Yankee Stadium, Going the Way of Joe DiMaggio
From today’s New York Times:
Yankee Stadium, Going the Way of Joe DiMaggio
Joe DiMaggio's No. 5 on the wall in Monument Park at Yankee Stadium.
By PAUL SIMON
I was sitting on my father’s lap listening to a Yankee game on our old Philco radio. It was 1948 and I suddenly realized I was a Yankee fan. The team was headed for a dismal third-place finish. I was 7, and there was nothing to do but wait for 1949 and the new Yankee manager, Casey Stengel.
I was standing in a subway car, holding my dad’s hand when the train emerged from the tunnel, climbed the elevated tracks , and I saw Yankee Stadium for the first time. How beautiful! The emerald green grass, the old-fashioned white facade and the dots of color that were the fans in their seats. We were in the left-field bleachers and the colors seemed even more intense, the grass a bluer green, the pinstripes dazzling and the ball a white rocket that shot from the hands of the outfielders playing long toss.
We were playing the Indians and DiMaggio was returning to the lineup after an injury. As he approached the plate, the crowd was thumping. At the crack of the bat everyone around me stood to watch the ball’s trajectory. I couldn’t see a thing. It was a home run. I stood on my seat as Joe rounded third. I’d like to play in Yankee Stadium , I thought.
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“Just lay it in there,” I told Artie. “I want to see how far I can hit it.” It was 1968, the year Mickey Mantle retired and “Mrs. Robinson” was nominated for a Grammy. Simon and Garfunkel had gotten permission to make a video at Yankee Stadium. As an ex-high school baseball player (all-Queens second team), I was eager to test my left-handed swing against the fabled “short porch” in right field. After fouling off a couple of pitches I finally hit one on the screws, as they say. The ball arced gracefully and landed in what could be charitably called medium right field, about 250 feet from home. Porch not short enough. Stickball was really my game anyway.
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1988. Would Mickey Mantle be willing to play stickball in a music video of “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard”? Calls were made. Feelers put out. Yes! The Mick would do it but was demanding $1,500 and a limo from his hotel. We met at a playground at 46th and 10th, and for a good hour I got to play stickball with Mickey Mantle. Did I thank him as he eased his aching knees into the limo? Profusely. Did I mention that I spent countless hours imitating his style of running? No, I was too embarrassed, but the photo of the two of us is one of my treasures.
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A month after DiMaggio’s death I was standing in center field with Bernie Williams. It was a few hours before the unveiling of the Yankee Clipper’s monument before 53,000 fans. I asked Williams, the Yankee center fielder, how it felt to view the three-tiered majesty of the Stadium from his vantage point. He replied, “It’s a little like looking at the Grand Canyon.”
Two hours later I heard Bob Sheppard announce my name, and I walked from the old bullpen to center field and began to sing, “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?” but the roar of the crowd was muted in my earpiece and I was far away thinking of my father and that subway ride. After the ceremonies we were invited up to the Steinbrenner suite. I sat at a table with Phil Rizzuto, who introduced me to his wife, Cora. This was becoming a Yankee-dream-come-true afternoon. After an appropriate amount of time, I thought I ought leave, but Rizzuto said: “You can’t leave yet. You didn’t eat any of Steinbrenner’s chicken.” I said I had to pick up my son at a birthday party and, besides, I was a vegetarian. “A vegetarian?” Rizzuto said. “A vegetarian. Holy cow!”
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My youngest son always says that his favorite moment is when you’re just coming out from under the stands and you see the players and the field. I know that pleasure will still be there in the new Stadium, but for those of us lucky enough to have known the House That Ruth Built, something special has passed
So, so long, Scooter, so long, Joe, so long, Mick, and since I never got the chance to say it, so long, Dad.
beauty is warm as a summer day 