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Dinner with DiMaggio: What it was like chattingwith the Yankee Clipper

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Joe DiMaggio was a serious man of !rm conviction. Dining with him meant good food andsome occasionally tense arguments.

DR. ROCK POSITANO AND JOHN POSITANOThursday May 11th, 2017

The following is excerpted from DINNER WITH DIMAGGIO by Dr. Rock Postiano and John

Postiano. Copyright © 2017 by Dr. Rock Postiano and John Postiano. Printed by permission of

Simon & Schuster, Inc.

The Yankee Clipper held strong opinions on his fellow athletes. I discovered that he had two

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sports heroes: Muhammad Ali and Lou Gehrig.

During dinner one night, we had a major disagreement when I criticized Muhammad Ali for

being, in my eyes, a dra" dodger. I was touchy about the subject, because we had lost our

cousin Michael Sessa Jr. during his second tour of duty in Vietnam. His sacri!ce had a#ected

his family deeply. A"er I stated my opinion, Joe turned pensive. He told me that Ali was a

hero, and that he admired him. When I objected, Joe explained his position.

“Doc, you’re not supposed to be judging the guy in that arena. You’re supposed to look at him

as a !ghter, an athlete.”

I continued to argue.

“Listen, Doc,” he countered, “I may not have agreed with what he did, because I am a veteran

myself, but Muhammad Ali is an athlete. He’s one of the greatest ever. In fact, he was as

good as me.”

That is something I had never heard the Yankee Clipper say.

Joe continued to compare himself to his hero, Muhammad Ali: “People could have said the

same thing about me. I served for three years at the peak of my career during World War Two,

but I didn’t !ght. Think of how that time away from playing a#ected my numbers. I never had

a missile !red over my head or a bullet whizzing past my ear. I went around the world doing

exhibition games for the troops.”

Joe reached for a breadstick, and continued, “And they could have said the same thing about

Elvis Presley. He never saw a day of action. All he did was go from camp to camp to entertain

the troops.”

“Well, Joe, what are you trying to tell me?”

Joe took a minute to respond. “I think that Muhammad Ali was the greatest. He was a

fabulous boxer, a fabulous athlete, and that is what we should remember him for. When you

judge people professionally, base it on their accomplishments in their area, not for what they

believe or what they say and do in their personal lives.”

Joe’s other major hero was his predecessor, Lou Gehrig. Lou was as reticent as Ali was

garrulous. Lou, a !rst baseman, is remembered more today for the disease that killed him

than his athletic ability. Lou was vibrant in Joe’s memory. Joe was impressed that Gehrig had

attended Ivy League Columbia University for two years before he dropped out to join the

Yankees.

Dinner with DiMaggioby Dr. Rock Positano and John Positano

An intimate portrait of an American Hero, with little-known stories aboutbaseball icons, Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra and more.

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Lou and Joe shared adjacent lockers during Joe’s rookie season with the Yankees. Joe

remembered him as an intelligent and shy man. He compared Lou’s strong, stocky legs to

piano legs that were matched by a body builder’s upper torso and Popeye the Sailor-Man

forearms. But Lou wasn’t muscle bound. According to Joe, Lou had agility as well as strength.

Joe told me that when Lou hit a line drive, it was as though the ball was attached to a taut

rope. “It would take o# like a rocket and ping o# the facades and bleachers of the Stadium in

right !eld. You could hear the balls all the way in the Yankee clubhouse ringing like a bell

when Gehrig was in batting practice,” Joe said with admiration.

Lou’s advice to the rookie was straight and powerful. Joe told me that Lou’s example had

guided him to develop valuable personal attributes—in Joe’s words, “being digni!ed, never

speaking out of turn, conducting myself properly under any circumstances, and, most

important, not volunteering any information to the wrong people.” These lessons were Lou’s

direct contribution to Joe’s nascent legend.

Lou was keeping a brother’s eye out for Joe. The rookie was under the impression that his

teammate was there for him at all times, but Lou was su#ering from the initial, barely

noticeable, symptoms of the disease that would overwhelm him.

