He took great interest in my day-to-day life. Not one to mince words, he was as quick to scold as he was to praise me. Joe always gave me spot-on advice based on the highest standards. He had a lot to teach me and passed on his street savvy, as well as his considerable wisdom at every opportunity. I was inspired by Joe and felt lucky to have him in my corner. He was remarkably generous to me with his time and advice.
During my first week on staff at the Hospital for Special Surgery in 1991, Joe showed up unexpectedly. "Let's take a walk around the hospital," he suggested, knowing full well what he was doing.
He attracted a crowd of medical professionals of all ages, who were eager to meet him and shake the hand of a living legend. Though entertainment executives were waiting to honor Joe at the Friars Club, he took the time to meet my colleagues and went out of his way to praise my work to the head of my department. He said, "If I had known Dr. Positano fifty years ago, I would have had five more years playing ball."
An endorsement like that is hard to beat.
Joe could be remarkably helpful. He was capable of being a regular guy, not a stuffed shirt. There was no task that was beneath Joe. For an afternoon, Joe became my medical assistant. He thought nothing of answering my phones in the office, speaking with patients, and greeting them at the door. Once I overheard a patient say, "Are you Joe DiMaggio?"
He replied, "No, but people say I look and sound Just like him."
I was beaming with pride when I rented my medical office in a landmark building around the corner from where Joe stayed. I had barely signed the lease when I decided to tell Joe about my new space. I boasted about it when he visited me at the hospital. I invited him to inspect the suite, and Joe accepted with great satisfaction, a reaction I had not anticipated. Joe was not easily impressed, but he seemed to be so when he saw the offices.
"This is swell, Doc. I'm proud of you." He was sincerely enthusiastic. Soon after, I was busy at the hospital and had arranged for my mother to wait for the desks, stationery, machinery, and all the equipment needed for my practice. I was going to leave the offices unattended until she arrived.
I told Joe, "I'm waiting for my mother to call. She's coming in from Brooklyn to sit and wait for the furniture to be delivered and for the phone guys to wire us up."
Joe shook his silver head. "Don't bother your mother, Doc. I have nothing important to do all day. Call her right now and tell her not to come. I'll stay at the office and wait for those guys."
"Thanks, but I couldn't ask you to do that," I replied. "Besides, I don't know when they are coming."
"You didn't ask me - I offered." Joe wouldn't budge. "I've got a lot to read here." He pointed to a small stack of newspapers he was carrying with him that day. "My New York Times. Wall Street Journal, New York Post, and Daily News."
We arrived at the new office. A plastic milk crate was the only thing in the place. Joe seized it as soon as he saw it.
"This is fine. I have my seat, my papers. Doc, go to the hospital now and take care of all the sick people who need you."
I thanked him and left, still reluctant. Five long hours passed before I was able to pry myself away from my rounds and return to my new offices. I found Joe camped out on the milk crate without furniture or phone lines.
"Damn! I can't believe they haven't delivered the furniture yet. I'm so sorry, Joe."
Joe was unfazed. "Don't worry, Doc. I've been sitting here all day entertaining myself by looking at how much money I made on the stock market."
I would not have imagined his patience. I started to apologize again when the sound of the office doorbell echoed through the empty space.
I tried to race to the door, but Joe was there first. "Let me take care of this," he said,
I couldn't help feeling sorry for the poor bastard on the other side of the door, who was going to receive a reception he would never forget.
A shabbily dressed young man in his thirties, wearing a New York Yankees cap, was too busy shifting through the furniture delivery papers to even look up when Joe answered the door.
"Delivery for Dr. Positano. Please sign here," he mumbled, eyes focused on his paperwork. When he finally looked up, he was shocked. "Holy Christ, you're Joe DiMaggio," the stunned deliveryman exclaimed.
"Many people have told me I look just like him, Though you are observant and very bright, as I look at my Joe DiMaggio wrist watch, I see that you are about four hours late."
The delivery guy was dejected.
"How can you expect the doctor to help sick people if he is sitting here waiting for you?" Joe asked him in a sharp tone.
"But, but ... you're my Idol," he said.
"This is a helluva way to impress your idol," Joe shot back. "C'mon, get that stuff in here before it depreciates." Joe didn't let him off the hook. "You know, I was never late for a game, even when I had a cause. It was just the right thing to do. Punctuality is the courtesy of kings."
The deliveryman looked even more chagrined, but Joe continued anyway.
"If more people like you took their jobs seriously, life would be a lot easier." Joe began to lecture. "Look, no matter what your Job is do your best at it. Impress yourself, even if your boss or your customers are unappreciative. Be your own boss!"
The deliveryman smiled.
"Martin Luther King, Jr., taught us to do the best at what we do, even if it's sweeping the floors. Take these habits from job to job."
In his rush to deliver the furniture and impress his idol, the deliveryman began lifting with his back. Joe winced.
"Hey, buddy, watch your back there. Lift with your legs. I know what it's like to miss a season on account of injury."
Joe proceeded to inspect and direct the placement of every stick of furniture delivered - Joe DiMaggio, interior decorator. The furniture stayed that way for years, because I couldn't bear to move it. I thought it would be bad luck to change a thing.
When he was satisfied, Joe called the man over.
"Okay, you've earned your tip," he said with a smile. "Give me that invoice. I'll sign it, and it'll be worth something one day."
Joe signed the invoice for the grateful deliveryman,
Best wishes, and don't ever be late again.
Joe DiMaggio
Rock Positano "Dinner With DiMaggio" (2016)
