Babe: The Legend Comes to Life

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Babe Ruth moved beyond the baselines and outfield fences of the baseball stadiums that brought him riches and adulations to become a genuine American hero. In this acclaimed biography, Creamer reveals the man behind the legend. "The best biography ever written about an American sports figure".--Sports Illustrated.

Babe Ruth moved beyond the baselines and outfield fences of the baseball stadiums that brought him riches and adulations to become a genuine American hero....

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Overview

Babe Ruth moved beyond the baselines and outfield fences of the baseball stadiums that brought him riches and adulations to become a genuine American hero. In this acclaimed biography, Creamer reveals the man behind the legend. "The best biography ever written about an American sports figure".--Sports Illustrated.

Babe Ruth moved beyond the baselines and outfield fences of the baseball stadiums that brought him riches and adulations to become a genuine American hero. In this acclaimed biography, Creamer reveals the man behind the legend. "The best biography ever written about an American sports figure."--Sports Illustrated. Reissue.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
Sports Illustrated The best biography ever written about an American sports figure.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781455121076
  • Publisher: Blackstone Audio, Inc.
  • Publication date: 12/20/2011
  • Format: MP3 on CD
  • Edition description: Unabridged
  • Pages: 1

Meet the Author

Robert W. Creamer is a senior writer for Sports Illustrated and has been a member of that magazine's staff since its inception in 1954. He is also the author of Stengel and Baseball in '41.

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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One: Legend and Truth: Babe Ruth Lives

I apologize for not having talked to everybody. There were so many. Each week I would think, There, now I've finished with that section. Now I know all there is to know about that. And a few days later I would learn of someone new or someone I had not thought of or someone I never would have thought of, and he would have one more window on the past for me to raise. A quick insight, an illuminating moment. Pete Appleton, for instance. The only thing I remembered about Pete Appleton was that his real name was Pete Jablonski, and I was wrong about that; it turned out to be Jablonowski. I had to look up his record to learn that he had pitched in the major leagues off and on for fourteen seasons. The clipping that came to my desk had Pete Appleton telling of Ruth phoning down to a hotel lobby from his room, asking the switchboard to page "any Yankee player that's around down there." Appleton, who was new to the ball club, took the call, and Ruth said, "Hey, keed, how about coming up and playing some cards with me?" He was lonesome, Appleton explained. He could not come downstairs to the lobby because he'd be mobbed by people, especially women. This was 1933. (Where was Claire?) There was nothing in Appleton's little story about booze and broads and gluttony and raising hell. just an edgy, lonesome man in a hotel room.

And, said Appleton, "He had the prettiest swing of all." The "prettiest." An odd but strikingly accurate word to describe what Ruth did so much better than anyone else. Have you ever seen that old film clip of Ruth taking batting practice? If you like baseball you remember the pretty things about the game — the individual moments of craftsmanship and, sometimes, artistry within the mathematical precision of three strikes, three outs, four balls, four bases, nine innings, nine men. Ruth, easing along at three-quarter speed in batting practice, stepping into the pitch, flicking the bat around, meeting the ball cleanly, cocking the bat back for the next pitch, is for me — and maybe Pete Appleton — the epitome of baseball, its ideal expression.

This book had its genesis, I suppose, in my memory, because I saw Ruth when I was a boy. I saw him hit home runs in Yankee Stadium, and I remember that they all seemed to be a hundred feet high in the air as they passed first base. I remember watching him swing and miss, his huge torso twisting violently so that he ended up with his face more than 180 degrees around from the plate, staring intently up into the stands, right at me. God, how I remember that feeling: Babe Ruth is looking right at me. I remember him in right field one day when a little dying-quail hit began to fall into no man's land, that point of inaccessibility at the extreme range of center fielder, right fielder and second baseman, and I can still see Ruth waddling in from right field and in and in as he tried to get to the ball. (I think now that maybe the second baseman and the center fielder held up a little, giving way to the king.) He had his right arm extended, the glove held low, and after his long, inept run the ball glanced off the heel of his glove and fell safely. That was in 1933 too, when he was thirty-nine and his fat was old; I learned later that those who had played with him in his prime hated it when people like me, who saw him only in those last years, recalled him like that. They remembered when he could run (he stole fifty bases his first four seasons with the Yankees) and field and throw and do everything on a ballfield.

Correspondence followed with Peter Schwed of Simon and Schuster, in the course of which it was decided that I would attempt a thorough, detailed biography of the Babe. There had been several books written about him, all of them informative to varying degrees, but all necessarily limited in scope, one way or the other. His autobiography, done with Bob Considine and Fred Lieb, was written when Ruth was desperately ill, at a time when it was difficult for him to speak and awkward for his collaborators to press him for nitpicking details and specific information. Two "unauthorized" biographies appeared at about the same time, one in 1947 and the other in 1948. The first, by Tom Meany, was lively and entertaining, but it was more a colorful portrait than a biography. The second, by Martin Weldon, was earnest and detailed but contained assumptions and mistakes that were surprising in a book so thoroughly researched. Ruth's widow wrote a memoir of her husband with Bill Slocum, Jr., in 1959 that shed a good deal of light on aspects of his personal life, but it degenerated into a philippic against organized baseball for its rejection of the Babe after his playing days were over. Lee Allen, the baseball historian, wrote a book for boys in 1966 that was a meticulous account of Ruth's playing days but which glossed over the unsavory episodes. Daniel M. Daniel wrote an early cc authorized" biography in 1930 that contained firsthand material. Louis J. Leisman published a 36-page pamphlet in 1956 called I Was with Babe Ruth at St. Mary's that was of considerable help in understanding what Ruth's boyhood was like. In 1959 Roger Kahn did a piece for Esquire that punctured some of the fatuous myths about Ruth and reaffirmed with fresh testimony the extraordinary impact and continuing hold he had on the people of his generation. By far the most revealing and rewarding work on Ruth was a novellalength soft-cover memoir written in 1948 by Waite Hoyt, who had been the Babe's teammate for more than a decade during the heroic years.

