The DiMaggios Read online

  The Yankees were thankful that Joe could step up to the plate at all. For the first time in four years, he had survived spring training and opened the season with his teammates, among whom was a visibly fragile Gehrig. Though Colonel Ruppert had not exactly been a beloved figure, his death the previous January had been the first blow to the organization in 1939. (For Joe, the Colonel’s death meant that when the club sent him a contract for the same $25,000 as in ’38, he felt he had no choice but to sign it.) Now the foundation of the franchise on the field was showing cracks. Still, having Joe ready to play from the first day on made the Yankees even more confident of another championship.

  Then came two more blows in a single week. On April 29, in a game against the Senators at Yankee Stadium, Joe ran to his right to chase down a single off the bat of Roberto Estalella. When his right shoe spikes got tangled in the wet grass, he went down hard and had to be helped off the field. The doctors’ verdict was torn muscles in his lower right leg, quite possibly worse than anything that had kept Joe out before. He was to stay in Lenox Hill Hospital for further tests and treatment.

  Three days later, Lou Gehrig removed himself from the lineup and was replaced by Babe Dahlgren at first base. Joe McCarthy was relieved that the captain did it before he had to, after watching Gehrig’s sluggish movements and four measly singles in the first few games of the season. But the manager had lost his two superstars in one week.

  While lying in bed, Joe had the opportunity to read through the May 1 issue of Life magazine. His photo took up most of the cover, and inside was a lengthy article by Noel F. Busch, “Joe DiMaggio: Baseball’s Most Sensational Big-League Star Starts What Should Be His Best Year So Far.” In his book Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball, Lawrence Baldassaro correctly chastises Busch for the ethnic stereotypes in the article, which includes a description of Joe as a “tall, thin Italian youth equipped with black hair” and “squirrel teeth” and the observation: “Instead of olive oil or smelly bear grease he keeps his hair slick with water. He never reeks of garlic.” Otherwise, the article was a straightforward recounting of the DiMaggio story beginning with Giuseppe’s arrival from Sicily. It noted that when Rosalie attended the 1936 World Series, she traveled across the continent “in a drawing room on a streamlined train, carrying an armful of Italian sausages for Joe,” and that the Fisherman’s Wharf restaurant bearing Joe’s name “makes a specialty of DiMaggio cioppini, a delicacy made out of crabs, tomatoes, sherry wine and garlic.”

  Joe soon got the good news that his injury was not as severe as first feared. He was moved to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital for further treatment. It took a month before Joe was back in action, and he expressed to writers the hope that Gehrig would be right behind him. The Iron Horse, though, would soon get the death-sentence diagnosis of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). He would never rejoin the Yankees in regular play. In 1939 the Bronx Bombers truly were Joe DiMaggio’s team.

  On May 11, nine days after Gehrig left the lineup, the Yankees jumped into first place. There they would stay for the rest of the season, earning the reputation of being one of the greatest teams in baseball history.

  This was not great news for Vince. He had devoted himself to becoming a star in Kansas City, and his efforts were paying off. He was hitting with power, hitting in clutch situations to drive in runs, and he may well have been the best center fielder the fans there had seen. On May 17, the Blues moved into first place in the American Association thanks to a homer by Vince. That it was measured at 480 feet is suspect, but it was an impressive clout that drove in three runs.

  By mid-June, his average was at .335. On June 9, the Blues hosted a “Ladies Night” crowd of over 21,000. According to the Kansas City Times: “Such a crowd, which squeezed from the stands into the field enclosure and from the stands upon the right field embankment, was the largest here in years. Its size and its enthusiasm gave full proof that these young Blues are baseball idols. And, for such a roaring crowd, the Blues performed in heroic cloth. Vince DiMaggio bulleted his twenty-fifth home run of the year over the scoreboard in the first inning; he later smashed out a long triple to right center.”

