“IT WAS A HUGE MAROON THING, AND it was honking like a flock of geese. “It’s a Packard Roadster,” Dad yelled to me over the cheering of the crowd. “Twelve cylinders. Custom built. Whitewalls. Beautiful machine.” We pressed to get closer. The crowd surged around the car like iron filings around a magnet. “It’s him,” Dad said, beaming like a little boy. “Feast your eyes, Butch. You’re seein’ the great Babe Ruth in person.” I’m not very good with faces. Sometimes I have to see somebody’s face six o...r seven times before I recognize him. Once I was in the supermarket with my mom when my second grade teacher walked by. I had no idea who she was. But the instant I saw Babe Ruth’s face, I knew exactly who he was. I’d seen his face in so many pictures. I’m not very good with faces. But the instant I saw Babe Ruth’s face, I knew exactly who he was. His head was impossibly large and round. It was just about as wide as it was long. Ink-black hair fell casually across his forehead.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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