March 8, 1999 -- Quiet, shy, graceful, humble, reserved, stoic, flawless, dignified, elegant, efficient, hard working, private, a role model, and handsome. Those are some pretty lofty descriptions, but they lack what he stood for the most on the baseball field. Above all else, Joseph Paul DiMaggio was a proud winner.
People will remember DiMaggio, who passed away early this morning at the age of 84, as a player who exuded class on and off the field. They will remember him for patrolling Yankee Stadium’s vast center field with the greatest of ease, settling under fly balls well before they reached their destination. They will remember that beautiful right-handed swing that began with a wide stance and the bat high in the air, ending with a classic hitter’s stride. They will remember, of course, the 56-game hitting streak in 1941. They will remember that he married and was divorced from Marilyn Monroe. And they will remember him for the elegance and decorum he symbolized after his playing days, ever so careful to maintain the meticulous image.
In a personal statement, commissioner Bud Selig revealed what DiMaggio stood for.
“All of baseball is deeply saddened by the passing of the Yankee Clipper, Joe DiMaggio. For several generations of baseball fans, Joe was the personification of grace, class and dignity on the baseball diamond. His persona extended beyond the playing field and touched all our hearts. … Joe DiMaggio was a hero in the truest sense of the word.”
But DiMaggio was, above all, a proud winner in life and a winner in the ballpark, whether he was taping a commercial for Mr. Coffee or on guard in the batter’s box, in center field or in the clubhouse.
His supporters point to his three MVP Awards, two consecutive batting championships, two home runs titles and two RBI crowns. They also try to direct your attention to his .325 career batting average, 361 home runs (only eight less than his career strikeout total), 1,537 RBI, 1,390 runs scored and that glorious stretch in the summer of 1941, when he gathered a hit in 56 straight games. All that in just 13 years!
But statistics don’t do DiMaggio justice. DiMaggio was so much more than regular-season numbers, it’s almost insulting to point them out. He was about something else, as all the hard work and sacrifice had a purpose: winning and playing with pride.
“Playing the game and putting up good numbers is fun, but winning is always the bottom line,” DiMaggio once said. “I always play to win. Celebrating with the team at the end is the culmination of all the hard work and effort.”
In the book Men of Autumn, former Yankee Gerry Coleman told author Dom Forker, “Joe was the greatest all-around player I ever saw. The way he handled himself, the team and the game was impeccable. He understood his role thoroughly. He had an incredible mystique. No one else ever did it better. Every player is insecure. The pressure to succeed is great. But he wasn’t the normal player. He had to be perfect every day. Joe was unhappy when he wasn’t perfect. He had to be DiMaggio every day. And usually, he was. As a result, he had a tremendous hold on people. You don’t see them writing songs about anyone else. No one else ever emulated him.”
A rookie out of the Pacific Coast League in 1936, the tremendously talented DiMaggio was lured away by the Yankees from his disapproving Italian father, who had hopes of sharing his fishing boat near San Francisco with his son Joe. Unlike Mickey Mantle, DiMaggio got accustomed to New York and the Yankee clubhouse very easily, dressing side-by-side with the great and just as reserved Lou Gehrig.
The 21-year-old freshman, proud but refusing to be in awe of the Yankees, the major league environment and the city of New York, took little time to get acclimated, batting .323 with 29 homers and 125 RBI. An integral part of a great Yankee team, - still the only squad in major league history to boast five players with 100 RBI - DiMaggio and Gehrig led the Bronx Bombers to their first pennant in four years. DiMaggio stated on many an occasion that the 1936 team was the best he ever played on.
Defying all theories about rookies, DiMaggio batted a robust .346 with three doubles and three RBI in the six-game World Series victory over the New York Giants, a fall classic triumph that stood out even more so because it was the Yankees’ first without Babe Ruth.
Riding the confidence gained from his first season, DiMaggio in 1937 established himself among the very best players in the major leagues by leading both circuits with 46 home runs, hitting .346 and driving in an astonishing 167 runners. His accomplishments helped the Yankees win a second world championship as he hit his first World Series home run during a five-game fall classic victory over the Giants again.
The numbers he was putting up were great to begin with, but were all the more amazing when taking into account his home ballpark was supposed to be disadvantageous to right-handed hitters. While Yankee Stadium, or “The House That Ruth Built”, was very friendly to left-handed hitters like Ruth and Gehrig, and later Roger Maris, with an inviting right-field porch that measured less than 300 feet from home plate, left-center field, otherwise known as “Death Valley”, measured 461 feet away from home. Home runs anywhere else were routine fly balls in Yankee Stadium's left-center field.