  Three days later, a crowd of almost 24,000 flowed into the ballpark. However, many of them came not to see their new star, Vince DiMaggio, but his brother Joe—the Yankees were in town for an exhibition game. Harold Burr’s coverage began: “This is the story of the brother of a hero. Vince DiMaggio, first brother-in-waiting to the Yankees’ Joltin’ Joe, hopes one day to play in the outfield at the Stadium and even dreams of an all-star DiMaggio outfield in the big leagues.” The crowd also came out to see Gehrig, who hadn’t played in six weeks. His last appearance as a player was in this game against the Blues, and his last at-bat was a grounder to second baseman Jerry Priddy. An item in the next day’s Kansas City Times reported that Gehrig “remained here and leaves this morning for the Mayo clinic in Rochester, Minn., where the veteran intends to undergo a physical examination.”

  The Blues lost 4–1. Vince had a single and a walk in four at-bats. Joe played five innings, then told McCarthy his wrist hurt and he was done for the day. Interviewed after the game, before he and Joe grabbed a quick dinner (the Bombers had to leave town that night), Vince didn’t talk about himself but about how Dominic was coming along with the Seals. “Gee, it would be great if we all ended up with the Yanks,” Vince told reporters.

  Dominic was indeed thriving on the field in San Francisco, having the year he had hoped for. The Seals contended through the 1939 season, led by the old and the young. Achieving almost legendary status for his durability, hurler Sam Gibson was having another fine year. Dominic was hitting everything in sight—not over fences so much, but lining the ball to all fields. In the middle of the season he flirted with .400.

  He noticed more scouts showing up at Seals Park as well as in Los Angeles, San Diego, and other cities where his team played. In June the Cubs sent Clarence “Pants” Rowland, their top scout, to the West Coast “to look over Joe’s little brother,” it was reported. “The fact that the Cubs sent Rowland indicates special interest.” The Associated Press reported that the Yankees had sent Joe Devine to watch Dominic play and speculated, “The Yankees may not appear to need Dominic, 21 years old [sic], a righthanded batter and thrower, but two DiMaggios in that New York outfield wouldn’t do any harm at the box office, and Dom can handle the chores satisfactorily. . . . In a recent series against Hollywood not a single Hollywood runner advanced a base after Dom nabbed a fly. They all respect his precise throw.”

  Dominic felt that this was the season that would catapult him into the major leagues. Then he was sidelined by a wrist injury. As he recuperated, he hoped the wrist injury wouldn’t affect his status in the market the same way the leg injury had done for Joe five years earlier.

  In May, Ted Williams was the first player to hit a ball out of Briggs Stadium in Detroit, a feat that wouldn’t be duplicated until Mickey Mantle did it 18 years later. He would turn only 21 in August, and as many in the press anticipated, he was already giving notice to Joe that this other kid from California was ready to share the spotlight.

  Williams ate, slept, and dreamed baseball. His roommate that season was the pitcher Charlie Wagner, called “Broadway” for the stylish way he dressed. At night Wagner was more apt to be found in a bar than asleep in their room. Williams had asked to room with him because he’d been told that Wagner didn’t drink and went to bed early. Ted didn’t realize that report was a joke. One night when Wagner actually was asleep, he was rudely awakened when his bed fell apart under him. Ted had been practicing his swing, and his bat hit the bedpost.

  “I never saw a fellow that had baseball on his mind twenty-four hours a day,” Elden Auker, another Boston pitcher, told Fay Vincent. “We had a mirror in the clubhouse and you’d see Williams up there about every single day taking dry swings and studying his swing.”

  The Yankee offense didn’t skip a beat with
Gehrig’s departure. The day he took himself out of the lineup, the Yanks beat Detroit 22–2. Charlie Keller had been promoted from the Newark farm club, and he fit right into the hit parade, which became a full charge against American League competition when Joe returned. Joe immediately reestablished himself as one of the best hitters in baseball, with his average soaring toward .400. He tripled in his very first at-bat after returning from the leg injury. The Yankees were almost sadistic against second-division clubs. In a doubleheader against the Philadelphia Athletics, a once-proud franchise still owned and managed by Connie Mack, they clubbed 13 home runs.

