Perfect.

Paul Simon:

A month after DiMaggio’s death I was standing in center field with Bernie Williams. It was a few hours before the unveiling of the Yankee Clipper’s monument before 53,000 fans. I asked Williams, the Yankee center fielder, how it felt to view the three-tiered majesty of the Stadium from his vantage point. He replied, “It’s a little like looking at the Grand Canyon.”

Two hours later I heard Bob Sheppard announce my name, and I walked from the old bullpen to center field and began to sing, “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?” but the roar of the crowd was muted in my earpiece and I was far away thinking of my father and that subway ride. After the ceremonies we were invited up to the Steinbrenner suite. I sat at a table with Phil Rizzuto, who introduced me to his wife, Cora. This was becoming a Yankee-dream-come-true afternoon. After an appropriate amount of time, I thought I ought leave, but Rizzuto said: “You can’t leave yet. You didn’t eat any of Steinbrenner’s chicken.” I said I had to pick up my son at a birthday party and, besides, I was a vegetarian. “A vegetarian?” Rizzuto said. “A vegetarian. Holy cow!”