may have been the first genuine smile he had in a very long time. Thirty seconds later, he turned the corner and he was gone, my friend was gone. Gone.
44
It was a quiet, reflective train ride back to Philadelphia. I sat alone and thought about Johnny the whole trip back. The hum of the engine brought me to various stages of consciousness. I wondered what kind of life he was really living. Was it as bad as it seemed. I held the deer’s antler in my hands the entire way. I rubbed it as if it would really bring me good luck.
I had never asked Johnny how he had gotten the tickets for the game. Could he possibly have had enough money to buy them? Maybe he had a friend who gave them to him. Or, could he have waited at the ticket office and followed someone out who just bought tickets and hit them on the head and stole them. I tried not to think about it.
When I got home, I put the flat penny in my jewelry box with my other few precious jewels. I placed the deer antler up on the mantle in my living room. It was so small that you could hardly see it, but I knew it was there.
A year went by and we did not hear much about Babe Ruth and his sickness. It was understood that he was very ill and would not recover. I also did not hear anything more about Johnny. I was busy living my life and tending to my practice, treating the children of Kensington.
On June 13th, 1948, the Babe wore his baseball uniform for the last time. Yankee Stadium was now 25 years old and his number 3 was officially retired. It was part of the silver-anniversary ceremonies, which were held at the stadium. This time I did not get to go to the game, but I listened to the ceremony on radio.
His speech was short, just four sentences. He said he was proud that he had hit the first home run in Yankee Stadium back in 1923. It was appropriate that he will forever hold that honor. And the year, 1923, that was the year he had come to our neighborhood to play a little, meaningless, exhibition baseball game. I wondered if the Babe still remembered anything about that day in 1923.
When I saw the pictures in the newspaper the next day I was saddened by Ruth’s physical appearance. There was the picture of him standing at the microphones, speaking to the crowd. His legs looked like thin sticks, and his face seemed pale and sunken in. There was also the great picture taken by Nat Fein that won a Pulitzer Prize. It was taken from behind Ruth, showing his old teammates standing to honor him, and looking out onto the crowd at Yankee Stadium. That picture will be forever in my memory and it will be what I remember as the world said goodbye to Babe Ruth.
On August 16th, at 8:01 P.M., the Babe died in his sleep. He was 53 years old and it was said that he died a beautiful death. At least that was what Father Kaufman told the reporters outside Memorial Hospital.
“The Babe died a beautiful death,” he said. “He said his prayers and lapsed into a sleep. He then died in his sleep.”
A part of me was gone. Since that day in 1923, I felt a bond with Babe Ruth, even though I was sure he did not remember me. I felt a deep sadness as if a member of my own family had passed away, and a deep sense of loneliness.
It made me think about Johnny, and how much I missed him. I thought about all the ways I could reach out and find him, and try to help him. In the end, I sat in my living room, all alone starring at a deer antler resting on my mantle.
45
The nation seemed to mourn as a whole after the death of Babe Ruth. It did not matter what baseball team you rooted for, everyone loved the Babe. For me life went on as usual, kids still got sick, and I never seemed to have a free minute. If I got a knock on my door in the middle of the night, I knew to go get my medical bag and be ready to make a house call.
It was Monday night at eight o’clock on August 30th, 1948 when I heard a knock at my door. I was lying in bed reading an old copy of Life magazine and instinctively jumped out of bed grabbing my medical bag as I walked down the stairs. When I got to the door, I was caught by complete surprise. Annie Garrity, or whatever her married name was, was standing outside my front door. She was standing next to two little identical twin girls who were shyly hiding behind her dress.
She smiled at me, and before she could say a word, I jumped out onto the front steps and wrapped my arms around her. She had changed some, but was still easily recognizable. It had been more than fifteen years since I had seen her last, and really had not heard anything about what she had been doing for all that time.
“I can’t believe it’s you, and I can’t believe you’re here,” I said. “These two beautiful ladies must be your daughters.”
