Me, Johnny, and The Babe

by Mark Wirtshafter

pocket comb off a dead body. I was surprised that the police had not thrown it in the trash. After all, who would think about keeping a used pocket comb that came from the dead corpse of a filthy dirty vagrant? I guess the comb had only brought Johnny more bad luck.

  My thoughts went back to Johnny. I could feel a palpable sadness overcome me. Johnny was still the only best friend I ever had. I was thirty-eight years old and was all alone. I wasn’t married, and did not really have a best friend. Up until now if someone had asked me who my best friend was, even though I had only seen him once in the past twenty some years, I would have still answered Johnny Garrity. Now I do not know what I would say.

  Annie and I talked for almost an hour. She slyly changed the subject and we caught up with what we had missed in each other’s lives over the past two decades. She seemed extremely happy with her marriage and her life. Her face would light up each time she would talk about the twins. Their names were Mary and Clara and they were thirteen years old.

  “They are both excellent students and maybe they will be doctors like you when they grow up,” she said.

  “I do love being a doctor and there’s nothing better than helping a kid get well when they’re sick.”

  For a moment, I almost had forgotten about Johnny. The twins came back into the room, finally getting bored with the radio. It was after nine o’clock and I could see that it was time for Annie and the girls to go.

  “Believe it or not, besides my family, you’re the only one that I am telling about Johnny,” she said. “It’s sad but you’re the only one who probably remembers him.”

  It was sad; there wasn’t anybody else that Johnny was close to when we were growing up.

  Annie walked away in silence, stopping at the door to give me a good-bye hug. I bent over and hugged Mary and Clara good-bye as well. As I shut the door, I felt a cold chill run through my body. I felt extraordinarily alone, with a sadness that threatened to overpower me. I sunk onto the chair where Annie had been sitting, and rested my head down on the upward facing palms of my hands. I felt total despair.

  Johnny had been dead for two weeks and nobody even knew who he was. I thought for a moment, two weeks. I grabbed the calendar and checked the date. Monday night two weeks ago would have been August 16th. Johnny had been murdered on August 16th. I started rustling through the stack of newspapers that had been piling up on my kitchen table. Finally, I pulled out the Inquirer from the morning of Tuesday August 17; I found what I was looking for. Monday August 16th was the same night that the Babe had died. I could not believe it; Johnny had died on the very same night as Ruth did. The irony of Johnny being killed by getting hit in the head with a rock did not escape me either. The cold chill returned to my body, but this time it did not pass in seconds. It lingered for minutes, and left me reaching for my worn out army blanket that I kept under the sofa.

  The ties that had bound Johnny and me together had somehow become intertwined with those of Babe Ruth. It was as if God was drawing circles and that Johnny and the Babe had completed their circles at exactly the same time.

  46

  I was glad that I had gotten to see Johnny one last time before he died. It was not that I got any sense of closure, but at least I had a mental picture of what Johnny was like as an adult. As disturbing as that picture was, at least I would not forever think of him as a thirteen-year-old boy.

  Annie’s visit did provide a sense of closure in another area. I guess in the back of my mind I always hoped Annie and I might end up together somehow. Even though there had never been one romantic moment between us, I had always thought we would find each other someday. Seeing her as a loving mother to her twins, and hearing of her happy marriage squashed any fantasy I might have had that Annie and I would end up getting married to each other.

  I was almost forty years old, and although I had some girlfriends, I never had met anyone that I felt would make my perfect bride. Knowing that Annie would never be mine opened my eyes to seeing the possibilities that existed in the world around me. Even though the demands of my job were great, I made sure that I started squeezing in as many local social functions as I could.

  I began attending local get-togethers at the local VFW hall in Kensington. It was in the summer of 1950 and the city was abuzz over the Philadelphia Phillies. The Whiz Kids were giving the National League a run for their money. It was in that hot August that I met a special woman at a VFW dance. Her name was Margaret, but everyone at the dance called her Margie. We danced the rest of the evening together. When we slow danced, I could feel each beat of her heart and could sense my body fall into rhythm with hers.

