Babe & Me by Dan Gutman Page B

Gehrig, because he played more than two thousand games in a row and owned the record for consecutive games until Cal Ripken Jr. broke it in the 1990s. Gehrig would have played even longer, but he got this terrible disease called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. It’s a disease that affects the spinal nerves and muscles. It forced him to retire right away. After he died, ALS came to be called Lou Gehrig’s disease.
    â€œI don’t see Gehrig,” Dad replied, looking around.
    The players didn’t pay much attention to Dad and me. I figured they were surrounded by fans all the time and considered their time on the train as their one chance to be together as a team. Babe sat at a table with a bunch of guys who were telling jokes and laughing. Dad and I sat down at another table and Dad ordered two pieces of pie.
    We had been moving for only a few minutes when a kid came through the dining car. He was carrying a big tray filled with gum, chocolate, jelly beans—just about every kind of candy I could think of. He was selling them for pennies and nickels. But Babe peeled another one of those hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet and bought the kid’s whole tray. Then he started tossing the candies to everyone in the car.
    Somebody produced a ukulele and handed it toBabe. He got up on his chair, sat on the counter, and began to strum. He actually knew how to play the thing. Soon he was singing “Oh! Susannah” in a deep voice that was surprisingly good. Some of the other Yankees joined in when Babe played “Jeannie With the Light Brown Hair” and “The Sidewalks of New York.”
    At around one o’clock some of the players got up to leave. “Come on, you party poopers!” Babe called to them. “Are you tired already?”
    â€œYeah,” Lazzeri said, “tired of listening to your rotten singing, Jidge! You can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I’m going to hit the hay.”
    It occurred to me how tired I was. My head felt heavy, like I could fall asleep in a second if I tried. Dad and I didn’t have a sleeper, and there was no way we were going to fit into Babe’s.
    â€œAren’t you tired, Babe?” I asked when he came around to see how we were doing. “Maybe you should get a good night’s sleep so you’ll be rested for Game Three.”
    â€œHeck, no,” Babe replied. “I can sleep for five months after we win the Series.” He joined a card game with some of the Yankees who liked to stay up late.
    Dad and I got up and went into the next car, where there were seats we could sleep on. There was just one guy in there, sitting a few rows in front of us. He was writing something on a pad of paper. I curled up against Dad the best I could. Itwas uncomfortable, but at least it was quieter than the dining car.
    Just before I fell asleep, the guy who was sitting in front of us got up and came over. He was holding a coat.
    â€œExcuse me,” he said nervously. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I thought your boy might be able to use this as a cover.”
    â€œThanks!” Dad said.
    â€œNice guy,” I muttered to Dad after the guy walked away.
    â€œDo you know who that man was, Butch?”
    â€œNo, who?” I asked.
    â€œLou Gehrig.”
    I bolted upright. Gehrig was about to leave the car, probably to go to sleep.
    â€œMr. Gehrig! Mr. Gehrig!” I called, getting up quickly. He stopped and turned around. It was Lou Gehrig! I recognized his face from photos. He looked younger than Babe, with thick, wavy hair and dimples on his cheeks when he smiled. He was wearing a white, button-down shirt.
    â€œCan I have your autograph, Mr. Gehrig?”
    â€œSure, son.”
    I had Dad bring over one of the balls from his sack. Lou Gehrig signed it on the opposite side from where Babe had already signed it.
    â€œThanks!” Dad and I gushed when he handed me back the ball.
    â€œDon’t mention