Note: Frank A. Bodie and I met in 1952 when we were drafted onto the same Little League team. We reconnected in 2008 and became close friends. The two of us collaborated on this story, which revolves around the question: did my uncle, Pat Pieper, know Frank’s grandfather, Ping Bodie? They were part of the Major League Baseball community in Chicago at a time when that community was very small. With fiction, anything is possible. And so we decided they not only knew each other, they were good friends. My dear friend Frank passed away in March 2017. This story is dedicated to his memory.
Pipe Dream
from Like a Flower in the Field
“What?! You met Babe Ruth?”
“Yep. Met him
twice.”
My grandfather sat
back in his favorite chair, his legs up on the ottoman, puffed on his pipe and
gave me a wry smile. I had just mentioned that I’d met Bill Gates once, at a
bridge tournament in Sacramento. I’d played my Bill Gates card and Gramps
topped me with two Babe Ruths.
“Grandpa, why
haven’t I heard this story before?”
“Well, Lonnie … I
guess you never asked.”
He smiled again,
obviously enjoying the moment. My grandfather, Alton Blaire Jacobs, was a
storyteller. He loved nothing more than to hold you spellbound while he spun a
good tale, and he loved to take his time, every sentence punctuated by a few
puffs on his favorite pipe. In fact, when you see “…” below, you can read “puff
puff puff.”
Now I was hooked.
I had to hear this story. But Gramps was having fun, toying with me, waiting
for me to ask.
“Okay, Gramps,
you’ve gotta tell me. I’m all ears. How did you meet Babe Ruth?”
“Well … the first
time was in Chicago, October 1, 1932. I remember that date because it was the
evening after the third game of the 1932 World Series. I was just a kid,
working as a busboy at a restaurant called The Ivanhoe … It was just a few
blocks south of Wrigley Field at Clark and Wellington.”
“Yeah? So what
happened?” It was clear that breaks to puff on his pipe were going to be a
major feature of this yarn.
“Well … I was near
the front desk, it was still early, the dinner crowd wouldn’t start showing up
till seven or eight, and this man came through the front door with a big grin
on his face. He was about five nine with a powerful build, wearing a dark suit
and a gray fedora, and he clapped a hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Son, is Frank
Pieper here?’ You see, Frank ‘Pat’ Pieper was the maître d’ at The Ivanhoe … He
was also the field announcer for the Chicago Cubs and the Cubbies were playing
the Yankees in the ’32 Series. I said, ‘You mean Pat Pieper? Yeah, he’s in the
back. Can I give him your name?’ He grinned and said, ‘Yeah, tell him Francesco
Pezzolo is here to see him.’”
Gramps paused
again.
“And? What then?”
I felt like I was pulling teeth.
“Well … I went
into the back room where Pat was getting ready, going over the reserved tables
and such, and I said, ‘Mr. Pieper, there’s a Francesco Pezzolo here to see
you.’ He said, ‘Francesco Pezzolo? Well I’ll be damned, it’s Ping! Ping Bodie!’
Pat hurried out to the front, me right behind him, and he and Ping hugged each
other like long lost brothers. They were laughin’ and cuttin’ up and I couldn’t
help but smile to watch them … It turns out that Ping started his major league
career across town with the White Sox back in 1911. He was with the Sox through
1914, and the two of them, Pat and Ping, got to know each other. Pat started
with the Cubs as a vendor at the West Side Grounds in 1904.”
“But wait, who was
Francesco…whatshisname?”
“Ha! You see, Ping
was born Francesco Pezzolo and grew up in San Francisco. Now, Bodie,
California, was a rowdy mining town in the eastern Sierras with nearly as many
bars and brothels as citizens, a real tough place. Apparently this made a big
impression, because Francesco Pezzolo changed his name to Frank Bodie. ‘Ping’
was his nickname for the sound of his fifty-two ounce bat when he connected
with a baseball.”
“Okay. So where
does The Babe come into this?”
“Be patient,
Lonnie. I’m gettin’ there.”
My grandfather’s
pipe had gone out, and he took a minute to refill and light it. He always
bought a special blend of tobacco from a local shop and it had a sweet,
pleasant aroma that filled the room.
“Where was I? Oh …
so, it turns out after Ping left the White Sox, he eventually signed with the
Yankees. Played with the Yanks from 1918 to 1921. He was Babe Ruth’s first
roommate. His first roommate, Lonnie! And Ping’s the one who gave him the
nickname ‘Bambino.’”
“That’s amazing.”
