[Congressional Record Volume 145, Number 36 (Monday, March 8, 1999)]
[Senate]
[Page S2430]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                              JOE DIMAGGIO

 Mr. MOYNIHAN. ``Joe, Joe DiMaggio, we want you on our side!'' 
Well, he is on the other side now, but stays with us in our memories.
  Mine are, well, special to me. It would be in 1938 or 1939 in 
Manhattan. The Depression lingered. Life was, well, life. But there was 
even so somebody who made a great difference and that was Lou Gehrig of 
the New York Yankees. I admired him as no other man. Read of him each 
day, or so it seemed, in the Daily News. And yet I had never seen him 
play. One summer day my mother somehow found the needful sixty cents. 
Fifty cents for a ticket at the Stadium, a nickel for the subway up and 
back. Off I went in high expectation. But Gehrig, disease I must assume 
was now in progress, got no hit. A young rookie I had scarce noticed 
hit a home run. Joe DiMaggio. It began to drizzle, but they kept the 
game going just long enough so there would be no raincheck. I went home 
lifeless and lay on my bed desolate.
  Clearly I was in pain, if that is the word. The next day my mother 
somehow came up with yet another sixty cents. Up I went. And the exact 
same sequence occurred.
  I went home. But not lifeless. To the contrary, animated.
  For I hated Joe DiMaggio. For life.
  I knew this to be a sin, but it did not matter. Gehrig retired, then 
died. My animus only grew more animated.
  Thirty years and some went by. I was now the United States Permanent 
Representative to the United Nations. One evening I was having dinner 
at an Italian restaurant in midtown. As our company was about finished, 
who walked in but DiMaggio himself, accompanied by a friend. They took 
a table against the wall opposite. I watched. He looked over, smiled 
and gave a sort of wave. Emboldened, as we were leaving, I went over to 
shake hands. He rose wonderfully to the occasion.
  I went out on 54th Street as I recall. And of a sudden was struck as 
if by some Old Testament lightening. ``My God,'' I thought, ``he has 
forgiven me!'' He must have known about me all those years, but he 
returned hate with love. My soul had been in danger and he had rescued 
me.
  Still years later, just a little while ago the Yankees won another 
pennant. Mayor Guiliani arranged a parade from the Battery to City 
Hall. Joe was in the lead car; I was to follow. As we waited to get 
started, I went up to him, introduced myself and told of having watched 
him at the Stadium these many years ago. ``But I have to tell you,'' I 
added, ``Lou Gehrig was my hero.''
  ``He was my hero, too,'' said Joe.

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