The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1935-03-22
BY WILLIAM C. uTLEY

iNoN'T be alarmed. That
"whoosh - you just heard and
felt was not the beginning of
whirlwind. 1t was just the
collective sigh of relief of about 1OO,-
100000 people. For the nations most
appalling unemployment problem has
been solved: Babe Ruth has found
Job. What was to become of Babe has
caused as much CONSERVATION as what
will happen to the NRA.
The mighty Sultan of Swat, who left
his native land to become Uncle Sans
unofficial ambassador to Japan and Gre
ated more good will In few weeks
than statesmen have in years, returned
home to find himself on the outside
looking in. He had declared he would
not become again an active player for
the New York Yankees, who bought
him when he was young pitcher with
the Boston Red Sox and then had to
build the worlds largest baseball sta
dunn to hold the enormous numbers of
those most fanatic of all idol worship
ers, the baseball fans, who wanted to
see him.
Bambino, who answered to the name
of George Herman, when they called
the roll for soup in st. Mary's orph-
anage three decades ago, wanted
managers job. When he left on the
transforming tour which found him
still able to paste the old pellet higher
than Mt Fujiyama and farther than
Japan's imperialistic ambitions, he lit
tie doubted that there would be a suf-
ficiency of such posts awaiting his re-
turn. Baseball owed it to him.
But there were none. Baseball,
which the Babes wagon-tongue bat had
lifted from just swell game to a giant
industry, had no place for him. Even
his own Yankees didn't want him.
They would have hired him, yes, be-
cause there would have been bloody
revolution in Manhattan II they neg
lected him entirely. But they didn't
want him. That was apparent.
1t hurt the Bambino, Of course. But
It was his own fault. The Babe is like
big, shaggy, playful dog that is al
ways doing something cute. He senses
that he has done something that
pleased you very much, gets pretty
cocky about it, proceeds to jump up
on you, gets his dirty paws on your
nice, clean shirt and has to be spanked.
In short, he lacks diplomacy.
At the close of the 1884 playing sea-
son, with his batting average having
shrunk to .2SS, his home run total to
80, and his salary to mere $50, 900
per annum, and his forty-one-year-old
legs about as steady as these of the
card table you borrowed next door for
Tuesdays bridge game, the Babe an
nounced to all and sundry that he was
through as an active player.
His Diplomatic Way.
With all the diplomatic aplomb of
the puppy dog we have mentioned, he
went straightway to Col. Jake Rupert,
who manages to find time between his
beer foundry and his yacht to run the
affairs of the New York American
league ball club. The colonel's eye
brows lifted In mute surprise, no
doubt, because the time was hardly
ripe for the curtain to rise on the an.
nual melodrama that these two sea.
soned Thespians are wont to enact for
the benefit Of the press each year. be-
fore signing to give our hero more
money for circling the bases than the
President gets for running around the
Democratic platform.
"Are YOU satisfied with your man.
ager?" asked the Babe, making no ef-
fort whatever to keep the question Sc
cret from the press and the public.
Colonel Rupert replied that he was.
Edward G. Barrow, general manager
Of the club, further evidenced complete