What I have tried to do in this book is go beyond the gentle inaccuracies and omissions of the earlier accounts and produce a total biography, one that, hopefully, would present all the facts and myths, the statistical details and personal exuberance, the obvious and subtle things that combined to make the man born George Ruth a unique figure in the social history of the United States. For more than any other man, Babe Ruth transcended sport, moved far beyond the artificial limits of baselines and outfield fences and sports pages. As I write this, he is dead and buried for more than twenty-five years, and it is nearly forty years since he played his last major league game. Yet almost every day, certainly several times a week, you read and hear about him. As Henry Aaron moved toward Ruth's career record of 714 home runs, he said, "I can't recall a day this year or last when I did not hear the name of Babe Ruth." Sometimes the references come in comic profusion. When Willie Sutton was released from prison, amid the odd adulation we Americans like to give to excrescences on the fabric of society, Time reminded us that he was known as "the Babe Ruth of bank robbers." A caption in The New York Times under a photograph of Enrico Caruso, illustrating a story on Franco Corelli, the singer, dubbed Caruso "the Babe Ruth of operatic tenors." A press release from Long Beach, California, said that Chuck Stearns was "the Babe Ruth of water skiing." John Lahr, in his thanks to those who helped him as he wrote the biography of his father, Bert Lahr, called Suzi Arensberg of Alfred A. Knopf "the Babe Ruth of copy editors." Someone at Simon and Schuster may disagree, but there it is.

It goes on and on. Philippe Halsman photographed his hundredth cover for Life and declared, "This is the high point of my career. It has taken me 27 years to achieve this record and I like to think of it as the equal of, maybe the superior of, Babe Ruth's." The New York Mets brought up a promising young slugger named Mike Jorgensen, who said, with a cheerful nod toward the concept of transmigration of souls, that he couldn't miss as a major leaguer because he was born August 16, 1948, the day Babe Ruth died.

Thus, Ruth lives, all around us, which is a matter of satisfaction to some, irritation to others, disinterest to a few. When Marianne Moore, the baseball fan, was asked about Ruth she said, "I never particularly liked him. He was tough." Roger Maris, when in 1961 he pursued and broke Ruth's sacrosanct record of 60 home runs in one season, was subjected to a continuing stream of abuse from spectators, sportswriters, letter writers, people in the street, people who for some reason deeply resented what Maris was doing and who felt impelled to act as surrogates for Ruth in trying to defend his record. Maris broke it anyhow, with a laudable display of sustained skill and athletic courage, yet a decade later only a handful of people knew where Roger was or what he was doing, while tenors and bank robbers and photographers and God knows who all else were still being measured against an indefinable standard of superiority called Babe Ruth. What will you bet that people, and not just those who attacked Maris, will write in after reading this and point out with some acerbity that Maris did not break Ruth's record, that Ruth hit his 60 in the old 154-game season and that Roger had only 59 after 154 games and needed the extra times at bat of the expanded 162-game season to get to 60, let alone 61? The phrase "with an asterisk," meaning a qualified success, came into common American usage after that 1961 season because of diehard insistence that Maris did not really break the Babe's record.

Maris himself never said a word against Ruth, so far as I know, but, Lord, he must have tired of hearing Babe Ruth's name. So have others. Or, at any rate, they have tired of hearing of Ruth as hero. Leonard Shecter, in his book The Jocks, a somewhat sophomoric attempt to tell the ungilded truth about sport, tried to undo the popular image of Ruth as a jolly, lovable, funmaking giant. Shecter wrote, "In fact, he was a gross man of gargantuan, undisciplined appetities for food, whiskey and women....Ruth was never the playful, outgoing man he was supposed to be....It does not take much research to find out what the Babe was really like. It doesn't matter. The fake Babe Ruth is more palatable than the real one." And I hurry to blunt Shecter's comments because Ruth is alive for me too, and I know he is more complex than that, and I want my idea of the total truth about him to be known.

How many people dead a quarter of a century can arouse so much continuing interest, so much passion? Granted, we make special folk heroes of those highly proficient in sport. But very few people care, one way or the other, that Ty Cobb was a psychotic or that Honus Wagner as an old man coaching with Pittsburgh used to swipe baseballs and trade them for beers. Yet many insist that Cobb was a better ballplayer than Ruth, and Wagner may have been better than both of them. Does it matter about Cobb or Wagner? No. Yet Ruth matters. At seventy, Waite Hoyt, a member of baseball's Hall of Fame at Cooperstown, an urbane, intelligent, caustic, unsentimental veteran of a notably unserene life, talked of Ruth with intensity and fire. "I am almost convinced," Hoyt wrote to me, "that you will never learn the truth on Ruth. I roomed with Joe Dugan. He was a good friend of Babe's. But he will see Ruth in a different light than I did. Dugan's own opinion will be one in which Dugan revels in Ruth's crudities, and so on. While I can easily recognize all of this and admit it freely, yet there was buried in Ruth humanitarianism beyond belief, an intelligence he was never given credit for, a childish desire to be over-virile, living up to credits given his home-run power — and yet a need for intimate affection and respect, and a feverish desire to play baseball, perform, act and live a life he didn't and couldn't take time to understand."

Along with an abiding interest in Ruth the hero, Ruth the outsize man, I found in the people who knew him, most of whom are elderly now, a warm affection. You would ask about Ruth, and the first thing they would do, remembering, looking off into the past, would be to smile. I have a good friend named Jim Russell who is a lifelong baseball fan; one day after I had begun to write this book I had lunch with him. We got to talking about Ruth and about the various things I had learned. Finally he asked, "Have you found out 'i what he was like? I mean, what kind of guy was he really?" It took me a moment to realize what he was getting at. I said, "Do you mean, underneath it all, was he a shit?" He said, "Yes. Was he?"

