At age fifteen he became a sports reporter for his Ocean City High School newspaper; four years later, as sports editor of the University of Alabama's Crimson-White, he began to employ devices more common in fiction, such as establishing a "scene" with minute details-a technique that would later make him famous.Later, as a sports reporter for the New York Times, Talese was drawn to individuals at poignant and vulnerable moments rather than to the spectacle of sports. Through the personal experiences of Joe DiMaggio, Gay Talese in the, “Silent Season of a Hero” exposes the neglection society practices towards athletes real, identities. It’s true of golfers, it’s true of any man when he gets into his fifties. Reno will never forget the day. Like Snead and Hogan, they can still hit a ball well off the tee, but on the greens they lose the strokes....”, “It’s the pressure of age,” DiMaggio said, turning around on his bar stool. Damned O’Doul can’t turn anything down.”, Soon DiMaggio and O’Doul and Ernie Nevers were surrounded by the crowd, and the woman who had been leading the chorus came rushing over and said, “Oh, Mr. DiMaggio, it certainly is a pleasure having you.”. The Silent Season of a Hero “Joe,” said Marilyn Monroe, just back from Korea, “you never heard such cheering.” “Yes I have,” Joe DiMaggio answered. “I came as a friend,” the man interrupted. When it comes to taking chances, the younger man, even when driving a car, will take chances that the older man won’t.”, “Speaking of chances,” another man said, one of the group that had gathered around DiMaggio, “did you see that guy on crutches in here last night?”, “Yeah, had his leg in a cast,” a third said. "The Silent Season of a Hero" by Gay Talese appeared in Esquire magazine in 1966 and is considered one of the founding documents of what they used … “I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing,” the old man said.

Before he could get to his car, however, DiMaggio’s nephew came running after him and said, “Joe wants to see you.”. All three later played in the big leagues, and some writers like to say that Joe was the best hitter, Dom the best fielder, Vince the best singer, and Casey Stengel once said: “Vince is the only player I ever saw who could strike out three times in one game and not be embarrassed. Bloomsbury Publishing; Reprint Edition (October 4, 2010). Not yet, the men say, although they notice his blue Impala parked in the lot next to the restaurant. On the infield the ceremony went on, Mantle’s gifts continued to pile up—a Mobilette motor bike, a Sooner Schooner wagon barbecue, a year’s supply of Chock Full O’Nuts coffee, a year’s supply of Topps Chewing Gum—and the Yankee players watched, and Maris seemed glum. “Every time I get advice,” DiMaggio muttered to himself, shaking his head slowly and walking toward the pond, “I shank it.”. The fishermen also remember how, after his retirement in 1951, DiMaggio brought his second wife, Marilyn, to live near the wharf, and sometimes they would be seen early in the morning fishing off DiMaggio’s boat, the Yankee Clipper, now docked quietly in the marina, and in the evening they would be sitting and talking on the pier. Our payment security system encrypts your information during transmission. World-weary and self-destructive, Pechorin is alienated from those around him yet he is full of passion and romantic ardour, sensitive as well as arrogant. “Ohhh,” DiMaggio yelled, dropping his bat, his fingers stung. Mantle was still in the dugout, in uniform, standing with one leg on the top step, and lined on both sides of him were the other Yankees who, when the ceremony was over, would play the Detroit Tigers. You see these men, some of them forty, fifty, getting onto skis. “Well,” O’Doul said, casually, “there goes that set of clubs.”. Then DiMaggio walked slowly into the cage and picked up Mantle’s bat. Photos. Cardinal Spellman was on the committee, President Johnson sent a telegram, the day was officially proclaimed by the Mayor of New York, an orchestra assembled in center field in front of the trinity of monuments to Ruth, Gehrig, Huggins; and high in the grandstands, billowing in the breeze of early autumn, were white banners that read: “Don’t Quit Mick,” “We Love the Mick.”.