Always a distinctive and majestic model of grace, style and consistency. With glove or bat in hand, he was a baseball symphony. A rare gift of exquisite talent that flowed with classic movement. It all looked so easy. A Rembrandt in flannels.
Yet personally, Joseph Paul DiMaggio was far more complex. Stoic. Introverted. Secretive. Arbitrary. Even rude. The public tried to make him a prisoner of adulation. And he fought against it all the way, even to his dying day.
Joe DiMaggio was a private person, who, in a kind of paradoxical twist, absolutely craved attention even though his persona was often perceived of as being modest and withdrawing.
If a master of ceremonies at a banquet didn't provide him with a classic introduction, he went away unhappy. And, similarly, at old-timers' games, it was understood he had to be the last one brought from the dugout so the crescendo of applause would accompany the mere mention of his name.
Yet the DiMaggio who reveled in the cheers gave a false impression that glory wasn't all that important to him. He preferred to be regarded as shy, although at the same time, revered. A celebrity who held off the crowd yet enjoyed hero worship but only when he wanted it.
The first time we met DiMaggio, 1949, he had his right leg extended in traction at Johns Hopkins Hospital. He was there for removal of a bone spur on his heel, a procedure successfully performed by the noted orthopedic surgeon, Dr. George E. Bennett.
A small cage was attached to the area near the wound, and maggots, then in use for certain medical treatments, were used to cleanse the infected area. DiMaggio's presence in Baltimore meant the city's Italian restaurants were fighting over which one would have the honor of serving Joe his next meal. So many floral decorations arrived that the walls were barely visible, almost as if it were a funeral home instead of a hospital. It was the Italian-American community paying homage to one of its own, perhaps the first genuine sports hero of Italian parentage in America.
A young reporter looked up at DiMaggio, resplendent in silk pajamas, and showed his naivete when he asked, "Mr. DiMaggio, I guess the reason you're here is that when Dr. Sidney Gaynor, the Yankee physician, treated your heel last year it was a failure." Joe seemed stunned but recovered to answer, "Yes, son, but we don't say that."
Dr. Bennett repaired the heel, and when DiMaggio rejoined the New York Yankees in June, he produced an overwhelming one-man show against the Boston Red Sox. Missing spring training and 65 regular-season games because of the injury, he had the benefit of only eight workouts, yet demolished the Red Sox at Fenway Park, hitting five home runs and driving in nine runs in a three-game sweep.
Once, playing golf at Marco Island, Fla., DiMaggio shied away from the gallery, signing a few autographs but continuing to look over his shoulder and tell spectators he had to hurry or he might get hit with a ball. Yet the nearest golfer was more than 400 yards away. It was his way of providing himself a fast exit from the crowd, just as those in his chosen entourage would seek methods to extract him from banquet halls, usually through the door to the kitchen, then to the parking lot and an awaiting car to avoid the clamor of the crowd. He was gone before they realized he had left.
We saw a man on a Hall of Fame weekend at Cooperstown show DiMaggio an old picture of himself, hoping he'd sign it. But Joe examined the photo, let it drop through his fingers to the floor, turned abruptly and left without offering a word.
In his native San Francisco, when he visited from New York, he could be seen walking alone on the streets of North Beach. A stranger in his hometown, but, in short order, he would be on the move again, traveling to places where the paid invitations took him. It's estimated by a once-close friend that his estate will exceed $40 million.
Our last extensive visit with Joe was six years ago when he came to Baltimore as grand marshal of the Columbus Day parade. He stayed two days, under what could be described as self-duress, to help a friend, Ralph DeChiaro, celebrate a birthday. DiMaggio was paid handsomely for the patronage but complained about how long it was taking for the party to start.
Joe was an impeccable dresser, once voted the eighth-best-dressed man in America. He carried himself with a certain nobility and liked having one or two traveling companions to assure his privacy. Meanwhile, they were caring for whatever his heart desired -- be it a limousine, lining up an autograph session where he might make upward of $100,000 or getting him to the airport to catch another plane.
In a 13-season American League career, in which he led the Yankees to 10 World Series, he three times won the Most Valuable Player award, put up a .325 lifetime average and, momentously, had a stretch in 1941 that saw him hit successfully in a record 56 straight games.
His approach to baseball, how he chased down line drives, threw to bases with exacting precision and whipped the bat with the speed of a cracking bullwhip, made him one of the sport's all-time accomplished performers.
Band leader Les Brown introduced a hit song, "Joltin' Joe DiMaggio," that the country began to sing in the early 1940s. He was a heavy coffee drinker and smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, Camels, (the kind he endorsed) during his playing years.