To further hammer home the point that he achieved a great deal of success with the bat despite playing half his games in the Bronx, DiMaggio hit 65 more home runs on the road than he did at home and out-hit the great batsmen Ted Williams (.333-.328) in neutral parks.
By 1938, DiMaggio had quietly taken leadership of the team away from Lou Gehrig, leading New York in triples, homers, RBI, batting and slugging. The following year, without the protection of the ailing Gehrig, “Joltin Joe” led the majors with a .381 batting average and earned MVP honors, incredibly leading the way toward a fourth World Series ring in his first four years.
The four-game victory over the Cincinnati Reds in 1939 was the second straight World Series sweep for the Yankees, who had dominated the Chicago Cubs the previous October. With DiMaggio, the Yankees were not only dominating during the regular season but were overwhelming the National League champions as well, winning 16 of the 19 fall classic games since DiMaggio’s arrival.
In 1941, DiMaggio captured the hearts of an entire country with a record hitting streak, a spectacular feat in which he hit .408 with 91 hits in 223 at-bats from May 15th through July 16th. “The Yankee Clipper” also belted 15 homers and drove in 55 runners during the stretch.
As if he hadn't before, DiMaggio again proved how well he can perform even under the most intense pressure and scrutiny, batting .575 (23-for-40) over the final 10 games of the streak as reporters hovered around him ubiquitously before and after games, and fans yelled for him to not let them down.
He admittedly felt the pressure, he would later concede, but tried not to fall prey to it, instead acting calmly. “I was able to control myself,” he said. “That doesn't mean I wasn't dying inside.”
Only a pair of dazzling defensive gems by Cleveland Indians third baseman Ken Keltner stopped the streak on the night of July 17th. However, DiMaggio kept on hitting, starting a new streak the next time out that lasted 16 games for a remarkable stretch of at least one hit in 72 of 73 contests.
DiMaggio batted .357 that year, with 30 home runs and 125 RBI, while striking out just 13 times to win his second MVP Award. More importantly to him, DiMaggio’s Yankees took care of the Brooklyn Dodgers in the World Series, four games to one, for a fifth title in six years.
DiMaggio would go on to play in 10 World Series, leading his team to victory in nine of them over his 13-year career. His only World Series defeat came in 1942 to the St. Louis Cardinals (he batted .333 in the series), with fall classic triumphs following in 1947, 1949, 1950 and 1951.
After going hitless in his first 12 at-bats during the 1951 World Series, DiMaggio rapped out six hits over his last 11 at-bats, including a Game Four home run that helped the Yankees even the series en route to a six-game triumph.
DiMaggio’s sole purpose it seemed was to win, always aware of the pride expected of a Yankee. On Joe DiMaggio day in 1949, he said, “I thank the Lord for making me a Yankee”.
Only Yogi Berra was a member of more world championship teams, winning 10 of the 14 fall classics he participated in. By comparison, Mantle’s teams won seven of the 12 he participated in, including the 1951 classic against the Giants when as a rookie he shared the same outfield as DiMaggio, playing for the last time. Of the 10 World Series Ruth took part in, he was a member of the winning team seven times, celebrating with the Yankees four times.
Berra, the Hall of Fame catcher, was among those DiMaggio made an impression on, taking him aside during the 1946 season and instructing the rookie to always run out pop-ups because “you’re a Yankee, and that’s what Yankees do.”
Toward the end, DiMaggio - afflicted by injuries - felt as if he were not the same player, as if his era of dominance had ended. He was too proud. He wanted to go out on top and while the game was still fun for him. He didn’t want to be remembered for hanging on. He never wanted to allow himself to play less perfectly than he had been accustomed to. The decision was made easier after he hit .263 in 1951, marking only the second time he hit below .300. But even then, DiMaggio remained fundamentally sound and always aware.
DiMaggio was sound alright, getting caught stealing just nine times in his career and drawing well more than twice as many walks as he would strike out.
“(He) never did anything wrong on the field. Never,” added Berra, who played with DiMaggio from 1946-51.
His first Yankee manager Joe McCarthy loved DiMaggio’s sound play. “He’s the best runner I ever saw. He could have stolen 50, 60 bases a year if I had let him. He wasn’t the fastest man alive. He just knew how to run the bases better than anybody. I don’t think in all the years (he) played for me he was ever thrown out stretching.”
The 13-time All-Star would have accomplished more had it not been for the fact that he missed three seasons to serve the country during World War II, but he never used it as an excuse.
President Bill Clinton echoed the sentiments of many around the country today when he issued the following statement.
