So it's about noon and I'm in the barbershop on Ocean Avenue working myself into a fury about how just the other day the Yankees got hosed by those goddamn good for nothin' Orioles stiffs, and my pal Eddie's going on about how Whitey's too old and his arm's gone bust and god knows what else and I'm just nodding along "yeah, yeah" till Ralph tells me to quit squirming around and sit back in my chair—which I do, languidly—when none other than Mr. Mickey Mantle walks in and takes a seat with the rest of the guys. Mr. Mickey Mantle, I mean the real goddamn sonofabitch, walks in this shop and nods at Ralph and Ralph nods back like they know each other, which they do, but I'm so stunned I just sit there gawking at him while Ralph snips here and there at my head. Everyone's gone quiet except for Eddie 'cause he's a real dumb sonofabitch and won't shut up about Whitey Ford, and I want suddenly to get up from my chair and pop him. But I don't. I just sit there running my fingers on my seat's smooth plastic, trying to think of something to say. Of course Eddie beats me to it, and turns to Mickey—"Say, aren't you Mickey goddamn Mantle? Well I'll be a monkey's fucking uncle, this is Mickey goddamn Mantle!" And he turns to all the guys as if Mickey needed introducing. Then he asks Mickey if he's in for a haircut, which he obviously is, but Eddie's such a dumb sonofabitch he doesn't realize how stupid he's sounding. "Course he's in for a haircut," says one of the guys, looking at Eddie like he's daft. But Mr. Mantle, being a real gent, takes it in stride and smiles at Eddie, and asks him his name, which he gives as "Fast Eddie"—you know, like Newman in the The Hustler—'cept no one calls him that and one of the guys says so, but Eddie tells him to shut up, ain't nobody asked him, and couldn't he see he was talking here with Mr. Mickey Mantle. Then Eddie starts asking Mickey about himself, and how he was getting along, and what he does on his off days, and if he really shows up to the games still boozed. Mickey was real polite with all his questions, and they had a few laughs over how he'd shown up to the ballpark some days, and some of the guys are telling Mickey about how they'd seen him hit home runs one handed and all that, and start acting real swell with the guy. Then Eddie asks if Mickey'd seen that movie The Graduate, and tells him what he'd like to do with Anne Bancroft, and asks him if he knew the song they played about old Joltin' Joe, which he'd heard and thought was a swell song. "Why don't they sing about you, Mr. Mantle?" Eddie asks, and the rest of the guys start in on him about what a dumb sonofabitch he was and how's Mickey suppose to know why they sang what about whom. But Mickey just sits there real quiet for a second, then says, "'cause I'm not done yet, Eddie"—and a round of loud cheers goes up from the shop. I think Mickey's a real brave man and I want to say something to him, but Ralph's lathering my face for a shave so I don't say anything. I try and relax, but I can't. By now all the other guys are talking to Mickey about the other day at the Stadium, and how he'd hammered a pitch off that kid Jim Palmer, and how awfully slow he'd looked on the bases. "How you feelin', Mickey?" they asked him, and he turned a little dark. "I don't know boys," he said. "I don't know."