[SelzShoes]

The whole ride over, the great Babe fidgeted like a schoolboy. His suit was too tight and his wife kept nagging him to bring along his attorney; the nerves had not been this shaky since he returned from his suspensions back in 1925.

There was disappointment when his arrival was not met with the throng of reporters and photographers such an announcement warranted. “Must want to be sure I want the job first,” he said to his wife to reassure himself. On the way into the offices he obliged a newsboy with an autograph. He signed the sports section with, ‘Babe Ruth, Yankee Mgr.’

As he entered Ruppert’s office (It would always be the Colonel’s office to him) Ruth only recognized MacPhail, Topping and Webb—and that only from their pictures in the papers. The other two men were unknown, “Probably bean counters,” Ruth whispered to himself.

MacPhail, still sober, introduced his co-owners and a Mr. Hoffberger of Baltimore. Leland started to speak of tradition, and how much Ruth meant to the Yankees and Baseball. Droning on and on about publicity and getting things off to the right start for the Contential League—and how the Babe could be a large part of that. “The old traditions mix with the new ones,” MacPhail said. The money talked about seemed low for a man of the Babe’s stature, but they explained he had no experience managing and it was just a starting point, but if he had success . . .

“So, you don’t want me to manage the Yankees?”

The suits looked nervously back and forth at each other. “Babe,” MacPhail said, almost pleading, “We thought you wanted to get back in the game?”

“With the Yankees, not with Baltimore. I don’t think I should have to start in the minors,” Ruth had always felt implying he needed the minors to ‘learn the trade’ was an insult to his intelligence.

Webb shook his head, “No, this is the old A’s squad—it is every bit major league.”

MacPhail raised his hand and asked everyone but the Babe to leave.