ABSTRACT
Our friend Gary’s father and grandfather were both police officers in a small New Jersey town just across the river from New York City. In the 1920s and 1930s, at least a few times a year, Gary’s grandfather would bring home an intoxicated man and put him to bed on the family couch. In the morning, Gary’s father-then a young lad-would stare at George until he woke up. The big man would shake open his eyes, see the young man, and bellow, “Good morning, young man, what’s for breakfast?” Gary’s grandmother would then make George a big breakfast of a dozen eggs, bacon, pots of coffee, and orange juice. Then, Gary’s granddad would drive George home across the river. George would always leave a hundred-dollar bill (real big money in those days) folded under the family Bible in the hallway. You see, “George” was George Herman “Babe” Ruth. Gary’s family never told a soul about this, and George’s photo didn’t end up on the front pages of The New York Times.
