On eve of 90th birthday, DiMaggio still on his game
There were nine kids in the home of the Sicilian immigrants at 2047 Taylor St. in the North Beach section of San Francisco. Dad Giuseppe was a fisherman, mom Rosalie a former schoolteacher, and three of the five boys would become major league baseball players -- one of them rising to the level of American icon, celebrated in literature by Ernest Hemingway and in song by Paul Simon. All four of the girls married and raised families. All five boys had the same middle name: Paul.
And now all of them are gone . . . except for baby Dominic DiMaggio, who turns 90 tomorrow.
"I'm that last one of the 11," Dominic said from his Florida home last week. "We all must go. I luckily survived. Not much fun, though, I'll tell you that. But I've had truly a fabulous life. I have no complaints."
He played center field for the Red Sox for 10 full seasons, and you can make a case that he belongs in the Hall of Fame with brother Joe. Along with Ted Williams, Bobby Doerr, and Johnny Pesky, he was part of Fenway's original Fab Four (and the oldest) -- a quartet celebrated in David Halberstam's wonderful "The Teammates."
Doerr turns 89 in April. Pesky will be 88 in September. The Kid, who died in 2002, would have been 89 in August. Dominic still talks with Doerr and Pesky on a regular basis, and the three living legends threw out ceremonial first pitches before Game 2 of the 2004 World Series at Fenway Park. The Red Sox presented DiMaggio with a championship ring after the Series and he keeps it in a safety deposit box ("too big to wear").
More than his celebrated teammates, indeed more than almost any major league ballplayer of his time, Dominic DiMaggio had a full-blown business career after he stopped rounding the bases at Fenway Park. He had no college experience but was smarter than your average ballplayer. And he had a plan. He started his own manufacturing company (automobile upholstery and carpets) and became a rich man. He turned the company over to his son, but he still takes care of accounts for his children and grandchildren and he keeps one bespectacled eye on the stock ticker all day. Still married to the ever-youthful Emily (Ted called her "The Queen"), Dominic wants you to know that he is very busy. And he truly is.
"I play bridge," he said. "I have the ticker-tape running all day long. I'm taking care of the children's accounts. I have property in San Francisco and I'm following the family business in Lawrence, which is run by my oldest son.
"I'm having a problem moving around and trying to stay as close as I can to home. I have good days and bad days. After all, at 90 you can't expect to feel good every day. After being so active, you feel it. You start slowing down. You've got to give in a little bit."
All these years later, it is difficult to fathom what it must have been like to have brothers simultaneously manning center field for the Red Sox and Yankees. Maybe if Johnny Damon had a twin we could get a sense of what it was like. The boys would try to beat one another during the day, then dine together, maybe with their mom. When Joe was in his 56-game hitting streak, left fielder Williams would get updates from the man inside the Wall at Fenway, then relay the news of Joe's deeds to brother Dominic in center. How cool is that?
It's been repeatedly reported that Joe was aloof, even with his ballplaying sibling, but Dominic won't have any of that.
"People call me every once in a while about Joe," he acknowledged. "Most of it is positive. If I happen to be the brother of somebody, I couldn't think of a person I would like to be the brother of other than Joe. He was the best ballplayer. Just plain natural ability. We used to have to go down to the North Beach playground and drag him off the tennis court to play baseball."
Joe was a strapping 6 feet 1 inch while Dom was built more like Giuseppe and topped out at 5-9. He was one of the few big leaguers who wore glasses, and his nickname ("Little Professor") was a perfect fit. In the years he played, he led the major leagues in hits, was second in runs and third in doubles. His 34-game hitting streak in 1949 is still a Red Sox record.
Dominic hit .259 and knocked in three runs against the Cardinals in the 1946 World Series, which was the only time he and his teammates played postseason baseball.
"I regret we didn't win more than one pennant," he said. "We needed pitching and catching. We never really had an outstanding catcher."
One day away from 90, he is an enviable combination of humble and proud.
"You wouldn't believe the mail I get," he said. "When these people write, almost all of them insert the fact that 'you should be in the Hall of Fame.' At my age, it just doesn't matter. I would rather they give it to a younger person who could enjoy it. That would be much better.
"But I love the Red Sox fans. They've been fantastic. I can't say enough about them as people and as Red Sox boosters. They are the tops."
He lives six months in Southeastern Massachusetts and six months in Florida and follows the Red Sox from both homesteads.
"I think John Henry is doing a heck of a job for them," he said. "They certainly have spent a lot of money to bring a ball club there. A hundred and three million is a lot of money. [Daisuke Matsuzaka] is going to have to win an awful lot of ballgames to earn that kind of money.
"But they're willing to go out and get the athletes. I wish they had done something last year at the trading deadline.
"It's great that the team is so popular, but the unfortunate part is that the poor guy with three or four children, a regular laborer, has a hard time getting to the ballpark once a year."
Ninety tomorrow. Any goals?
"Reach 91," he said.
Godspeed. And happy birthday, Dominic DiMaggio.
Dan Shaughnessy is a Globe columnist. His e-mail address is dshaughnessy@globe.com. 