  “Well, I really enjoyed tonight, maybe we can go out some time? If that is OK with you, I mean,” I said stumbling through the words.

  “I would like that.”

  “How about tomorrow,” I blurted out.

  “Well I don’t know about going out on a Sunday night, how about next Saturday?”

  “Yea, that would be great. I will look forward to it.”

  She took a piece of paper out of her pocketbook and scribbled down an address.

  “How about if I come by and pick you up at eight?”

  “That would be very nice,” she said as she handed me the scrap and walked away.

  I made sure I was there exactly at eight on Saturday night. I actually got there at seven to make sure I could find her house and then sat at the park two blocks away, as to not appear overeager.

  I could feel my palms sweat as I walked up the steps to her door. She was wearing a lovely pink and yellow dress and had put her hair up in a bun. I immediately remembered why I had been so anxious to see her again.

  Our conversation was casual as we walked side by side down Kensington Avenue.

  “I can’t believe you lived here your whole life and we never met before,” I said.

  “It is surprising that we both born in Kensington and we have never come across each other before. You know, I think I may be a lot younger than you,” she said.

  “Well how old are you?”

  “That depends how old are you?”

  “How can it depend on how old I am?”

  “Well I’m going to be twenty-nine next month,” she said.

  “I’m a bit over thirty-nine, that not too much difference is it?”

  “If it’s not too much difference for you, it’s not too much difference for me.”

  I courted her for the next year, neither of us seeing anybody else during that time. It was the best time of my life and I would count the hours until I would see her again. I knew that she was the one.

  One day in mid April, I made my decision. She was the woman I wanted to marry and raise a family. The only problem was that we had never discussed marriage and I really was not sure what she would say if I asked her.

  Should I go out and buy her a ring? What if she says she not ready for marriage? I decided that sometimes in life you just have to take a chance. I went downtown to Samson Street where there was a whole row of jewelry shops. I walked from one to another finally finding one with a very patient and kind sales person. She was a young, blue eyed, blonde hair beauty who appeared to be at the most twenty years old.

  “My father owns this shop and I’ll promise you that we’ll take very good care of you,” she said. “I’ll take as much time as we need and show you all the different diamonds and how you can tell the quality. After all, if this is the right woman then you want to make sure

  that you get her the right ring.”

  “She’s definitely the right woman; I just hope she thinks I’m the right guy.”

  “You should take your time,” she said, “This is a very important decision.”

  “Hopefully this will be the only time in your life you’ll have to do this and I’m here to make sure you do it right.”

  It took a while but I found the perfect diamond, at least the most perfect one that I could afford. Sara, the sales woman, helped me pick out a very beautiful setting for the diamond and my
course was set.

  I made reservations for the next Saturday night at the restaurant in the Bellevue Stratford Hotel. That was the same hotel where Uncle Eddie had stayed when he visited many years before. I remembered the marble lobby, and how impressive the hotel had been. I somehow knew that this would be the perfect place to ask Margie to marry me.

  As I did not own an automobile, I made special arrangements for a taxicab to pick us up and drive us to the hotel. I paid the driver an extra two dollars to wait for us while we dined and drive us home when we were finished.

  At dinner, everything seemed right. Margie and I were both dressed up much fancier than we had ever been before. I wore the only decent suit I owned, and she wore a flowing silver dress that looked beautiful on her. The restaurant was very elegant, the kind of place we had seen in the movies. The waiters all wore tuxedos and they called me sir a lot.

  I waited for the perfect moment to ask her the big question. Not having any experience at this I really did not know what the perfect moment would feel like. We were finished our desserts and I still couldn’t get up the courage to ask her.

  We sat and talked for almost ten minutes after we had paid the bill. It was getting to the point where I was expecting the waiter to come back to our table and ask us to leave. Finally, I took the deepest breath of my life and I asked.

  “Margie, you are the only woman I ever met who I am I sure I want to spend the rest of my life with. I know I