Joe !rst noticed that Lou had started to shave unsteadily. Then Lou had problems tying his

laces. Joe noticed Lou dropping things.

By 1937, Lou seemed slow and even more deliberate. Despite what he was observing, Joe said

nothing to anyone. Joe chalked it up to Gehrig’s having another slow start in spring training,

which was a common occurrence.

Eventually, that something was seriously wrong with Lou became apparent. He couldn’t hit

well and was having trouble !elding and getting around the bases. It got so bad that Lou was

dropping the bat in the batter’s circle, had problems with his glove, and wasn’t up to the

tactics of the opposing team.

One day, he and Lou were talking alongside their lockers. Joe told me that he would never

forget it.

“Lou said to me, ‘Joe, I don’t think that I can play baseball anymore. I want to take myself out

of the lineup before McCarthy takes me out.’”

The Clipper was shocked by Lou’s words. He had told no one else on the team what Lou was

going through.

Decades later, thinking about the conversation made Joe tear up.

“Doc, this was the !rst time I ever showed any emotion inside the locker room. It was just the

two of us, alone, and Gehrig started to cry. I cried, too.”

I could see the pain in Joe’s eyes even !"y years later.

Joe had kept his mouth shut about the growing evidence of Gehrig’s in!rmities. He was the

stand-up guy’s stand-up guy. Dignity had to be maintained.

Just as Joe was quick to praise his heroes and those he admired, he was outspoken in his

criticism of other legends. He once made a comment about Don Larsen. Joe was amazed and

perplexed that Larsen’s performance in one game in the 1956 World Series, a perfect no-

hitter, immortalized him in the sporting world for the rest of his career. On the basis of a

single game, Larsen received a lot of attention and accolades.

I went with Joe to the Yankees’ Old Timers’ Game in 1994. Retired Yankees were asked to come

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to the stadium to make an appearance for their fans. This was a big deal for Joe. He did it for

the fans, not for the owner or the Yankees.

By 1994, he no longer wore the Yankee uniform, because his body was showing signs of

aging, and he didn’t like the way he looked in it. As usual, Joe was perfectly turned out in a

well-tailored navy blue suit and tie. He o"en criticized his former teammates, Rizzuto, Berra,

and Mantle, for their poor appearance in uniform. He was less harsh about Phil and Yogi. He

expressed his !rm opinion that the elder Yankees should show up in suits for Old Timers’

Games and other events.

On our way up to the owner’s box in an elevator that day in 1994, we stopped between the

ground level and the box $oor. The doors opened, and there was Mickey Mantle. I didn’t

recognize the stocky, strong-looking guy in a warm-up suit for a full !ve seconds, but Joe did

immediately. He gave Mickey a stern look.

An eternity passed in those minutes. Both men were avoiding eye contact, looking anywhere

but at each other. Joe was waiting for The Mick to blink and acknowledge him !rst. It was a

pecking order thing or the ballplayer’s version of chicken. Mickey was the !rst to break the

painful silence between the legends.

“How ya doin’ Joe?” Mickey asked with his eyes down.

Joe studied Mickey. “I’m okay, Mick.” He paused before asking, “You stayin’ out of

trouble?” Neither man spoke a"er that. When Mickey le" the elevator, Joe turned to me and

commented, “Doc, some guys just never learn. He will never change.”

That was the longest elevator ride I ever took. It seemed endless. The tension was

indescribable and something right out of High Noon.

The Clipper did not let go of the grudge. As Mickey Mantle was dying of cancer, I thought Joe

would relent. It didn’t happen. Joe never forgave Mantle for replacing him in center !eld and

not taking his advice about how to conduct himself as a Yankee. Despite getting updates on

Mickey’s condition, which was bad and worsening, Joe would not so"en.

When I ventured to ask him about it, he said, “You know, Doc, I don’t really feel sorry for the

guy. He did it to himself.”

He could be a very tough man.

