The Babe

So we've had this picture for years. It's a black and white picture. A black and white picture of Babe Ruth, a Yankee pitcher whose name escapes me at the moment, and my great-grandfather. My great-grandfather is holding up some kind of trophy fowl as the trio had been out hunting prior to the picture having been taken. You can't really tell what kind because it's a really old picture. Obviously, as kids, my brother and I proudly thrust the picture on any and all visitors regardless of age or gender. Much of our senses of self-worth were tied up in that picture. What makes the whole thing even better though, is the story that accompanies it.

My great grandfather was invited to the pitcher's place in upstate New York for a weekend of drinking and hunting with a few other dudes and The Babe. Something held the Sultan of Swat up in New York City. If what they say is true, it was most likely a large group of loose women, booze, and hot dogs. So, upon my great grandfather's arrival, they went out hunting as a group only sans Bambino. Pitcher even brings his new hunting dog...

So they're out there with their guns and the dog. They're quietly stalking around the property looking for things to shoot. Things to kill. Typical hunting stuff I guess. The dog sprints into a clearing for what I can only assume was a kind of bird similar to blurry corpse in the picture. He successfully flushes the bird out and someone fires their gun. Only instead of looking for the dead bird to retrieve the thing as everyone expects, the dog takes off running in the opposite direction with its tail between its legs. Shortly thereafter, they all reach the conclusion that this "prize" hunting dog is gunshy and pretty much worthless. More specifically, every time a gun is fired, the dog completely loses it, it's stumpy tail goes between its legs and it takes off in the opposite direction. Takes them quite a while to find it too.

Later that evening, the group shared a drink and a few laughs over this fact. My forefather even had a great idea. He sells the group on presenting the dog to the Babe, following their hunt the following day, as a gift. The idea doesn't take much salesmanship as the group laughs hysterically, drinks way too much whiskey, and pukes all over each other.

The Babe arrives early the following morning and the group goes hunting for the day. At some point the picture my family holds so dear was taken. At the end of the day the Babe is presented with the dog. They drink a bunch of whiskey and pass out 1930 or 1940's style. The following morning the Babe is the first one to head back to the city, presumably to indulge in the aforementioned vices. Obviously, he is accompanied by his new "prize" hunting dog. Upon waking, the rest of the group shares a laugh, each picturing the Babe's next hunting trip and the look on his face when his dog abandons him in the middle of the woods upon the first gunshot.

Eventually my great-grandfather gets into his car for the long trip back to Newark. He ends up stopping for a bite to eat along the way at a little country place on the side of the road. At the counter he strikes up a conversation with the guy seated next to him.

Guy says, "You'll never believe who was just here!" Without waiting for a response he adds, "Babe Ruth!"

Great-grandpa responds triumphantly, "Oh I believe it! I was just hunting with him for the weekend a couple towns back! Wait til' you hear this!" he says as he looks around to make sure he has an audience.

With his voice raised (for the audience) he then tells the story from the top of how they duped Babe Ruth into thinking he had been given a prize-winning hunting dog when in truth they'd given him a gunshy mutt...

Only before he gets to the punch-line he's interrupted by a member of the audience, "Well, joke's on you and your buddies pal cause the Babe just sold the dog to a guy who was just in here for $25!"

And the entire diner errupts into hysterical laughter.

(Remember, 25 big ones was a ton of money back then when you adjust for deflation!)