“Today, America lost one of the century's most beloved heroes, Joe DiMaggio. This son of Italian immigrants gave every American something to believe in. He became the very symbol of American grace, power and skill. … He stood tall off the field as well. In 1943, he volunteered for the Army and swapped his Yankee paycheck for $50-a-month private's salary.”
DiMaggio played in 51 World Series games (was a member of the winning team 37 times), accrued 199 World Series at-bats (third-highest figure behind Berra and Mantle), 27 runs (fifth-highest behind Mantle, Berra, Ruth and Gehrig), 54 hits (third-highest total behind Berra, Mantle and Frankie Frisch), eight home runs (tied for seventh), 30 RBI (fifth) and 19 walks (tied for 10th).
The player most often brought up with DiMaggio and compared with because of their rivalry, Ted Williams said, “There is no one (I) admired, respected and envied more than Joe DiMaggio.” When asked about who’s better, Williams said, “I’m the better hitter, but he’s the better player.”
Even Brooklyn catcher and goat Mickey Owen, whose ninth-inning, final-strike passed ball cost the Dodgers a chance to tie the 1941 series at two games, admitted DiMaggio “was the best, in my opinion, the best player to ever step on the field.”
His efforts were so appreciated that even Yankee-haters (and there were plenty of them in those days outside of New York) would cheer him mere seconds after or before booing the likes of Red Rolfe, Charlie Keller, Tommy Henrich, Allie Reynolds and Vic Raschi.
He had an aura about him, an aura that made you stand and realize your presence of greatness.
Someone once asked him why he plays so hard every game and doesn’t let up every once in a while. “Because there might be somebody out there who’s never seen me play before”, he said. That was the type of player he was; that was the type of man he was. Just like he took charge when he first came to the Yankees in the wake of Ruth’s departure and during Gehrig’s final years, DiMaggio was always in control of his surroundings and of his emotion.
Yes, Joe DiMaggio was a great baseball player. Yes, Joe DiMaggio exemplified the word elegance with an unmatched gracefulness. Yes, Joe DiMaggio was a player who led by example and did his talking on the field. Yes, Joe DiMaggio was a Hall of Famer. But, more than anything, DiMaggio was proud and never settled for anything less than victory.
With emotion high, many will call him the best center fielder ever and some even will label Joe D as the best player of all time. Neither is true. But the truth is even greater; DiMaggio was a winner. Not just a winner, but the greatest winner of them all.
THIS AUTHOR’S LONE ENCOUNTER WITH JOE DIMAGGIO:
I was covering a New York Yankees-Minnesota Twins game at Yankee Stadium on a rainy Wednesday afternoon during the 1996 season. During the rain delay, most reporters sat together chatting about baseball issues or made a beeline for the special 25-cent media hot dogs in the press box. Others decided to make phone calls or work on a feature. Normally, I would have been doing one of those things. That’s what sports journalists do. But I couldn’t do any of the above. I was in awe.
While walking toward Bob Watson’s general manager’s office, I noticed a white-haired fellow sitting in George Steinbrenner’s suite. It was Joe DiMaggio in the flesh. Though separated by a link chain, I decided to stand there and take in the site that I was hoping would last me a lifetime. I was clearly in the presence of greatness, and nothing could have dragged me away. I didn’t want an autograph (as a member of the media, we’re not allowed anyhow). I just wanted to look, perhaps shake his hands. Then all of a sudden, as though tired of watching the rain wet the grounds he helped make historic, Mr. DiMaggio stood up and started walking toward Steinbrenner’s office.
Luckily for me, the door was located by where I was standing, closer to Watson’s office. There I stood, my heart beating a mile a minute as DiMaggio walked toward the door, and toward me. Realizing I may never have this chance again, I placed my right hand over the chain and offered it to him, saying, “Hello Mr. DiMaggio”. He stood firm, realizing before him stood a youngster who had never seen him play but had read and heard about the “Yankee Clipper”.
Never one to disappoint, DiMaggio met my right palm with his and answered, “Hello kid. How are you?” As he walked away, I felt a rush come over me as though I had been injected with a portion of eternal happiness. It was then that I understood how dignified he was.
» Mike Attiyeh is a published baseball historian whose works have appeared in such publications as Baseball Digest, Pirate Report, Society for American Baseball Research, Birch Brook Press, and numerous web sites. Attiyeh, who has appeared as an expert guest analyst on sports radio talk shows throughout the United States, is best known nationally for breaking the story of Tony Gwynn’s blood clot in 1997.
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Copyright © 1999 by Mike Attiyeh. Posted July 20, 2001.
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