Joe made himself unavailable to the press seeking his words to honor the dying and departed

Mickey Mantle. It fell on me to pass press requests to Joe, who declined all of them. Even at a

posthumous Mickey Mantle Day at the Stadium, Joe did nothing more than show up. I found

his behavior disturbing.

He told a Steinbrenner special assistant, Brian Smith, that he had no intention of talking

about Mickey. “You make sure they know that I am not getting up to that mike to say anything

about anybody. I was asked to come here to show up and walk out on the !eld. That is exactly

what I am going to do. Then I am going to turn back and walk o# the !eld.”

I was surprised by how rigid and bitter he allowed himself to appear. People remember that

sort of behavior. It seemed so petty to me, but what I thought didn’t matter. I was

disappointed that he dug in. He should have been bigger than that. He expected others to rise

above their grudges.

A few minutes later, Joe DiMaggio stepped onto the playing !eld with the other ballplayers.

He got the lion’s share of the applause. Then he turned tail, walked o#, and headed home.

“Come on, Doc,” he commanded, “we’re getting the hell out of here.” And so we did.

Joe’s wrath extended to others as well, including George Steinbrenner, the owner of the

Yankees and a sharp businessman. Though very fond of Steinbrenner personally, Joe was

never quite comfortable with him, because Steinbrenner was always asking him for some

favor, whether to work out a baseball memorabilia deal or to meet people who would help

advance the business interests of the New York Yankees.

Steinbrenner was obsessed with DiMaggio. He considered Joe a good luck charm. He believed

that the Yanks couldn’t lose if the Yankee Clipper was in “the house that Ruth built.” When

the Yankees were in the playo#s in 1996, George made sure that Joe was at the games, sitting

in what was nominally George’s box, which wasn’t the case when Joe was in attendance.

George was intent on commissioning a statue of Joe to be placed in center !eld at the

stadium. He even tried to get another statue of Joe planted in Central Park. There was only

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one problem. George needed Joe’s blessing. It was a respect thing.

Joe was adamantly against being memorialized anywhere in New York while he was still in

the upright position.

“As long as I am still walking,” he insisted, “there is no way I will have anyone build a statue

of me in this city. When I am dead, they can do whatever the hell they want.”

It was a closed issue. Joe told George no, and that was it.

In fact, Joe vetoed every statue and monument, as well as East 56th Street, which New York

City tried to name a"er him. On a drive to Yankee Stadium on the Deegan, Joe told me that the

city had o#ered to rename the Major Deegan the Joe DiMaggio Expressway. The expressway in

the Bronx passes right by Yankee Stadium and leads to the New York State Thruway. Major

William Francis Deegan, a buddy of Mayor Jimmy Walker, served in the Army Corps of

Engineers and built many local Army bases.

“I told them no, because I felt it was disrespectful to Major Deegan’s memory,” he explained.

“I won’t have them knock his name o# to replace it with mine. It wouldn’t be right, and I

wouldn’t feel good about it.”

Soon a"er the confrontation about the statue in center !eld, we were invited back to

Steinbrenner’s box. In all fairness to Steinbrenner, he always went out of his way to make Joe

feel at home. He made sure that Joe had his Bazzini shelled peanuts and Cracker Jacks in the

owner’s box. During this visit, George had a new food vendor who made Philadelphia

cheesesteaks. He persuaded us to try them out. Joe was resistant to trying anything new. He

was a culinary snob. The thought of eating a premade cheesesteak didn’t sit well with him,

but he enjoyed it.

Not long a"er !nishing, he turned to me with visible discomfort and said, “Doc, we better get

out of here soon. My stomach is really bothering me. I have to get back to Burke’s place.”

We sped back to Manhattan in under !"een minutes. Joe made it to the bathroom just in time.

From behind the bathroom door, Joe started yelling. “Doc, I don’t know what the hell

Steinbrenner fed me, but I think he’s trying to kill me so he can put up that statue of me in

center!eld.”

I think he believed it.

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