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.

_____