L'Italo-Americano

L'Italo-Americano PAGE  22 THURS DAY,   APRIL  25,   2013 DiMaggio and Me ALFONSO GUERRIERO JR. The other day I saw Paul Simon strolling down one of the many avenues in New York City. No, as far as I know, he was not performing later in the evening but whenever I see or hear anything pertaining to the venerable folk singer, musician and producer, you would think that my next thought would be Art Garfunkel, and/or their hit songs, The Sounds of Silence and Bridge over Troubled Waters. Actually his name immediately triggers a memorable moment in my life. In another one of their famous songs titled Mrs. Robinson (created as one of the soundtracks for the 1967 movie The Graduate) there is a famous line, "Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio, A nation turns it's lonely eyes to you (Woo, woo, woo) What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson Joltin' Joe has left and gone away (Hey, hey, hey.....)" These lyrics always remind me of a special moment in my life that lasted for about four minutes. When I was about fifteen years old, I met Joltin Joe DiMaggio. It all started when the sports attendant at the memorabilia show announced: "Let's have some respect. No photos of Marilyn Monroe." Years later these words still echo through my mind whenever I stare at my autographed picture of Joe DiMaggio in my apartment and I want to revert to my childhood memories as a way of forgetting my adult responsibilities. I, along with so many other baseball fans, waited in line to get Joe DiMaggio's autograph, and we were certainly not going to offend or hurt our hero. The attendant's request sounded more Marilyn that remained even after they divorced and she sadly died decades before him. If anything I thought retrospectively, people Joe DiMaggio autographed picture like a command, of course, not within earshot of DiMaggio but we knew what he meant. Joe DiMaggio was briefly married to the Hollywood scarlet in the 1950s and I'm sure many also knew about his infinite love for who admire or revere others, have a way of protecting their chosen heroes even if they eventually fall short of our expectations. In fact, Paul Simon when asked why he made reference to the Yankee Clipper, he said he wanted to challenge the idea of hero in pop culture and use DiMaggio's "unpretentious heroic stature" as the true meaning of what defines a hero. Today, the term "hero" is used very loosely and does not compare to these tragic heroes of Ancient Greece. My admiration for Joe DiMaggio mirrored that of an iconic figure, at least as a teenager in search of my own identity. Nonetheless, for an adolescent growing up in the eighties, I never saw Mr. DiMaggio play but his legendary career with the New York Yankees epitomized for me that of Achilles. As a fifteen year old ItalianAmerican living in Alphabet City (a neighborhood within Manhattan, New York) far from an enclave of Italian American immigrants, there was a desperate need to understand my ethnicity and use this knowledge to know how I fit in to a very complex world. Joe"Joltin Joe" DiMaggio, therefore, filled this void as he did for many ItalianAmericans living from the 1940s, up until my generation. In a country that habitually perpetuates Italian Americans as "Goodfella Goons," Mr. DiMaggio immediately broke this perception of Italian Americans. While telling my wife I saw Paul Simon casually walking the street, I also took the opportunity to once again stare at my autographed photo of the Yankee Clipper. I thought about that historic day, and the movie-reel in my mind played the images of meeting Joe DiMaggio at a sports memorabilia show in New York City. "Is this really happening, I can't believe I am going to meet Joe DiMaggio." I paid for my ticket and bought an eight-andhalf by eleven color photo of Joe D. kneeling on one knee in his Yankee uniform. It was the typical baseball player pose but, at least for me, it was like viewing a Caravaggio painting. I held the photo gently for fear of creasing the edges and ruining its pristine look. While I waited, I suddenly realized "so when it's my turn to meet Mr. DiMaggio, I'm going to give him this photo and he is going to sign it, and that's it, end of memory?" I felt cheated because most shows have the athlete sign his name without making eye contact or uttering a word to the fan, how impersonal is that? I wanted, no, I needed more. I thought, "How could I make this moment more magical? "Leap over the table," I thought "an option but of course not. I know, I will ask him something unique." As the line grew smaller I was a few autographs away and my heart was palpitating faster and faster while at the same time my little voice inside me was asking, "Do you have the courage to say it? Finally, a man controlling the line next to Mr. DiMaggio called me over; it was my turn. I handed over my photo; he started to sign his name. "Come on don't choke, make this a memorable moment—- say it, say it," my little voice inside me nervously screamed out, "Ex— Excuse me, Mr. DiMaggio, um— have you ever read The Old Man and the Sea? He looked confused, "I mean I just thought it was very interesting the way Hemingway made reference to you in his book." His expression appeared relaxed and he replied, "Yes, Ernest Hemingway had given me a copy of his manuscript." "Wow", I declared "you knew Hemingway" he quickly responded "Of course I knew Hemingway." "Oh yeah," I murmured awkwardly, I did not want to leave but other fans behind me wanted their time with the Yankee Clipper. "Thank you Sir," I said politely "for your time" little did he realize the gift he gave a fifteen year old boy was more than an autograph. Years later, I still enjoy recounting this magical moment and talking about Hemingway's literary masterpiece whenever I get a chance. Ironically, the little kid inside me surfaced a few days before I saw Paul Simon, when I sometimes retell my story to undergraduate students, since I teach a literature class and one of their assigned readings is what else, The Old Man and the Sea.

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