramp the brown hills in the sunshine for a couple of hours, and finish at some hick-town bar where Lefty would buy rounds for every man in the joint.

When Joe would come home, to shower and dress for the evening, there would be Mamma in the kitchen, waiting. She’d been cooking for him all day—pasta with the sardines, roasted peppers with the olive oil—then how about a nice steak? . . . This was the life, the life he’d been raised to. Or the life that he imagined all the money would have brought him—should have brought him. His mamma was old, now. He could see her strength fading.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.