Pssst! Please don't tell anyone
where you bought this

NOTE: What follows is a true story; at least, it was true when written in 1971. Now, thanks to Barnes & Noble bookstores and online shopping, I no longer need to go undercover when I set out to purchase the latest edition of my favorite publication.

Every spring I do something my wife thinks is weird. Weirder than my appreciation of Harry Nilsson's music. Weirder than my devotion to Syracuse University football and basketball. Weirder than my fondness for applesauce sandwiches. Even weirder than taste in vacation destinations. (See Sandy Pond.)

It's how I can't get along without the latest edition of Who's Who in Baseball, my idea of the perfect summer book.

While others prefer a light mystery or a steamy romance novel, I'm absorbed by the cold numbers of Rico Carty's lifetime batting average. (The Who's Who contains endless statistics – plus photos, the cover proclaims – of more than 610 major league players.)

I do this because I'm honestly more interested in the fact Billy Conigliaro hit 13 home runs and drove in 81 runs for Louisville in 1960 than I am in what a psychologist has to say about human sexual response.

I've never analyzed why I enjoy these statistics – did you know Russ Snyder hit .432 during his first season in pro ball? – and I resent those who have.

All I know is there is something fascinating about any publication that so coldly documents a man's performance in his profession. I shudder to think what would happen if journalism had such a book:

Major, John Stanley.
Born: May 28, 1938. Height: 6 feet, 3 inches. Weight: 208 pounds.
Writes: right-handed. Types: By touch, two-handed.
1970 record: 104 columns written, 34 factual errors, 29 typographical errors allowed, 16 misspelled words. ERA (erroneous reporting average): 3.97.

But I must be one of very few people who finds it fascinating because I always have a difficult time locating the Who's Who, and after what I went through this year, I don't know if I'll bother again next year.

Few stores sell such books anymore. ("Do you carry the Who's Who in Baseball?" "Sure, fella, but we're all sold out ... it's the hottest thing we've carried since The Scenic Wonders of Erie, Pa."

I had just about given up home of finding the 1971 edition until I happened to be walking past a ... well, I guess you'd call it a magazine store in downtown Providence. I don't usually glance in its widow because it's the kind of place you wouldn't glance into for fear one of your friends would see you and say, "Ah hah! You're glancing into that window!"

But last week I did happen to glance in ... and noticed right away the distinctive red cover and black and white photos that are a trademark of the good ol' Who's Who.

I hesitated before entering because I had to look around to see if anyone I knew was in the vicinity (if so, I'd sneak back later). Luck was with me. So I walked in and quickly grabbed a copy off the shelf. It was so close to the window and I had been in such a hurry that I really hadn't had a chance to notice other publications being sold. But when I turned and headed for the cash register, I had my chance. And I couldn't help but notice.

You don't know how ridiculous you can feel until you find yourself surrounded by photos of bare breasts and simulated sex acts (on magazines with names like Orgy, Superstud, Playing Around, etc.) and you're standing there with a copy of Who's Who in Baseball.

(My childhood had its share of similar experiences. Most of the boys in my neighborhood were at least two years older, so I was the only one who would excuse himself from a Saturday morning basketball game to go home to listen to Let's Pretend on the radio.)

So I stepped forward and handed 75 cents to a fellow with a smirk on his face. I turned to leave, but he stopped me.

"Here, let me put that in a plain white wrapper," he said. "I'd hate to have anyone see you leaving here with that thing. It might give my place a bad name."

 

– JACK MAJOR

PS: The 2005 Who's Who in Baseball cost me $9.95. In 2006 the old habit finally died. I now hunt baseball statistics on the internet.