A Long Life

Live long enough and some people will think you've already passed away. You mean he was alive yesterday?

This was my reaction as I sat in a doctor's waiting room yesterday and heard someone on the omnipresent television set respectfully intone that Dusty Rhodes passed away at 84 on Wednesday; a major league ballplayer who played for the New York Giants, and who helped them win the 1954 World Series, their last Series victory. Turns out Dusty was on his way to the doctor's, and I was already there. I felt better.

In today's Times, Bruce Weber recalls Dusty and the era in fine fashion, an obit sprinkled with good chuckle quotes and enough facts that make re-reading the piece even more informative. Missing however is how James Lamar came to be called Dusty. Just growing up in Alabama picking cotton doesn't give us enough to go on. It's likely a reliable source could not shed light on the origin, and the man himself had just passed away, probably without telling anyone who happened to write it down and publish it. Small matter. Imagination can work, too.

My own reason for thinking Dusty wasn't here on Tuesday was that it was in the 1950s! when I came across a signed dollar bill with Dusty's autograph when I was turning pages in a book in my friend's apartment, the rented part of our two-family house. My friend George and I were under 10, and a whole dollar not in an adult's hand was a tempting sight. But my friend explained that it was his father's, and his Dad was a big Dusty Rhodes fan, so he got his autograph. Simple enough. The dollar didn't leave the book on our watch.

But reading about Dusty today, and knowing what my friend's father did for a living made me imagine that perhaps his Dad didn't get it at the ball game. His Dad was the manager of the Lamb's Club, a theatrical based club where liquor and food was served to a membership. And guests.

Reading today's obit it is clear Dusty enjoyed many aspects of life, but not the hangovers. But then, who does? Ballplayers in the 50s in New York got around, just like today. And with three major league teams in New York, Manhattan had to have a few players in circulation on any given night. So, it is not too hard to imagine that George's father was a somewhat less well known Toots Shor, and met his share of people too.

I like to think so.

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