The twins appeared to be about twelve or thirteen years old, and were dressed in matching yellow dresses. They each wore a bow in their hair, one had a purple flower, and one had a pink flower. The resemblance to Annie was unmistakable. I pulled them into my living room and gave Annie a second hug before I got her seated on the chair next to the couch. The two girls jumped on the couch, rolling on top of each other as they did.
“Would you like a cup of tea or something to drink?” I asked.
“No I’m fine thanks.” She replied.
“How about the girls, can I get something for them?”
“No, I’m sure they’re alright too.”
As my excitement wore off a bit, I could see that something wasn’t right. Annie was not able to look me in the eye, she was hesitant as she spoke, as if she had something to say but was afraid to say it.
“Is everything alright?” I asked.
She looked up at me sheepishly, and slowly shook her head no. The smile that she had forced onto her face slowly disappeared as she looked down at her lap.
“Everything’s not alright,” she said. “Last night I got a call from the police in New York, they said that Johnny is dead. They found his body two weeks ago. They said they had been trying to find his next of kin, but that he didn’t have any identification on his body. They only found me after one of the vagrants that they found near where he was living, remembered his name and where he came from. Unfortunately by then they had already buried him in a Potters Field out on Staten Island.”
I sat there stunned, feeling as though I had been punched in the stomach, unable to breathe. I knew Johnny’s life seemed to be on the wrong track, but I did not expect this.
“Did they tell you what happened?” I asked.
“They did, but it may be better if you didn’t know,” she whispered to make sure the girls didn’t hear what she was saying.
“Please, tell me what happened,” I whispered in an equally hushed tone. “Johnny was the best friend I ever had; I need to know what happened.”
Annie motioned for the girls to go play with the radio that was sitting on the windowsill in my kitchen. The girls walked into the kitchen and I could immediately hear them turn on the radio and start turning the tuning dial finding something to listen to. With them out of the room, Annie spoke in a quiet conversational tone.
“Two weeks ago, on a Monday night the police found his body underneath a bridge that led to Brooklyn. The said it was a popular place for the vagrants to stay, and that Johnny apparently had been sleeping there for months. The other vagrants said he was a regular at the local soup kitchen, and that he often slept at the local train yard. I guess he didn’t have much of a life.”
Annie’s eyes watered as she spoke.
“Did they tell you how he died? I asked.
“Yea,” she started, “they said he was having an argument with one of the other vagrants and it got very heated. The man apparently picked up a rock and smashed it into Johnny’s head. The police said that the single blow killed him instantly. The other man ran away and the police say he has not been seen since.”
I could feel a dizziness overcome me as Annie spoke. It was a combination of nausea, confusion, and I could feel myself becoming disoriented. I tried to shake myself out of it, so that I could respond to Annie when she finished speaking.
“Like I said before, the police said he had no identification or paperwork of any kind on him, so their standard procedure is to unceremoniously
bury him with the other nameless bodies. I get sick when I think of him being buried in the ground, all alone, nobody there to say good-bye to him.”
Annie started to make eye contact again, as she was able to hold back her tears.
I do not know why, but just at that moment, I thought about the pocket comb. I wondered if they had found it and had returned it to Annie. I hated myself for thinking about it, why would I even care what happened to the stupid comb when I had just lost my first and only best friend.
“Did they find any personal belongings when they found his body?” I asked, feeling bad as soon as the words left my mouth.
“Well he didn’t have much in the way of possessions,” she said. “The police said that he didn’t have anything of value is his pockets when they found him. If he had anything valuable the other vagrants would have probably stolen it before the police even got there.”
“There was one thing though,” she said. “They found this wrapper with your name printed in pencil on the outside. But when they opened it all they found was this little pocket comb.”
“Is it yours?”
“Not really, but I do know who it belonged to.”
“It must have been really important to Johnny if it was the only thing in his pockets, and for some reason he must have wanted you to have it.”
I am sure that the other vagrants would not have worried about stealing a worthless wooden