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I realize that if I continue past this page that I might possibly, perhaps, and maybe will find something that might offend the sensibilities of maidenly aunts, dainty women, and delicate men. Therefore if I am offended and so show my own lack of sophistication, tolerance, and belief in the right of people to read and learn what they will, then that's just tough tiddy.
Babe Ruth
Stories You Might Not Want To Tell Your Children
George Herman Ruth
There are plenty of stories for everyone.
With the more liberal and permissive standards of reporting and journalism that began in the 1960's, some of the more salacious and risqué stores about Babe Ruth began circulating. These are a few of the more credible although the sources, for obvious reasons, often preferred to remain anonymous.
Possibly it was because he grew up at the controlled all-male environment of St. Mary's Industrial school, Babe had no real understanding of society's rather arbitrary double standards regarded mixed company manners. He saw no reason to talk differently to women than to his teammates. There was the time the Yankees were in spring training in Hot Springs, Arkansas, and Babe was sitting with pitcher Herb Pennock, Herb's wife, and some other couples. Suddenly Babe he got up.
"Excuse me," Babe said, "I've got to take a piss."
Herb, who was a genteel and well-mannered man, followed Babe out.
"Babe," he said. "You shouldn't say that in front of the ladies." Babe asked what he had said.
"Say 'piss' like that," Herb said. "You don't have to say that in front of women. You should say, 'Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom', or something like that."
Babe said he was sorry and they went back to the room.
As Babe sat down he said to the women, "I'm sorry I said 'piss'."
Another time, a friend and his young wife were visiting Babe at his apartment. Babe regaled them with his stories, and he mentioned the time he had been at a dinner where a lady sitting next to him kept eating the last of the caviar as the plates came around.
"My God," Babe said, "she ate so much of that stuff that she looked like a seagull eating shit."
Babe's friend wasn't quite sure how his wife was taking the conversation. So he steered Babe's talk toward the trophies lining his wall, surely a safer topic.
Babe pointed to one cup. "Look at that one," Babe said. "I won first place in a farting contest."
"Boy," he added, "I had to down a lot of beer and limburger to win that one," he added.
Later as the couple had left and were riding down the elevator, the wife turned to her husband.
"What a fascinating man!" she said seriously.
Babe's use of a vigorous vocabulary wasn't restricted to his friends and their familes. Once a rich prim and proper New York socialite, a Mrs. Adler, asked a sportswriter if he would ask Babe to appear at a benefit she had arranged. The writer said he'd ask, but couldn't guarantee anything. But Babe said, sure, just let him know when they wanted him to show up.
Babe was as good as his word, and the benefit was a success (as were most functions when Babe was the guest of honor). As Babe got ready to leave, Mrs. Adler was effusive in her thanks and told Babe how grateful she was that we would take the time and trouble to appear.
"Oh, shit, lady," he said, "I'd do it for anybody."
Babe's bon mots were usually delivered spontaneously almost innocently. One day he had seen a teammate out with a pretty young lady. The next day Babe saw him in the clubhouse.
"Who was that cunt you were with?" Babe asked.
"For God's sake, Babe!" the man cried. "That was my wife!"
"Oh," said Babe. "I'm sorry. I knew she wasn't no whore."
Ty Cobb
He and the Babe didn't get on so well.
Babe had been married ever since he was twenty but the presence of his wife on a trip was never sufficient reason for him to avoid the company of the pretty lasses. If Mrs. Ruth was along, Babe's usual modus operandi was to appear in the hotel lobby with his lady companion for the evening (often more than one) and simply commandeer the room key of a teammate. The easiest rooms to scrounge were those the rookies, who would then have to fend for alternate accommodations. Being on Babe's team could be trying experience.
It could also be trying for the occupants of the nearby rooms. Babe was a rather loud man under ordinary circumstances, with a big booming voice with a slight hint of a southern accent. But in the throes of physical ecstasy he would let loose with yells, grunts, groans, whoops, and hollers that would literally resound through the whole floor. "He was the noisiest fucker in North America," said a teammate.
The Babe liked to dress in fancy duds but underneath he could be rather casual. The rumor got around that Babe never changed his underwear although the qualification was probably like that of the Captain of the Pinafore. Ty Cobb - during their playing days never a friend of the Babe - heard the story. So whenever the Yankees were playing the Tigers, Ty would spy the Babe and casually ask his teammates, "Say, do you fellows smell something?" Then he'd look up in feigned surprise, "Oh, hello, Babe!", he'd call. Babe's response was usually a string of obscenities. Ty was a master at competitive psychology.
Babe himself didn't always take razzing that well. During one practice, his teammates were making remarks that Babe thought were too pointed. The matter very nearly came to blows, but cooler heads prevailed. Trying to patch things up, Babe later said, "Look, you fellows can call me a prick or a cocksucker, but lay off that personal stuff."
References
Babe: The Legend Comes to Life, Robert Creamer, Simon and Schuster (1974). There is a whole chapter dedicated to the personality and anecdotes of the Babe. For some the author clearly had first hand information. But it's equally clear that some of Babe's friends were often reluctant to be cited by name as the source for certain stories.