  There was another reason the Yankees were glad to have Joe back—he had become their biggest draw since Ruth’s peak years. “Joe DiMaggio, greatest of the current crop of major league ball players and unquestionably destined for a niche at Cooperstown, today goes on display again in the Stadium,” gushed Dan Daniel. “Once more the Yankees present an alluring player with box office magnetism as well as all the technical superlatives.”

  Even one of the saddest events in the history of sports didn’t distract the Yankees. On July 4, the organization honored Gehrig. “Boy, that was a solemn deal,” Tommy Henrich recalled decades later. “Especially when he says, ‘I consider myself the luckiest man in the world.’ What in the world, everybody knew by that July.”

  Gehrig had gotten the diagnosis two weeks earlier, from physicians at the Mayo Clinic. Ed Barrow and Joe McCarthy had to spread the word that the Iron Horse was not only done as a player, but that the rest of his life could be measured in months. Joe and the rest of his shocked teammates, as well as members of the Washington Senators, stood on the field as the main event of Lou Gehrig Day—an event unlike anything baseball had seen before—got under way after the first game of a doubleheader.

  Shirley Povich’s coverage in the Washington Post began: “I saw strong men weep this afternoon, expressionless umpires swallow hard, and emotion pump the hearts and glaze the eyes of 60,000 baseball fans in Yankee Stadium. Yes, and hard-boiled news photographers clicked their shutters with fingers that trembled a bit.”

  Gehrig began his brief address to the crowd by saying, “Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about the bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth. I have been in ballparks for seventeen years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans.” After thanking the late Miller Huggins and Colonel Ruppert, McCarthy, Barrow, his mother-in-law, his parents, and his wife, he concluded, “I may have had a tough break, but I have an awful lot to live for.”

  It was very odd not to see Gehrig in the starting lineup at the All-Star Game, especially since it was played at Yankee Stadium. But New York had even more players on the American League roster than the year before: Red Rolfe, Bill Dickey, Joe Gordon, a revived George Selkirk, Ruffing, and Joe. Gehrig was on hand as the team’s captain. Joe hit his first “Summer Classic” homer, and the American League won 3–1. Ted Williams did not make the team, as Joe had done as a rookie.

  By this stage, Joe DiMaggio was the toast of New York City’s nightclubs, a role that, in his quiet way, he clearly enjoyed. Plenty of women were available, and he was such a celebrity that it didn’t matter if he fed them any good lines or not. So his teammates and nightlife friends must have wondered if it was a good idea when it became obvious that summer that he and Dorothy Arnold were heading for the altar. But he liked Dorothy. She was lovely, she adored him, and he was intrigued by her upper Midwest background, which was very different from his own. Maybe he even loved her.

  Dorothy had left high school and her home in Duluth at 15 to join a traveling musical show. For the next three years, she racked up a lot of miles singing and dancing and acting in summer stock theater in New England. She decided to stay put in New York City and audition for bit parts. One of them turned out to be in Manhattan Merry-Go-Round. Two years later, in the spring of 1939, Dorothy was telling friends and reporters that Joe had asked her to marry him and the ceremony would take place that summer. Joe denied it, or at least said there was no wedding date set. Before the summer ended, and with a pennant race in full swing, Joe gave in. He and Dorothy would be married after the season, in San Francisco.

  Wedding plans weren’t going to distract him from being the best in baseball. A play against the Detroit Tigers demonstrated how good a center fielder Joe was—and also that he could still make a mistake, surprising his teammates. With one out, former Pacific Coast League player Earl Averill was on first, and at the plate was the powerful Hank Greenberg, who launched one deep to left-center at Yankee Stadium. Joe had taken off as soon as he heard the crack of the bat. As his outfield teammate Henrich later described it, Joe “ran as fast as he could to the center-field fence and when he got within one full stride—that would be about seven or eight feet—over his left shoulder, he turned his head to the left, and there is the ball. And he got his glove up and caught the ball. And that is the first time he looked for that ball since the crack of the bat. I call that the best one I ever saw. I’m telling you, DiMaggio was impressed by that too.”