“So … Ping was in town for the World Series as
Babe’s guest, and he was at The Ivanhoe looking for a place where Ruth and some
of the guys could take their wives for drinks and dinner. Ping wanted to know
if Pat could handle a group of eight or ten later that evening. Remember now, this was right at the end of
Prohibition and alcohol was still illegal. But … The Ivanhoe had a cellar
speakeasy known as The Catacombs, one of the best stocked joints on the North
Side.”
“Geez, Gramps! You
worked in a Chicago speakeasy during Prohibition?”
“Yep. Served
everybody from the mayor to the police commissioner at one time or another …
So, Pat said, ‘Hell yes, tell The Babe to come on down. I’ll take good care of ’em,
even if they are the Yankees.’ They had a good laugh over that one, talked for
a while longer, and then Ping said goodbye … Well, Pat sent me off to make sure
we had plenty of the best Canadian whiskey and good local beer, and to set up a
private room down in The Catacombs where Babe’s group wouldn’t be bothered.”
Gramps took a few
puffs and looked off into space. I was on the edge of my chair. “So? What
happened then?”
“Well … It got to
be nine, nine thirty, and Pat was gettin’ worried. We were primed and ready.
The kitchen was alerted. Pat had his best waiters standing by. He’d even called
the Sun Times to let their
man-about-town columnist know that the Yankees would be coming to The Ivanhoe.
Finally, a little before ten, there was a big commotion in the foyer. The Babe
and his group came on like Gang Busters. I’ve never seen an entrance like that,
before or since. I tell you, Lonnie, it was something.”
“Is that when you
met him?”
“No … that came
later, when Babe was looking for the men’s room and I showed him the way. I
told him I was a big fan, even though I was for the Cubs in the Series. He was
in a great mood, with the Yanks up three games to none, and he just laughed and
shook my hand, asked me what I was up to besides working at The Ivanhoe. I told
him I was a student at Northwestern, working my way through college. Boy, was
that the right thing to say. After that, every time I came near their table, to
refill water glasses or pick up plates or something, they were stuffing my
pockets with dollar bills. It turned out to be the best payday of my young life.”
“So who was there,
in Babe’s party?”
“There was Babe
and his wife Claire. And Ping Bodie, of course. Lefty Gomez, Tony Lazzeri,
Frankie Crosetti, and their wives. Bodie, Lazzeri, and Crosetti were all from
San Francisco, and Gomez was also from the Bay Area. Those guys all came up
through the Frisco Seals in the Pacific Coast League.”
“That’s some group.”
“And ya know, for
all the stories about Babe Ruth and his shenanigans, they were a well-behaved
bunch. Oh, they were tellin’ stories and laughin’ loud, but nobody was out of
line, Lonnie. Not a one.”
“But didn’t they
have a game the next day?”
“Oh, yeah. But
that didn’t bother ’em. And you know, the Yanks won the fourth game to sweep
the Series. But I’m just getting to the best part, Lonnie … There were some
guys from the press that dropped by during the evening to have a drink and hang
out with The Babe. One of ’em was Joe Williams who was with the New York World Telegram. He came over to
talk with Pat, and I was there stacking plates. He said, ‘Hey, Pat, what about
Ruth’s home run in the fifth?’ Pat said, ‘Hardest hit ball I’ve ever seen at
Wrigley, Joe.’ Williams says, ‘Yeah, but did you see him point to the stands
before the pitch?’ ‘Hell yeah, I saw it! I had the best seat in the house. I
not only saw him point, I heard him barkin’ at Guy Bush in the Cubs dugout. That’s two strikes, but watch this, you
s.o.b. Charlie Root came in with a fat one and wham, it was gone.’ Williams
said, ‘Wait till you see my write-up tomorrow morning, Pat. Ha! I tell ya, this
story has legs.’”
“So what did
Williams write, Gramps?”
“The headline was
‘RUTH CALLS SHOT AS HE PUTS HOME RUN NO. 2 IN SIDE POCKET.’ And that’s how it
was christened the Called Shot Home Run. I picked up the World Telegram at a newsstand near the ballpark the next day, and
if I had any sense, I would have saved it, Lonnie. There’s always been
controversy. Some folks say Babe called his shot, others say he didn’t. But
I’ve always believed Pat Pieper’s account. You know his station with the brand
new public address system at Wrigley was on the field, next to the backstop on
the third base side. He really did have the best seat in the house.”
“So that was the
first time. When was the second time you met The Babe?”