I told him about Ernie Shore and Bob Shawkey, neither of whom had any reason to be particularly fond of Ruth. Shore pitched in the minor leagues with him at Baltimore and was a better pitcher then than the Babe; yet Ruth was adulated far more than Shore. When the two of them were sold together to the Boston Red Sox, newspaper comment of the day said that the transaction could not help but be a good one for the Red Sox because of Ruth. But with Boston it was Shore who moved right in as a starting pitcher, while Ruth faltered and was sent back to the minor leagues again for a time. A year later, after the Red Sox had won the pennant, Shore pitched the opening game of the World Series against Grover Cleveland Alexander and started and won a second game; Ruth did not play at all, except to pinch-hit once. In 1917 Shore pitched a perfect game, one of the rarest feats in baseball. The Babe started that game and was thrown out of it by the plate umpire before getting anyone out. Shore, sent hurriedly to the mound in Ruth's place, did not allow anyone to reach first base in the nine full innings that followed and was credited with a perfect game. Baseball fans are more aware of that game because of Ruth than because of Shore. Even then, on his biggest day in baseball, Shore's solid accomplishment was overshadowed by the Babe's personality. Shore was a college man who later became a sheriff in his native North Carolina; Ruth was a reform school product. They roomed together in Boston, and the story is told that the Babe used Shore's toothbrush to brush his own teeth, and that Shore went to the manager of the ball club and insisted on being given a new roommate. Shore went into the armed forces in 1918 during World War 1, but Ruth, who was married by then, did not; Shore was not the same pitcher after the war, and by 1921 his big league career was all over, just as Ruth was moving into the big, big money.

If ever a man had reason to be disenchanted by the Hero Ruth, it would appear to be Ernie Shore. Yet he too chuckled when he was asked about the Babe. He said the unhappy roommate story was not true. It Wasn't a toothbrush at all, it was a shaving brush. The Babe didn't wash it out after he had used it, that was all. "Hell, I roomed with him in 1920 when we were both with the Yankees," Shore said. "I was the only one he would listen to." Asked what Ruth was like in those early days in Baltimore and Boston and New York, Shore replied with fervor, if not originality, "He was the best-hearted fellow who ever lived. He'd give you the shirt off his back."

Bob Shawkey was an outstanding pitcher in the American League for the first dozen years of Ruth's career. He had pitched against him in the beginning and later was his teammate on the superlative Yankee teams of the 1920s. In 1930 he was named manager of the Yankees and thus became Ruth's boss (for one season; he was deposed in favor of Joe McCarthy in 1930. Ruth had a burning ambition to be made the Yankee manager, and there were reports that he resented Shawkey getting the job. Shawkey told me some lively stories about Ruth, about fights he had had on the bench and in the clubhouse with teammates, about the time Miller Huggins, then the Yankee manager, fined Ruth $5000 for general misconduct, about an uproarious pennant celebration on a train coming back from Boston when Ruth and Bob Meusel, another Yankee outfielder, banged on the door of Huggins' compartment and said they were going to throw him off the train. Shawkey impressed me as a gentle, decent man, sure of himself without making a big fuss over it, the kind of man who as a ballplayer might have resented a show boat and troublemaker and flamboyant type like Ruth. Again I felt that I might have come across a vein of anti-Ruth feeling, and I asked, "Why did some people dislike the Babe?" Shawkey looked surprised and said, "People sometimes got mad at him, but I never heard of anybody who didn't like Babe Ruth."

I told this to Jim Russell at lunch and said that I had found the same sense of affection in all the oldtimers I talked to. Many of them had been specific — sometimes startlingly specific — in discussing the details of the things Ruth had done: the fights, the drinking, the eating, the girl chasing, the arrogance, his "indigestion" in 1925, his hypochondria late in his career, his bitterness and almost maudlin self-pity when he could not get the jobs he wanted in baseball after he was through as a player, the disastrous mistakes he made; but through it all there was a flow, a warmth, a delight as they talked about Ruth. He had been fun to be around. They liked him. Russell said he was glad to hear that. I was too.

I don't suppose it is necessary to declare that this is not intended to be a book for boys. But neither is it a sensational exposé. Ruth's sins, while many and glaring, were not terribly purple. He went to bed with a great many women, but he did not make public capital of it, nor was he ever involved in an ugly bedroom scandal. There were two or three putative paternity suits in the early years, but they came to nothing. He could drink extravagant amounts of liquor, and he got drunk a lot and raised hell, especially in the earlier years. He awed people with the amount of food he could eat. (Shore, asked if Ruth had a big appetite back in 1914, said, "Oh, my God. Oh, lord-a-mighty.") He disliked rules, objected to authority and most of his adult life did what he damned well wanted to. Yet, when he had to, he could discipline himself, and he had a continuing sense of responsibility to certain people and certain things, among them his own position as Hero.

His headlined troubles usually had to do with his flouting of ordinary standards of behavior, principally baseball's rules of discipline, and not with sex or drunkenness or gluttony as such. A considerable part of his headline-making propensity was the result of his extraordinary visibility. He could not hide. Ruth incognito was a contradiction in terms. Even in that era before television and mass-circulation picture magazines (the Sunday rotogravure was the big thing then), everyone knew and recognized Ruth's huge, round, flat-nosed, wide-mouthed face, his hulking body, his beaming grin, his unhappy pout. Wherever he went, the Babe was on public display, and few, if any, of his peccadillos went unnoticed.

Almost everyone from that era has a Babe Ruth story. Story multiplied by story becomes legend. Like all legends, Ruth's had a strong vein of truth in it — and an equally strong vein of baloney. Researching this book was an exploration into, a curious world of misleading fact, perceptive misstatement, contradictory truth, substantiating myth. It was like going to live for the first time in a huge city, one that changes with the weather and the seasons as you get to know it. There were many dead-end streets and confusing neighborhoods, and at the end I could not possibly say that I knew all there was to know about Babe Ruth, any more than one man can say he knows New York or London, but I did learn some things about this odd, appealing, truly unique man.

