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I have a funny story about what happened during my lunch on a train in Texas with the great Dizzy Dean. I was 10 years old. Dining car tables always, or usually, seated four and there were three of us kids so the parents sat with my twin brothers, who weren't even 4 yet, and I was usually seated with an elderly lady traveling alone. But this night, the waiter brought a tall, older man in Western-cut suit, boots, hat, to sit with me. Everyone stared at him, pointed, etc.
He wore a bolo tie with one of those Western-style tie clips that read "DD." I wore a navy blue wool suit: a middy top with a red and white striped dickey at the vee neck and a pleated skirt, and black and white saddle oxfords; my hair in braids, navy bows on the ends of them. I was studying the menu, although I knew I'd have the usual: a hamburger with mustard, French fried with catsup, maybe salad, maybe slaw. He said hello to me and. . .
Next installment later! (Building suspense you know.) :7
(In case you don't know Dizzy was a famous baseball player, retired from the game when I met him but then a sports broadcaster on radio and tv. His brother, Daffy Dean, was also a ball player, I think, and/or a sportscaster, maybe a manager. I'm not a baseball fan and it was all before my time or when I was a kid. Dizzy and Daffy -- no idea what their real first names were -- were from TyTy, GA.)
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