Birth of an icon
Today marks what would have been the 109th birthday for the eighth child of Sicilian parents, Guiseppe and Rosalie, living in Martinez, Calif.
Guiseppe and Rosalie travel to the United States in 1898 to continue the family tradition of raising fishermen.
Their eighth child is celebrating his first birthday in 1915 when the family moves to San Francisco, where two of the oldest boys in the family – Tom and Michael – follow their father into the family business.
The eighth child eventually rebels.
By the time he becomes a teenager, the kids eschews the family business – seems he does not like the smell of dead fish – and goes off to play baseball.
Guiseppe, of course, is not thrilled by the kid’s choice. What a waste of time, Guiseppe believes.
In time, though, Guiseppe DiMaggio changes his mind, no doubt coinciding with the rise of his eighth child – Joseph Paul DiMaggio – in becoming one of baseball’s greatest players.
A young Seal in the 1930s
After starring for the hometown San Francisco Seals of the Pacific Coast League in the mid-1930s, Joe DiMaggio – by then 21 – reaches the major leagues in 1936 with New York Yankees and starts a Hall of Fame career that includes 13 All-Star appearances in 13 seasons, nine World Series titles, three most valuable player awards, two batting American League championships and a record hitting streak of 56 straight games.
A year after DiMaggio reaches the Yankees, his older brother, Vince – another non-fisherman – begins his own 10-year career in the National League.
A younger brother, Dom, also forgoes fish for flyballs, starting his own 11-year career in 1940 with the Boston Red Sox in the American League.
While Vince and Dom also become All-Star outfielders in the majors, Joe clearly is the best of three ballplaying brothers.
He earns $632,000 during his playing career – big money back then – and countless millions more afterward as a corporate pitchman, autograph show guest and for being, well, Joe DiMaggio.
“DiMaggio seldom showed emotion,” longtime Yankees second baseman Jerry Coleman once says. “One day after striking out, he came into the dugout and kicked the ball bag. We all went, ‘Ooooh.’ It really hurt.
“He sat down and the sweat popped out of his forehead and he clenched his fists without ever saying a word. Everybody wanted to howl, but he was a god. You don’t laugh at gods.”
The reluctant fisherman with his parents, Rosalie and Guiseppe