Max Eastman wrote, "The mind should approach a body of knowledge as the eyes approach an object, seeing it in gross outline first, and then by gradual steps, without losing the outline, discovering the details." Has there ever been a grosser outline than that of Babe Ruth? Ask anyone. Babe Ruth? Baseball player. Home run hitter. Big fat guy, moon face, huge torso, skinny legs. Hit 60 home runs one year. Hit more home runs than anybody else. Tremendous home run hitter. Ate a lot of hot dogs. Loved kids.

Babe Ruth? Born in Baltimore. Grew up in an orphanage, signed out of the orphanage to play for the old minor league Baltimore Orioles. Went up to the Boston Red Sox, was a fine pitcher first and then became an outfielder, a home run star. Red Sox sold him to the New York Yankees. With Ruth, the Yankees became the greatest baseball team ever. Won pennants, World Series, everything. Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, the home run twins. Scared other teams. Scared the Pittsburgh Pirates in batting practice before the 1927 World Series, and the Pirates died in four straight. Ruth was the showman, always did things in the World Series. In 1932 against the Chicago Cubs he pointed to a spot in the center field bleachers and on the next pitch he hit a home run to the exact spot. You could look it up.

Babe Ruth? Glutton, drunkard, hellraiser, but beloved by all — except the Japanese during World War II. The Japs shouted, "To hell with Babe Ruth!" the ultimate insult, to GIs on Guadalcanal. Or Cape Gloucester. Or New Guinea. Or Peleliu. Someplace. They yelled it all right.

Hollywood made a movie about him, starring William Bendix, who should have had more sense. Terrible movie. Ran out all the myths and extended them to their illogical conclusions and then invented a dozen new ones. For thousands of people, maybe millions, William Bendix in a baseball suit is what Babe Ruth looked like. Which is a terrible shame, because lots of men look like William Bendix, but nobody else ever looked like Babe Ruth. Or behaved like him. Or did all the things he did in his repressed, explosive, truncated life.

Copyright © 1974 by Robert Creamer

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Table of Contents

Part One
1894-1919

1. Legend and Truth: Babe Ruth Lives
2. The Bad Kid: Baltimore at the Turn of the Century
3. Early Exile: Niggerlips in St. Mary's
4. The Star of the School: Enter Jack Dunn
5. First Spring Training: Home Run in Fayetteville
6. The Young Professional: Winning with the Orioles
7. Arrival in Boston: Meeting Helen
8. Retreat to the Minors: Pennant in Providence
9. The Major Leaguer: Pennant in Boston
10. The Lefthanded Genius: Best Pitcher in Baseball
11. Emergence of Temperament: How to Punch an Umpire
12. The Beginnings of the Hitter: Switching to the Outfield
13. The Impact of War: Baseball in World War I
14. The 1918 World Series: The Abortive Strike
15. The Big Fight: Ruth vs. Barrow
16. The First Home Run Record: Magic 29
17. Departure from Boston: Sold down the River

Part Two 1920-1948

18. Revolution in Baseball: Ruth Reaches New York
19. The Amazing Season: Nothing Like It Ever Before
20. Encore: Topping the Amazing Season
21. The Second Big Fight: Ruth vs. Landis
22. The Fall of the Hero: Ruth in Disgrace
23. The jinx and the Baby: The Weird Season Ends
24. The First Reformation: How to Bat -393
25. The Disaster: The Bellyache Heard Round the World
26. The Third Big Fight: Ruth vs. Huggins
27. The Real Reformation: The Superb Seasons
28. Kaleidoscope: Personality of the Babe
29. Death of Helen: Marriage to Claire
30. The $80,000 Salary: A Better Year than Hoover
31. The Magnificent Moment: The Called-Shot Home Run
32. Decline: It's Hell to Be Old
33. Farewell to New York: Back to Boston
34. The Last Act: Opera Bouffe with the Braves
35.Retirement: The Call That Never Came
36. The End: Joe, I'm Gone
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
INDEX

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First Chapter

Chapter Thirty One: The Magnificent Moment: The Called-Shot Home Run Everything worked for the Yankees in 1932. The infield clicked, the outfield was strong, the catching outstanding (except when Dickey was under a thirty-day suspension for breaking a Washington outfielder's jaw with one punch in a dispute at home plate). The pitching was superb, and the hitting strong and consistent all year long. The team won 107 games and took the pennant by a wide margin.

Ruth pretty much decided when he wanted to play, which was most of the time, but more and more he left the game in the late innings and let young Sammy Byrd or Myril Hoag finish up for him. Ruth's caddies, they were called, or his legs. Babe, now thirtyeight, had a solid enough year, although it was distinctly below his traditional high level of accomplishment. For one thing, he lost the home run championship he had held (except for 1922 and 1925) since 1918. Jimmie Foxx of Philadelphia even threatened Ruth's record of 60, ending with 58. Babe was second, but far behind, with 41. He batted .341, not bad, scored 120 runs and batted in 137, not bad at all. But people like Foxx and Gehrig and Simmons were obviously better hitters than he was now. The only thing the Babe led the league in was bases on balls.

Twice he was out of the lineup for extended periods, the first time in the middle of July after he ruptured the sheath of a muscle in the rear of his leg as he chased a fly ball. He fell in a writhing heap and once again was carried off the field. He was in a hospital for a few days and out of action for the better part of two weeks. Later in the year, in September, he felt shooting painsin his right side during a game in Philadelphia. The Yankees left on a western road trip, pausing first for an exhibition game in Binghamton, New York, and there Ruth felt the pain again. By the time the club reached Detroit he was convinced he had appendicitis. He phoned Barrow in New York, spoke to McCarthy and, with Claire, hurried back to New York for a thorough examination. It may or may not have been his appendix -- there was no operation -- but he ran a low fever for several days and was kept in bed. Ten days after his return to New York and only ten days before the World Series with the Cubs was due to begin, he got into a uniform and worked out at Yankee Stadium. The team was still on the road and Babe batted against an amateur pitcher, but he was unable to put one ball into the stands. "I'm so weak I don't think I could break a pane of glass," he said "but I'll be okay in a few days. They had me packed so deep in ice I haven't thawed out yet."

