(Years ago) my sports editor, who knew a good idea when it was repeated every year, hired Joe DiMaggio as our guest columnist for the World Series. He would do the talking and I would sit next to him, taking notes. DiMaggio had a cold and sore throat, but had to schlep to the Bronx to pick up his Series tickets. He didn’t like making the trip or waiting too long for his tickets to show up. The afternoon of the game, my sports editor called. He was in a foul mood. The deal he cut with DiMaggio was for $500 a game, and now DiMaggio wanted $600. “He wants another hundred, the cheap (you can imagine). We may not use him,” the editor said. But he was kidding himself. We had been advertising the column and there was nothing to do but produce the extra $100. . . . During a slow time in the game, DiMaggio said, “By the way, I got your paper to give me an extra hundred for each game. That’s for you.” I thanked him and turned it down. I owed him a lot more. Owed him for being No. 5, for breakfast once a long time ago, for calling me, the way you would a friend, Zeeg.
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