“What’s that you say, Mrs. Robinson?
“Joltin’ Joe has gone away.”
— Simon and Garfunkel
During my career in the media, I encountered some iconic celebrities. I once shared a twenty-minute cab ride with the great Jackie Robinson, chatting like old buds, though we were complete strangers.
On another occasion, Mario Andretti, the race car legend, drove me swiftly around the winding streets of Le Mans, France. In previous essays, I have written about encounters with some iconic celebrities, like Andretti, Muhammad Ali, Miles Davis, Bob Marley, and Quincy Jones.
Another who stands out in my memory of memories is Joe DiMaggio, the late Hall of Fame baseball player. With the baseball season in full swing, DiMaggio, has been on my mind a lot recently. It’s been 25 years since his death in 1999.
He was America’s hero, but DiMaggio’s Teflon image took a hit with the 2000 publication of Richard Ben Cramer’s fascinating book, Joe DiMaggio: The Hero’s Life. In it, Pulitzer Prize-winning Cramer drafts a portrait of a complex man with two sides.
The book makes DiMaggio human, warts and all. But, some might say, complex heroes are only good in Greek tragedies.
I can’t say I knew him well, but in the few hours I spent with DiMaggio, I only saw one side, the side most of the world saw: a kind and gracious man. Maybe, I caught a hint of sadness behind his glimmering eyes. Had I spent more time with the man I might have gotten a clearer picture. I don’t know. Many who knew him far better than me have said he could be short-tempered in private, but to me he was magnanimous.
If he was two-sided, DiMaggio certainly worked hard to keep up appearances. He probably would have hated Cramer’s book, even though it is well-researched and balanced. It’s the juicy backstage stuff about greed, Hollywood, and mob entanglements that would have riled DiMaggio.
On the field and off, DiMaggio displayed a dignity and grace that set him apart from others. “Joltin’ Joe” wasn’t just a great ballplayer; he was a true gentleman. Though some have described the “Yankee Clipper” as controlling and withdrawn privately, his public presence inspired respect and admiration from everyone who had the pleasure of meeting him.
Slugger Ted Williams once said: “DiMaggio was the greatest all-around player I ever saw. He could do it all—hit, run, throw, and field—and he did it with grace and style. He was a class act on and off the field.”
DiMaggio had a lifetime batting average of .325 and set one of baseball's most cherished records, hitting safely in 56 straight games.
He was one of baseball’s biggest stars from 1936 to 1951.
His status in American pop culture got a boost after retirement from his nine-month marriage to America’s biggest sex symbol, actress Marilyn Monroe, and was cemented in the 60s with the release of the movie “Mrs. Robinson.” Shamefully, the catchy DiMaggio lyrics from the Simon and Garfunkel soundtrack were playing in my head when we first met.
I caught up with DiMaggio in the mid-80s at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. I was working for the CBS Sunday Morning show. He was nattily attired in a blue pin-striped suit. At the time he was suffering from a nagging foot injury that had been troubling him for years. Despite his discomfort, he greeted me with a warm smile and a firm handshake.
During our conversation, he spoke with quiet dignity and shared stories of his playing days with a twinkle in his eye, never complaining about his pain. His strength of character and enduring charm left a lasting impression on me.
Still, after his death in 1999, Joe DiMaggio: The Hero’s Life, cast many doubts about DiMaggio.
Among many revelations, the book alleged that he was a greedy, sullen person in old age, obsessed with money. Also, according to interviews in Cramer’s book, during and after his professional career, DiMaggio maintained ties to organized crime figures. I don’t doubt the veracity of Cramer’s research. However, even if there were two sides to Joe, call me a sucker for a good legend, I prefer to remember the DiMaggio of Simon and Garfunkel.
There is a line from an old John Ford movie, “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” that I’m reminded of:
Maxwell Scott: “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”
— “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)
COMING SOON: “Whispers On The Savannah,” a serialized novella.
Permit me to expand Maxwell Scott's idea: “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” I genuinely believe that sometimes the legend is superior to the fact.
Of course, there are times when this is not the case, notably where political figures are involved. "Legends" often arise (or are deliberately spawned) in the interest of a political agenda. This was very much the case with Walt Disney's *Davey Crockett* series, which not only took horrendous historical liberties but did so deliberately (in the interest of creating "an American hero").
On the other hand, baseball has its share of legends. Did Babe Ruth actually call the spot where he'd plant a home run? Did Satchel Paige actually call in the outfield and have them sit on the grass, so that he could strike out Josh Gibson in the 1942 Negro League World Series? I find it far more pleasant -- and completely harmless -- to believe both of these "legends," even though it is possible that neither one is historically accurate.
Thanks for sharing. I may even do a column on classical music in which I develop Scott's theme more thoroughly!