There was considerable doubt that he would be able to play in the Series, but he was in the Yankee lineup for the last five games of the year (he had only three hits in sixteen at bats), and when the Cubs faced the Yankees on Wednesday, September 28, there was Ruth in right field, batting third. This was the World Series that is remembered for Ruth's called home run, the single most famous facet of his legend, yet it was really Gehrig's series. Chicago had a good solid team, representative Of the glowing period from 1928 through 1938 when the Cubs won four pennants and never finished lower than third. These Cubs could hit, and indeed they scored almost five runs a game against the excellent Yankee pitching staff, but their own pitchers, a redoubtable collection of first-rate performers (Lon Warneke, Charlie Root, Guy Bush, Burleigh Grimes, Pat Malone), were destroyed by the Yankees, who scored an average of more than nine runs a game. Gehrig had nine hits in the four games, including three home runs and a double, and he scored nine runs and batted in eight as the Yankees won, 12-6,5-2,7-5 and 13-6.

Yet Gehrig's exploits were obscured, as they so often were during his career, by a brighter sun, meaning Ruth. Along with being the highest scoring Series ever played, it probably had the most bench jockeying, and the Babe was in the forefront of it. Mark Koenig, who had dropped down to the minors after the Yankees traded him away, had been brought back up by the Cubs late in 1932 to fill a hole at shortstop; he fielded splendidly, batted -353 in 33 games and was a key figure in Chicago's drive to the pennant. But when the Cubs met just before the Series to decide how they would divide their share of the World Series pot, Koenig was voted only a half share. (Rogers Hornsby, who had been fired as manager almost two thirds of the way through the season, received nothing. A young outfielder named Frank Demaree, who was in only 23 games during the season but played center field and batted fifth in two Series games and hit a home run, was given a quarter share.)

The Yankees, led by Ruth, made great capital of Koenig's half share. "Hey, Mark," Babe boomed, "who are those cheapskates you're with?" Variations, richly embellished, followed and never let up. The Cubs struck back, mostly at Ruth, calling him fat and old and washed up, and they dragged out the old "nigger" cry. Guy Bush, a dark-haired, swarthy Mississippian, was Chicago's starting pitcher in the first game, and the Yankees yelled back, "Who are you calling a nigger? Look at your pitcher."

The jockeying continued at this high level as the Yankees won the first two games in New York. Then the Series shifted to Chicago, where thousands of people crammed into La Salle Street Station to see the ball clubs arrive. Ruth, accompanied by Claire, fought his way through the not unfriendly crowd to a freight elevator and then out to a cab. Motorcycle cops had to clear the way for the Yankees, and as Ruth and his wife entered their hotel a woman spat on them.

Such anti-Yankee feeling was isolated on the streets, but it was overwhelmingly evident at Wrigley Field before and during the third game of the Series. Ruth complained a week or so later that the Chicago press had brought the fans down on him with stories about the bench jockeying. "They wrote about me riding the Cubs for being tight and about me calling them cheapskates," he said indignantly.

"Well, didn't you?" he was asked.

"Well, weren't they?" he answered with irrefutable logic. Then he grinned and said, "Jesus, I wish I had known they only voted that kid Demaree a quarter share. Would I have burned them on that one."

Almost 50,000 people were jammed into every part of Wrigley Field, and most of them were yelling at Ruth. Whenever a ball was lofted his way in pregame practice, a lemon or two would come flying out of the bleachers. Each time, Babe picked up the lemons and threw them back. He was in a good mood. There was a strong wind blowing toward right field, and during batting practice he and Gehrig put on an awesome show, far more spectacular than the one in Pittsburgh five years earlier. Babe hit nine balls into the stands, Gehrig seven. Ruth yelled at the Cubs, "I'd play for half my salary if I could hit in this dump all the time." Gomez, the non-hitting pitcher, said, "With that wind, I could hit a home run today."

The jockeying between the two teams, or, to be more accurate, between Ruth and the Cubs, became more intense as the game began. Charlie Root was the starting pitcher for Chicago, but Bush and Grimes and Malone were on the top step of the Cub dugout, leading the verbal barrage on Ruth. Andy Lotshaw, the Cubs' trainer, yelled, "If I had you, I'd hitch you to a wagon, you potbelly," Ruth said afterwards, "I didn't mind no ballplayers yelling at me, but the trainer cutting in -- that made me sore." As he waited to bat in the first inning, according to Richards Vidmer in the New York Herald Tribune, "He paused to jest with the raging Cubs, pointed to the right field bleachers and grinned."

The game started badly for the Cubs. Koenig had hurt his wrist in New York and was out the rest of the Series. His replacement, Billy Jurges, fielded the first ball hit by the Yankees -- a grounder by Earle Combs -- and threw it all the way into the stands behind first base. Joe Sewell walked, and Ruth came to bat with men on first and second and no one out. Root threw a pitch outside for ball one, another one inside for ball two. Then he threw a fastball on the outside corner and Ruth, swinging at the ball for the first time in a game in Wrigley Field, hit a threerun homer into the right field bleachers to put the Yankees ahead, 3-0, before an out had been made.

Gehrig hit a homer in the third with the bases empty (and Ruth hit a fly to the right center field fence), but the Cubs rallied and in the fourth inning tied the game at 4-4. The tying run was scored by Jurges, who reached second base with a double when Ruth, to the great delight of the crowd, looked foolish missing a try at a shoestring catch.

And so it was 4-4 in a rowdy game as the Yankees came to bat in the fifth. Another lemon bounced toward Ruth as he waited in the on-deck circle while Sewell went out. Boos and hoots rose to a crescendo as he stepped into the batter's box. The Cubs were on the top of the dugout steps, Bush cupping his hands around his mouth as he taunted Ruth. Babe grinned, then stepped in to face Root. The pitcher threw. It was a called strike. The crowd cheered, and the Cubs razzed Ruth louder than ever. Still grinning, holding his bat loosely in his left hand', he looked over at the Cubs and raised one finger of his right hand. Root pitched again, in close, for ball one. He pitched again, this time outside, and it was ball two. The crowd stirred in disappointment, and the razzing from the Cubs let up slightly. Again Root pitched, and it was called strike two. The crowd roared, and the Cubs yammered with renewed vigor. Bush was so excited he ran a step or two onto the grass in front of the dugout, yelling at Ruth. Grimes was shouting something. Ruth waved the exultant Cubs back toward their dugout and held up two fingers. Gabby Hartnett, the Chicago catcher, heard him say, "It only takes one to hit it." Root said something from the mound, and Ruth said something back. Gehrig, who was in the on-deck circle, said, "Babe was jawing with Root and what he said was, 'I'm going to knock the next pitch right down your goddamned throat.'"