“You know, Lonnie,
all this talk is makin’ me thirsty. There’s some Canadian Club in the cabinet
over there. Will you join me?”
“Sure, Gramps. How
do you take it?”
“Two fingers,
three rocks. Glasses are in the kitchen, ice is in the freezer.”
He smiled as I
hurried away to fix the drinks. It wasn’t surprising that I hadn’t heard this
story. My grandfather finished his career with McDonnell-Douglas in St. Louis
in the late seventies. He decided that Chicago was home and that’s where he
retired. I’d grown up in Southern California, and though we saw him and Grams
two or three times a year, I’m sure there were a hundred tales I hadn’t heard.
I brought the
drinks into the living room and settled in to hear the rest of the story. He
raised his glass to me and did his Bogart impression, always good for a laugh.
“Here’s looking at
you, kid. Now, where was I?”
“You met Ping
Bodie and Babe Ruth on October 1, 1932, Joe Williams coined the phrase Called
Shot Home Run, and Pat Pieper swears he not only saw it, he heard it.”
“Yep, that pretty
well sums it up, all right … So, move ahead to March 1948. The Babe had been
retired for a dozen years or so, and he’d been diagnosed with throat cancer.
Hollywood was rushing to make a movie of his life, The Babe Ruth Story,
starring William Bendix. I was working for Douglas Aircraft in L.A. at the time
and I’d kept in touch with Pat Pieper over the years, birthday cards, Christmas
Cards and the like. Pat was taking a vacation trip to California before the
start of the ’48 season and he got in touch, invited me to join him for lunch
at the Brown Derby on Wilshire. And guess who else was coming to lunch?”
“Yeah, go on.”
“Ping Bodie, who
was working as an electrician at Universal Studios, and The Babe himself. He
was in L.A. to visit the movie set.”
“Geez, unbelievable.”
“Yep … Well, we
met at the Brown Derby and Pat and Ping looked great. Healthy, full of P-and-V.
But Ruth looked bad. He was a big man, you know, six two, two fifty. But he
looked smaller, he’d lost a lot of weight, and his voice was just a rasp.
Still, he had that mischief about him, always ready for a laugh. I mostly kept
my mouth shut and listened to the three of them tell stories. But I did get in
a question. I said, ‘Babe, what do you think of William Bendix playing you in
the movie?’ He laughed and said, ‘Hell, they got the homeliest guy in Hollywood
to play me. Am I that ugly? Don’t answer that!’ We were all laughing then.”
“Go on, Gramps.”
“Well, The Babe
left the table for a few minutes and I asked Ping what it was like to be his
roommate. Ping said, ‘Oh, I never saw much of the Bambino. He always had
somewhere to go, somebody a lot prettier than me to be with. Hell, I mostly
roomed with his suitcase.’ That’s a great line, eh Lonnie? I laughed hard at
that one.”
“And then?”
“That was about
it. We were standing on the sidewalk out in front of the Derby and Ping said,
‘Where you headed now, Pat?’ Pat said, ‘Up to Northern Cal. I’ve got three
sisters living up there in a shipyard town called Vallejo.’ Ping said, ‘The
hell you say! My son and his family live there. He works on the shipyard.’”
“Wow. What a small
world.”
“Small indeed,
Lonnie … We said goodbye to Ping and Babe and watched them walk away toward the
parking lot. But I had one last question. I said, ‘Pat, did Babe really call
his shot off Charlie Root back in ’32?’ ‘Oh hell yes, Alton. Just like I’ve
always said. And don’t let anyone tell you different.’ Then Pat turned to look
at me. He winked and said, ‘Ya know, if you want to be remembered, it’s best to
be on the right side of a great story.’ Well … I walked Pat back to the
Ambassador Hotel, which was just down the block, and said goodbye. That was the
last time I saw him, though we stayed in touch. He was with the Cubs until he
passed away in 1974.”
“That’s quite a tale,
Gramps. And it’s all true?”
“Just like I told
you, Lonnie.” He smiled and winked. “The right side of a great story.”
_____
That visit with my
grandfather took place in 1999 when he was eighty-seven years old. I’ve checked
everything he told me and I can’t find any holes. It’s all plausible. Just four
guys—Ping Bodie, Pat Pieper, Babe Ruth, and Alton Jacobs—and some shared
history. So I tell my grandkids, “You know, I met Bill Gates one time, at a
bridge tournament in Sacramento. But your great grandfather met Babe Ruth.
Twice!”
Believe me,
they were impressed—with Bill Gates.
_____