1951. Yankee Stadium. Mezzanine section. Our family was polenta poor but our dentist, Dr. Fusco, had a father-in-law who was big with White Owl Cigars, one of the Yankees’ sponsors. He got us these front row seats. A fan in the row behind us, wearing a fedora and shirt sleeves, yelled out, “Put ’er away, Joe!” DiMaggio was in his final year, hobbled, being replaced by this Mantle kid, yet still the classiest figure in all of sports. So I yelled it too. “Put ’er away, Joe.” Joe didn’t, couldn’t. But that was all right. I had spoken to him.
Find Jim DeFilippi’s books, including a micromemoir collection, at his Amazon Author Page: Jim DeFilippi.