Root threw again, a changeup curve, low and away. Ruth swung and hit a tremendous line-drive home run deep into the bleachers in center field. Johnny Moore, the center fielder, ran back and stood there looking up as it went far over his head into the stands. It was the longest home run that had ever been hit in Wrigley Field. Ruth ran down the first base line laughing. "You lucky bum," he said to himself. "You lucky, lucky bum." He said something to Charlie Grimm, the Cubs' player-manager first baseman. He said something to second baseman Billy Herman. He shook his clasped hands over his head like a victorious fighter, and as he rounded third base, still laughing, he yelled, "Squeeze the eagle club!" to the now silent Chicago dugout. In a box near home plate Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was running for President against Herbert Hoover, put his head back and laughed, and after the Babe crossed home plate Roosevelt's eyes followed him all the way into the dugout, where he was mauled and pounded by his gleeful Yankee teammates.

Gehrig stepped to the plate, Root threw one pitch and Gehrig hit a home run. Two pitches, two home runs; the Yankees led, 6-4, all their runs coming on homers by Ruth and Gehrig. Root was taken out of the game, and it ended with the Yankees winning, 7-5.

The New York clubhouse roared with noise afterwards. Ruth yelled, "Did Mr. Ruth chase those guys back into the dugout? Mr. Ruth sure did!"

The next day Bush was Chicago's starting pitcher. When Ruth came to bat in the first inning, Bush hit him on the arm with a blistering fastball. Babe pretended to flick something off his arm as he trotted down to first base. "Hey, Lop Ears," he yelled to Bush, "was that your fastball? I thought it was a gnat." To Gehrig, he called, "Don't look for nothing, Lou. He ain't got it." And Bush didn't. He faced five men in the inning, got one out and was lifted from the game. Lazzeri hit two homers, Combs one, Gehrig batted in three runs, and the Yankees won, 13-6. Ruth had only one single in five at bats and in the clubhouse afterwards put hot towels on his arm, which was flaming red and badly swollen where Bush's gnat had bitten it. Doc Painter, the trainer, said that if the Series had gone another game, Ruth could not possibly have played in it. But despite the pain, Ruth was gloriously happy. He even went over to McCarthy and shook his hand. "What a victory!" he said. "My hat is off to you, Mac." A few days later, back in New York, he said, "That's the first time I ever got the players and the fans going at the same time. I never had so much fun in all my life."

Now. What about the legend ? What about the story, often affirmed, often denied, that Babe pointed to a spot in center field and then hit the ball precisely to that spot ? It is an argument over nothing, and the fact that Ruth did not point to center field before his home run does not diminish in the least what he did. He did challenge the Cubs before 50,000 people, did indicate he was going to hit a home run and did hit a home run. What more could you ask?

The legend grew, obviously, because people gild lilies and because sometimes we remember vividly seeing things we did not see. Most of the contemporary accounts of the game talked about Ruth calling his shot, but only one that I could find said specifically that he pointed at the fence. That, written by Joe Williams, sports editor of the Scripps-Howard newspapers, appeared in late editions of afternoon newspapers on Saturday, October 1, the day of the game. The headline over Williams' story in the New York World-Telegram said, "RUTH CALLS SHOT AS HE PUTS HOMER NO. 2 IN SIDE POCKET," and part of his account said, "In the fifth, with the Cubs riding him unmercifully from the bench, Ruth pointed to center and punched a screaming liner to a spot where no ball had ever been hit before." That is the only place in the story where specific reference is made to pointing to center field. Elsewhere in his copy Williams wrote, "The first strike was called, and the razzing from the Cub bench increased. Ruth laughed and held up one finger. Two balls were pitched and Babe jeered the Cub bench, the fans and Root, grinning broadly all the time. Another strike was called and Bush ran part way out of the dugout to tell the Babe that he was just a tramp. Ruth hit the next pitch farther than any other ball ever was hit in this park."

Westbrook Pegler, who wrote a column but not a running account of the game, said, "Bush pushed back his big ears, funneled his hands at his mouth and yelled raspingly at the great man to upset him. The Babe laughed derisively and gestured at him -- wait, mugg, I'm going to hit one out of the yard. Root threw a strike past him and he held up a finger to Bush whose ears flapped excitedly as he renewed his insults. Another strike passed him and Bush crawled almost out of the hole to extend his remarks. The Babe held up two fingers this time. Root wasted two balls and Babe put up two fingers on his other hand. Then with a warning gesture of his hand to Bush he sent the signal for the customers to see. Now, it said, this is the one, look. And that one went riding on the longest home run ever hit in the park...Many a hitter may make two home runs, possibly three, in World Series play in years to come, but not the way Ruth hit these two. Nor will you ever see an artist call his shot before hitting one of the longest drives ever made on the ground in a World Series game, laughing at and mocking the enemy, two strikes gone."

The story by Williams was the only one I found of those written on the day of the game that interpreted Ruth's gestures as pointing toward center, but two days later Paul Gallico of the New York Daily News, a rococo and flamboyant writer, wrote, "He pointed like a duellist to the spot where he expected to send his rapier home." A day after that Bill Corum of the Hearst newspapers wrote that Ruth "Pointed out where he was going to hit the next one, and hit it there," but in his game account the day it happened Corum neglected to mention the fact.

