May, 1962: A surprise visit from the Yankee Clipper

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Bob Wicker, a Stars and Stripes staffer and editor for some 40 years who's now retired and living in Nevada, recounts a surprise visit in May, 1962, by baseball great Joe DiMaggio to the newspaper's office in Griesheim, Germany, near Frankfurt. Wicker is, by the way, a Red Sox fan, but the Yankee Clipper's visit was still clearly a thrill.

It was a sunny day in May '62 at ES&S Hq in Griesheim/Darmstadt. I came to work at 2 p.m. that day, replacing the six-man day crew in the sports department. Thanks to the day crew, the "B Edition" was hot off the press and now on its way to the airport for next-morning delivery to our readers in England, France, Spain, Italy and a few other countries. My job as "night sports editor" on mid-week days like this one was to work alone and update later editions for overnight delivery by truck to newspaper sales points in Germany and Belgium.

Around 4 p.m. I was hunched over some wire copy doing my thing with a No. 2 pencil when I heard footsteps in the sports office. I didn't bother to look up, assuming it was the "copy boy" delivering more wire copy, mail or notes from the managing editor to our sports in-box. Suddenly, I was aware that someone was standing in front of my desk. I looked up.

"Hi, I'm Joe DiMaggio," he said, extending his right hand.

"I know," I blurted. "Everyone knows who you are."

It must have been obvious to the Yankee Clipper that he had surprised a long-time baseball fan who was now in a mild state of shock. Before I could say anything stupid (like "Thanks for dropping by, Joe" or "What are you doing here?"), he tried to put me at ease by asking about one of my co-workers in the sports department.

"Is Steve Lakos here today?"

I explained that Steve had worked the early shift. I offered to call Steve in Jugenheim, a small town about 20 minutes from the office. "Oh, that's okay," Joe said. "Steve interviewed me a few weeks ago at the Frankfurt Airport. I was on my way to Moscow on a business trip. He gave me his Stars and Stripes card and invited me to drop by if I was ever in the area again. Well, I'm on my way back to the States. My flight to New York doesn't leave until tomorrow morning. I grabbed a cab and said, 'Take me to Stars and Stripes.' So, here I am."

I'm thinking, "What do I do now?" First, I decided I did not need to update that page I was working on. Then I showed Joe the nice story Steve wrote after interviewing him. I gave him a copy of the fresh "B Edition" and he was delighted to see a story and box score from last night's Yankees game.

While Joe, who had slipped unnoticed into the sports department, raved about our good coverage of major league baseball, I was thinking about my next move. I considered strolling with him down the hallway and into the news room. Wouldn't that be fun?

I finally called Steve. I needed badly to validate the fact that Joe DiMaggio was hanging around my office. Heck, if he leaves the way he came in, no one will ever believe he was here. "Oh, come on, you're pulling my leg again," Steve said. "B. Wicker, you are always trying to play a joke on me," he laughed.

Joe could tell I was having a tough time. I handed the phone to him. It was a short conversation. Joe: "How are you, Steve?" Steve: "Great, Joe. I'll be right out."

Joe handed the phone back to me. Steve apologized, and said he would call our boss, Jack Ellis, and the other sports guys. "We'll be there soon." he said.

Acting as if we had been old drinking buddies for years, I boldly suggested we walk over to the Press Club for a beer or two. "Sounds like a good idea to me," said Joe, rolling up his "B Edition" as I showed the way.

By now, Joe and I had been hanging out for about 30 minutes without anyone noticing. I figured my friends must all be at the Press Club bar. Wrong. The club was empty. Thank goodness, Stripes' long-time German bartender, Manfred Kuchel, was on duty as usual. Manfred had often talked about baseball with his American friends and listened to games on AFN radio. He knew that Joe DiMaggio was a baseball legend, but had never seen him on TV. I thought he would be happy to meet him. Manfred gave Joe a half-hearted handshake, all the time looking at me as if to say, "There you go again, trying to play a joke on me."

Joe smiled, knowing that Manfred was not convinced. We sat quietly at the bar, talking mostly about the Yankees and Red Sox while drinking our beers. After listening for a few minutes, Manfred realized this was the real Joe.

Steve and my other friends from the paper soon arrived, followed by dozens of kids — many with their dads — from a nearby military housing area.

Joe ordered a cup of coffee and thanked me for the beer as I headed back to work.

Don Schuck, my best friend and mentor in sports, told me the next day that Joe stayed several hours at the Press Club. "He thoroughly enjoyed one of the Press Club's famous $1.50 T-bone steaks," Don said. "By the way, I told him we often talked and argued in sports about who was the greatest player — Joe DiMaggio or Ted Williams. Joe said: 'Don, you know no one could hit like Williams, but I may have had an edge otherwise.'"