Sitting around a hotel suite on an afternoon when he had nothing else to do, DiMaggio started to reminisce about San Francisco, where it all started. He played with boyhood friends on what they called Horse Field, which was where a dairy used to stable the horses that pulled milk wagons.
He vividly remembered the moment in Cleveland when his unprecedented batting streak was stopped by two incredible plays by third baseman Ken Keltner and another by shortstop Lou Boudreau. Had he gotten a hit in the game, which would have been 57 in a row, the Heinz food corporation and its 57 varieties was prepared to pay him $10,000 for a commercial.
On the night it all ended, he forgot his wallet in the clubhouse lock box, so he borrowed $18 from teammate Phil Rizzuto and went to a quiet bar for a few peaceful drinks and deep reflection. After the miss, he resumed hitting safely in his next 16 games, which would have given him 73 had he not been so rudely interrupted in Cleveland.
Significantly, as a green, 18-year-old minor-league rookie, he had batted in 61 straight in 1933 with the San Francisco Seals of the Pacific Coast League.
DiMaggio had a distinctive stance, legs wide apart, and generated power from his hips, upper body and wrists. Taking only a short, sliding move with the front foot, he followed breaking balls extremely well, and woe to the pitcher who threw him a change-up because the minimum foot action allowed him to wait before committing the swing.
He was married to two movie queens, Dorothy Arnold and Marilyn Monroe, but a close Baltimore friend, Frank Cuccia, once said, "Joe wanted them to be glamour girls but also to be able to cook like his mother."
After Monroe's death, columnist Bob Considine said, "He gave her the one thing in death she never had in life -- dignity," as Joe kept her funeral from turning into a Hollywood circus.
Joe DiMaggio an enigma whose awesome ability as a baseball player was wrapped up in an aura of loneliness and aloofness he alone created and peculiarly coveted.
A man who desperately isolated himself, yet played the game in front of multitudes, with an exceptional competence that elevated him to the ultimate standard of baseball excellence.
The DiMaggio file
Chronology
Nov. 25, 1914: Born in Martinez, Calif., the eighth of nine children of Sicilian immigrants. Two brothers also became major-leaguers: Dom with the Boston Red Sox and Vince with four National League teams.
May 1936: Major-league debut with New York Yankees.
1939, 1941 and 1947: Selected as American League's Most Valuable Player.
1936, 1937, 1938, 1939, 1941, 1942, 1947, 1949, 1950, 1951: Plays in the World Series. Yankees win all but 1942.
1939, 1940: Wins American League batting championship.
May 15 to July 16, 1941: 56-game hitting streak shatters record of 44 that had stood for more than 40 years.
February 1943: Enlists in the Army, spends rest of war serving in physical training program for Air Force cadets.
Dec. 11, 1951: Announces retirement as a player after 13 seasons. "I feel that I have reached the stage where I can no longer produce for my ballclub, my manager, my teammates and my fans the sort of baseball their loyalty to me deserves." Lifetime batting average: .325.
1955: Elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame in his third year of eligibility. No player between 1937 and 1961 was named in his first year of eligibility.
Career highlights
AL MVP: 1939, 1941 and 1947.
AL batting champion: 1939 (.381); 1940 (.352).
AL home run champion: 1937 (46); 1948 (39).
AL RBI leader: 1941 (125); 1948 (155).
AL runs scored leader: 1937 (151).
AL total bases leader: 1937 (418); 1941 (348); 1948 (355).
61-game hitting streak: May 28-July 25, 1933 with San Francisco of Pacific Coast League.
Two home runs, one inning (fifth): June 24, 1936 in 18-11 victory over St. Louis Browns.
Three triples, one game: Aug. 27, 1938.
56-game hitting streak: May 15-July 16, 1941.
Three-home run games: June 13, 1937, May 23, 1948, Sept. 10, 1950.
Hit for cycle: July 9, 1937, May 20, 1948.
World Series: 10 appearances, nine winning teams.
Elected to Baseball Hall of Fame: 1955.
Longest hitting streaks
Player Team Yr. No.
1. DiMaggio Yanks 1941 56
2. Willie Keeler Orioles 1897 44
2. Pete Rose Reds 1978 44
4. Bill Dahlen Chi. (NL) 1894 42
5. George Sisler Browns 1922 41
6. Ty Cobb Tigers 1911 40
7. Paul Molitor Brewers 1987 39
Pub Date: 3/09/99