Tom Meany, who worked for Williams and sat next to him at the game on Saturday, wrote a story the following Tuesday that Said, "Babe's interviewer then interrupted to point out the hole in which Babe put himself Saturday when he pointed out the spot in which he intended hitting his homer and asked the great man if he realized how ridiculous he would have appeared if he had struck out. 'I never thought of that,' said Babe." But it is not clear in Meany's story if the phrase about pointing was in the question put to Ruth or was merely incorporated in the copy as a clarifying description.

Williams was a positive, opinionated observer and a vigorous journalist. Taking an opposite tack some months later, he suggested to Gehrig that Root let Babe hit the ball ("Like hell he did," said Gehrig). Meany was a fine reporter, a gifted writer and a superior raconteur of baseball anecdotes. I believe that Williams' strong personality and the wide circulation given his original story in Scripps Howard newspapers as well as Meany's repeated accounts of that colorful World Series are what got the legend started and kept it going. That the pointing version was often questioned is shown in Meany's biography of Ruth, published in 1947. In it Meany wrote, "It was then the big fellow made what many believe to be the beau geste of his entire career. He pointed in the direction of dead center field. Some say it was merely a gesture toward Root, others that he was just letting the Cub bench know that he still had the big one left. Ruth himself has changed his version a couple of times...Whatever the intent of the gesture, the result was, as they say in Hollywood, slightly colossal."

Ruth told John Carmichael, a highly respected Chicago sportswriter, "I didn't exactly point to any spot. All I wanted to do was give that thing a ride out of the park, anywhere. I used to pop off a lot about hitting homers, but mostly among the Yankees. Combs and Lazzeri and Fletcher used to yell, 'Come on, Babe, hit one.' So I'd come back, 'Okay, you bums. I'll hit one!' Sometimes I did. Sometimes I didn't. Hell, it was fun."

His autobiography, published in 1947, not only says he did it but adds the embroidery that he began thinking, about it the night before the game, after he and Claire were spat on when they entered their hotel. It says he was angry and hurt because of the taunts of the Chicago players and fans. It says that before the first pitch he pointed to center field and that when Root threw the ball, Babe held up a finger and yelled, "Strike one," before the umpire could call the pitch. And held up two fingers and yelled, "Strike two," after the second pitch. And before the third pitch, he stepped out of the box and pointed to the bleachers again. And then hit the third pitch for the home run. This version is the one that was substantially followed by Hollywood in the movie of Ruth's life that starred William Bendix, and as bad as the movie was it gave the legend the permanence of concrete.

Both autobiography and movie infuriated Charlie Root, who turned the film company down flat when they asked him to portray himself. "Not if you're going to have him pointing," he said. He refused to have anything to do with it, and he went to his grave denying that Ruth had pointed to center field. "If he had I would have knocked him on his ass with the next pitch," he always insisted. Yet Root's memory was hazy on detail. In the mid 1950s, he said, "George Magerkurth, the plate umpire, said in a magazine story that Ruth did point to center field. But to show how far wrong Magerkurth was, he had the count three and two when it was rea lly two strikes and no balls. To me, the count was significant. Why should Ruth point to show where he was going to hit a ball when, with two strikes and no balls, he knew he wasn't apt to get a pitch he could hit at all?" But both Magerkurth and Root were wrong. The count was neither three balls and two strikes nor two strikes and no balls. It was two strikes and two balls. And Magerkurth umpired at first base that day, not behind the plate.

Such fuzziness of detail is evident in several contemporary accounts of the game. Pegler, quoted above, said the count went strike, strike, ball, ball, whereas it was strike, ball, ball, strike. Corum said the count was three and two, and so did the play-by-play account in The New York Times. Meany's biography and Ruth's autobiography both say, as Root did, that it was two strikes and no balls. Any lawyer will concede that honest witnesses see the same things differently.

Here are what some witnesses said about it.

Charlie Root: "Ruth did not point at the fence before he swung. If he had made a gesture like that, well, anybody who knows me knows that Ruth would have ended up on his ass. The legend didn't get started until later. I fed him a changeup curve. It wasn't a foot off the ground and it was three or four inches outside, certainly not a good pitch to hit. But that was the one he smacked. He told me the next day that if I'd have thrown him a fastball he would have struck out. 'I was guessing with you,' he said."

Gabby Hartnett, the Chicago catcher: "Babe came up in the fifth and took two called strikes. After each one the Cub bench gave him the business, stuff like he was choking and he was washed up. Babe waved his hand across the plate toward our bench on the third base side. One finger was up. At the same time he said softly, and I think only the umpire and I heard him, 'It only takes one to hit it.' Root came in with a fast one and It went into the center field seats. Babe didn't say a word when he passed me after the home run. If he had pointed out at the bleachers, I'd be the first to say so."

Doc Painter, the Yankee trainer: "Before taking his stance he swept his left arm full length and pointed to the center field fence. When he got back to the bench, Herb Pennock said, 'Suppose you missed? You would have looked like an awful bum.' Ruth was taking a drink from the water cooler, and he lif ted his head and laughed. 'I never thought of that,' he said."

Joe McCarthy, the Yankee manager: "I'm not going to say he didn't do it. Maybe I didn't see it. Maybe I was looking the other way. Anyway, I'm not going to say he didn't do it."

Jimmy Isaminger, Philadelphia sportswriter: "He made a satiric gesture to the Cub bench and followed it with a resounding belt that had so much force behind it that it landed in the bleachers in dead center."

The San Francisco Examiner, October 2, 1932: "He called his shot theatrically, with derisive gestures towards the Cubs' dugout."

The Reach Guide, covering the 1932 season: "Ruth hit the ball over the center field fence, a tremendous drive, after indicating in pantomime to his hostile admirers what he proposed to do, and did."

Warren Brown, Chicago sportswriter: "The Babe indicated he had one strike, the big one, left. The vituperative Cub bench knew what he meant. Hartnett heard Ruth growl that this was what he meant. Ruth, for a long while, had no other version, nor was any other sought from him."

Ford Frick, who was not at the game, tried to pin Ruth down on the subject when the two were talking about the Series some time later.