  What Henrich knew—Joe, of course, would answer reporters’ postgame questions with the fewest words possible—was that with his head down Joe began loping toward the infield. He thought there were three outs, but the ball he caught was only the second out. Averill, who had rounded second on the sure double or triple, scampered back to first and was standing there by the time Joe looked up.

  Only the Red Sox could make the Yankees sweat as they pursued their fourth consecutive American League title. The second week of July, Ted Williams & Co. arrived at Yankee Stadium with a seven-game win streak. They beat the Yankees in three straight games. The home team suddenly appeared rudderless without their ailing captain. They looked for leadership from the 24-year-old Joe.

  But even after that nightmare series, the Yankees were still in first place. They snapped out of their funk, returned to their winning ways, and opened up a lot of space between themselves and the rest of the AL teams. There was no need for a stretch drive, they just needed to show up to play. When the season ended, New York had 106 wins and had been out of first place only 10 days all year. The Yankees were the only team in history to have earned 11 league pennants.

  As late as September 8, when he was batting .408, it looked like Joe would be the first major leaguer since 1930 to bat over .400. Then his left eye became infected and inflamed. He went up to bat practically one-eyed. He wouldn’t ask out of the lineup, and McCarthy, even though he saw his center fielder struggling, wouldn’t pull him. It was amazing that Joe still collected hits at all, but he was at nothing like his previous pace. When the season ended, his average was

  a still-remarkable .381, first in the American League, yet disappointing too.

  Many years later, at a banquet in Toronto, Joe and Bobby Doerr got to talking about the 1939 season. Joe said he thought it was the best of his career. But in a rare admission, he said, “We had the pennant clinched. I should have hit .400 that year. But Joe McCarthy insisted that I play. I just couldn’t see the ball. I never could understand why he made me stay in the lineup.” By then, Joe knew that Ted Williams, not him, had been the last man in baseball to bat over .400.

  In 1939 Williams did everything he could to thwart the Yankees and bring a pennant to Fenway Park. He batted .327, hitting at least one home run in every American League park, the one at Yankee Stadium coming during the last game of the season. He became the first rookie to lead the American League in runs batted in, with 145.

  “I can’t imagine anyone having a better, happier first year in the big leagues,” he later wrote. “Babe Ruth declared me ‘rookie of the year.’ They didn’t have an official rookie-of-the-year award then, so that was good enough for me. Later the Boston writers made the same designation. The fans in right field were yelling with me and for me all the time, really crowding in there to see what I would do n
ext, and that year nobody tipped or waved his hat more than I did.”

  But it wasn’t enough. The Red Sox finished in second place, 17 games back. Clearly they were still a couple of players away from the AL crown. The first of those players would soon be on his way.

  When the season ended for the Seals, Dominic’s .360 batting average—53 points higher than in 1938—was second in the PCL. Dominic was first in the league in hits and runs scored, and second in stolen bases. He excelled again in the field too, leading the PCL with 27 assists. The Seals fell 4.5 games short of capturing first place, with Seattle taking the title. But their 97-78 record was a hit with the fans, and O’Doul—who at age 42 had batted .400 in 25 games—was more popular than ever in San Francisco.

  He had become close to Dominic and was his biggest booster. O’Doul said he “had a quality a lot of otherwise great ballplayers lack: baseball instinct. He did the kind of things they don’t put in the record books or box scores. When Dom was batting, his opponents didn’t dare fall asleep. Dom would be at the next base before they woke up. When he got a single, his thought was ‘second is the next base, then third.’ Dom wasn’t the kind of ballplayer who thinks, ‘Well, I got my single for the day.’ He kept his eye on the ball and was gone like a rabbit. He took perfect care of himself and he gave his utmost. He never had the natural talent of a great star, but he did things for me that his brother Joe never did.”

  There was no reason for a major league club not to sign Dominic. O’Doul approached his friend Bill Terry, still managing the New York Giants, but Terry said he didn’t think Dominic could hit big league pitching. Worse, Prescott Sullivan, a columnist for the hometown San Francisco Examiner, wrote, “You can have him, dirt cheap, glove and all, for $25,000,” the same amount Joe had signed for after a serious leg injury.