Barry Mazor posted:
> Paul Simon, who knew some things about what silence sounded like, had
>this to say in the NY Times this morning; what's interetsing about it to me
>is the indication that the very smart DiMaggio understood some of
>this--that there was BOTH yearning and some ironic comment in the Joltin
>Joe reference of that song.
Quote from newspaper this morning:
"Mickey Mantle once asked musician Paul Simon a burning question, at least
for him.
Why in "Mrs. Robinson", Simon's lament to lost heroes, did a nation turn
its lonely eyes to Joe DiMaggio?
Why not to him?
The author David Halberstam recounted the exchange. He quoted Simon
answering, politely, "It was syllables, Mickey. The syllables were all
wrong." "
The Cleveland Plain Dealer, Bud Shaw "Aura Of Grandeur Went Beyond The
Lines" -dated 3/9/99
Yep, isn't it ironic? Paul Simon should take a seat now.
Joe DiMaggio started out making $8500 in '36. By the time he quit baseball
he made $100,000.
In1950, he was benched for not "hitting". He sprained his ankle, had
surgery to remove a bone spur from his right heel and had other leg and
ankle injuries along the way . Yet, he played his heart out each and every
game time and maintained an above .500 slugging percentage and an above .350
percentage with runners on base. He was a good man, a kind man who knew the
rules and the oddities in life and always
strove to be honest and charitable. When told that he would be throwing
out the first ball in Yankee Stadium this year, Joe just smiled - that faint
smile Joe always gave when in his soul he knew truth from lies.
The world needs to remember his example. This man was and IS a sports hero.
T-
>March 9, 1999
>
>The Silent Superstar
>
> By PAUL SIMON
>
> My opinions regarding the baseball legend Joe DiMaggio would be
> of no particular interest to the general public were it not for the
> fact that 30 years ago I wrote the song "Mrs. Robinson," whose
> lyric "Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? A nation turns its lonely eyes
> to you" alluded to and in turn probably enhanced DiMaggio's stature in the
> American iconographic landscape.
>
> A few years after "Mrs. Robinson"
>rose to No. 1 on the pop charts, I
>found myself dining at an Italian
> restaurant where DiMaggio was
>seated with a party of friends. I'd
> heard a rumor that he was upset with
> the song and had considered a
>lawsuit, so it was with some
> trepidation that I walked over and
>introduced myself as its composer. I
>needn't have worried: he was
> perfectly cordial and invited me to
> sit down, whereupon we
>immediately fell into conversation
> about the only subject we had in
> common.
>
>"What I don't understand," he said,
> "is why you ask where I've gone. I
> just did a Mr. Coffee commercial,
> I'm a spokesman for the Bowery
> Savings Bank and I haven't gone
> anywhere."
>
> I said that I didn't mean the lines
> literally, that I thought of him as an
> American hero and that genuine
> heroes were in short supply. He
> accepted the explanation and thanked
> me. We shook hands and said good
>night.
>
>Now, in the shadow of his passing, I
> find myself wondering about that
> explanation. Yes, he was a cultural
> icon, a hero if you will, but not of
>my generation. He belonged to my
> father's youth: he was a World War
> II guy whose career began in the
>days of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig
>and ended with the arrival of the
> youthful Mickey Mantle (who was,
>in truth, my favorite ballplayer).
>
> In the 50's and 60's, it was
> fashionable to refer to baseball as a metaphor for America, and DiMaggio
> represented the values of that America: excellence and fulfillment of
duty
> (he often played in pain), combined with a grace that implied a purity of
> spirit, an off-the-field dignity and a jealously guarded private life. It
was
> said that he still grieved for his former wife, Marilyn Monroe, and sent
> fresh flowers to her grave every week. Yet as a man who married one of
> America's most famous and famously neurotic women, he never spoke of
> her in public or in print. He understood the power of silence.
>
>He was the antithesis of the iconoclastic, mind-expanding,
> authority-defying 60's, which is why I think he suspected a hidden
> meaning in my lyrics. The fact that the lines were sincere and that
they've
> been embraced over the years as a yearning for heroes and heroism speaks
> to the subconscious desires of the culture. We need heroes, and we search
> for candidates to be anointed.
>
>Why do we do this even as we know the attribution of heroic
> characteristics is almost always a distortion? Deconstructed and
scrutinized,
> the hero turns out to be as petty and ego-driven as you and I. We know,
> but still we anoint. We deify, though we know the deification often kills,
>as in the cases of Elvis Presley, Princess Diana and John Lennon. Even
> when the recipient's life is spared, the fame and idolatry poison and
injure.
> There is no doubt in my mind that DiMaggio suffered for being DiMaggio.
>
> We inflict this damage without malice because we are enthralled by myths,
> stories and allegories. The son of Italian immigrants, the father a
> fisherman, grows up poor in San Francisco and becomes the greatest
> baseball player of his day, marries an American goddess and never in word
> or deed befouls his legend and greatness. He is "the Yankee Clipper," as
> proud and masculine as a battleship.
>
> When the hero becomes larger than life, life itself is magnified, and we
> read with a new clarity our moral compass. The hero allows us to measure
> ourselves on the goodness scale: O.K., I'm not Mother Teresa, but hey, I'm
>no Jeffrey Dahmer. Better keep trying in the eyes of God.
>
> What is the larger significance of DiMaggio's death? Is he a real hero?
Let
>me quote the complete verse from "Mrs. Robinson":
>
>Sitting on a sofa on
>a Sunday afternoon
> Going to the candidates' debate
> Laugh about it, shout about it
>When you've got to choose
> Every way you look at it you lose.
> Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
> A nation turns its lonely eyes to you
> What's that you say Mrs. Robinson
> Joltin' Joe has left and gone away.
>
> In these days of Presidential transgressions and apologies and prime-time
> interviews about private sexual matters, we grieve for Joe DiMaggio and
> mourn the loss of his grace and dignity, his fierce sense of privacy, his
> fidelity to the memory of his wife and the power of his silence.
>
>
>
>
>