"Did you really point to the bleachers?" Frick asked.

Ruth, always honest, shrugged. "It's in the papers, isn't it?" he said.

"Yeah," Frick said. "It's in the papers. But did you really point to the stands ?"

"Why don't you read the papers? It's all right there in the papers."

Which, Frick said, means he never said he did and he never said he didn't.

Copyright © 1974 by Robert W. Creamer

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 27 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 9, 2007

    A reviewer

    In Babe-The Legend Comes to Life, George overcomes great difficulties to become one of the greatest American heroes of baseball. When you are left to almost live by yourself you begin to build up strength to give up dependence on other people. By doing this you can accomplish great things, and become great. That was George¿s goal to become great and be remembered and he was and will be forever, this dream would become a reality after attending St. Mary¿s. I really enjoyed this book, although the read, if not a baseball fan, can make it difficult to finish. I loved the way it gave his whole life story from kid to end, to show what he went through to get where he was. This is definitely a must read for baseball lovers but not for people who aren't.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 9, 2001

    The Facts Behind the Myths

    Creamer cobines the immense personality of Ruth with complete research and great literary skill. Creamer does a great job of not being caught up in myths, and does a great job of uncovering the truth behind the myths. Any baseball fan should read this book, as it shows a great shift in how the game was played in a relatively short time. Creamer also gives a great deal of insight into American culture of the time, making it not only a baseball book, but a history book.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 6, 2000

    A great story about a great man.

    Creamer does a great job of bringing the 'Babe' to life. His insights into the Babes personal life as well as his career are fascinating. He actually makes you believe that you are one of Ruths friends. If you love The Babe buy this book.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 7, 2004

    A Ruthian Biography

    Baseball and American historians need to make this book a must read. It is a story about a true American icon. Ruth's name has lasted throughout the ages and has reached into all sectors of American life. 'Babe Ruth: The Legend Comes to Life' is the definitive book about the greatest baseball player of our grandfather's time, our father's time and yes Barry Bonds supporters, our time. Simply written, Babe Ruth was the best. Robert Creamer mixes facts, anecdotes from Ruth's teammates, and historical backdrops to make this a classic biography. Ruth's story is one of sadness, hilarity, triumph and sadness again. It is a tale of an individual who rose from being abandoned by his parents, living his childhood in an orphanage, then living life to the absolute fullest. He was a boy who had no one to call 'Mom' and then became the idol of millions of boys, and also many 'moms'. Ruth is a part of our history. He is a regular in the lexicon of our language, sports and in our literature. He was a legend and lived his life as if he were one. I've been looking to read a book about Ruth. I am an avid reader of sport and political biographies. There's nothing like this book -- there was nothing like Babe Ruth.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 22, 2013

    Good book, fun to read and very informative

    This a must have for any baseball fan. It recalls the full life of the Bambino from his childhood, his glory days as a ball player and his life ending to cancer. Written well with alot of stories I never knew about Ruth. Many parts of the book will have you laughing. The book protrays Ruth as a bigger than life hero with the heart of a child..

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 24, 2011

    The Babe

    Other than the missing photographs from the original edition of this book, it is a great read about the greatest ballplayer that ever lived.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 8, 2006

    The unknown details about baseball legend Babe Ruth

    Out of all the sports books this one gives the best details and can really show the reader the true life of a sports star. Behind all the fame Creamer shows the reader how even a sports ideal can have addictions just like anyone else. Creamer also shows how hard it was for babe to be an up and coming legend. I have to say I really like the detail of how when Babe first started to when he was an all American hero to the sport of baseball. Plus how Creamer also included the pay difference from when he first started to when he was famous, because everyone knows now that it has changed so much these days. But then also this book was actually when the athletes want to play to play, unlike know where more and more are starting to play just for the money. I think that Creamer really captured that throughout this biography. Especially with the drinking sometimes the author will tend to hide some things like that but that was another thing that I liked. Because the author knows the facts so they might as well put it in to be a true biography and not a cover up. So for that i would give a lot of credit to Robert Creamer for writing such a great biography about one of Americas most famous legends in Americas national past time. So I think that if you really want to know more about Babe Ruth this would be one of the best books to look into.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 18, 2003

    The Real Babe

    I never in my life learned so many beleivable, 'puzzle-fitting' things about a sports hero. Ruth was a human being, very flawed, but often misrepresented by legend...mostly a good guy with a few bad habits and a lot of care in his heart. Buy this book. Above all else, you will learn why Ruth truly cared about the children.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 10, 2014

    Enjoyed this book!

    I enjoyed this book. I read it to be in the spirit of the beginning of this year's baseball season...and it certainly did that. It also definitely captured the spirit of Babe Ruth and it was fascinating how the factual research approach of this book on Babe Ruth somehow still ends up contributing even more to the to the on-going legend of this incredibly simple but yet complex and gifted athlete and charismatc person who so many years after his passing still remains as fascinating, captivating, charismatic, and inspirational in his own unique way as he was during his time. You can almost feel how he intuitively experienced the energy flow of his life that enabled him to be the superstar he was. Good stuff!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 6, 2014

    To: im related to BABE RUTH

    Im related to Babe Ruth too. He is my dads dads cousin

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 1, 2014

    I'm related to Babe Ruth!!!

    I did not know till about three years ago but im still suprised.I meen it is not every day you find out that your moms dads cousin was Babe Ruth.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 1, 2014

    To below

    Kutpjfjfncjkkibenji is crazy hu

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 21, 2014

    Jack

    Gose to res4

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 21, 2014

    Kaylie

    Um never alone? Who are you?

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 21, 2014

    NEVER ALONE

    Here

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 28, 2013

    I love this book

    I love this book

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 16, 2013

    To jake

    U knowwe have

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 4, 2013

    Kate to theo

    If u r still there plz meet me at foam res1

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 5, 2013

    Hidy

    If locked out nxt res

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 26, 2012

    Good read

    There were lots of story,s in book that were new to me. I find that rare for a person of ruths fame you usually herd just about everything. I did enjoy this book.

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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