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Memorabilia © 2011 Russell H. Greenan © 2011 Daemonax Books London ISBN 978-0-9563860-1-4 |
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From Memorabilia Lou Gehrig motored down from his New Rochelle home and lodged his car in a garage on River Avenue. Only the width of the street separated that garage from a corrugated overhead door in back of right field – it led to the Yankee bullpen – a door he would bang on with his fist to summon the gatekeeper. The minute it was open, Gehrig would stop signing and flee. If you didn’t get him fast, you didn’t get him at all. I spent long hours lingering at the gate, but the elusive Lou always ducked into the park before I could hand him my pencil and book. At last a day came when my watchful eyes spotted the chunky slugger emerging from the dark garage doorway. I made a mad dash across the street, eager to reach him before the other waiting kids. At that moment an automobile zipped down River Avenue, missing me by a foot or two. “Are you nuts?” the hallowed first-baseman said, appalled. “Just for an autograph you almost got hit by a car. That’s crazy. What’s the matter with you?” More than seven decades have now elapsed, yet in my mind’s eye I can still see Gehrig’s expression, the sort of incredulous glare a father gives his child when the kid’s done something particularly imbecilic. For a city gamin like me dodging speeding cars was no big deal, but the Iron Horse really got upset. I had to listen to a few more scathing observations on my mental debility before he finally signed the proffered page. Later, swollen with self-importance at being accorded this personal attention, I gave a word-for-word account of his dressing-down to my collecting comrades. All were suitably envious. |
