Doing Justice to Joe

San Francisco, that cute village in Los Angeles’ far northern suburbs, is up to its hills lately in problems. I’m a little worried. There has always been a soft spot in my heart for San Francisco, although a doctor I’m seeing is trying to have the spot removed.

One pressing issue up there in Sa Fra Land is the impending sale of its 112-year-old newspaper, the Examiner.

I know what it feels like to see an old paper sold, believe me. Mine was recently bought by a company 2,000 miles away, which I hear is making plans to advertise us as the “World’s Second-Greatest Newspaper.”

It sure was a big deal up north when that Examiner deal went down.

“SOLD!” one of San Francisco’s papers announced, in a headline just slightly smaller than it would have run if an Air Force jet carrying 20-megaton nuclear bombs accidentally passed its fail-safe point and dropped a couple on Fresno.

So who bought the Examiner?

Well, whereas that fat paper from Los Angeles was being swallowed whole by an equally corpulent corporation from Chicago, the skinny little daily from San Francisco owned by the Hearsts was being bitten into by the Fangs, a family that owns a paper called the Independent, which comes out three times a week and doesn’t cost a cent.

Just before Hearst could put Ted Fang in the driver’s seat, however, the deal was stalled by a disappointed rival bidder, who has demanded that a court of law have the sale of the Examiner examined.

Let’s hope nothing goes wrong. Because as soon as the Examiner’s sale becomes official, I have an absolutely fabulous idea for it.

I think it should be named after Joe DiMaggio.

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The San Francisco DiMaggio-Examiner. Think of what a great tribute this would be, to one of the greatest San Franciscans of all time.

Take my word for it, Joe DiMaggio would have liked this. To have an entire newspaper named after him . . . well, what a fitting honor. It is the kind of thing truly befitting his stature as a guy who could really hit a baseball.

I don’t know of a man, woman or child in the Bay Area who wouldn’t be proud to read the DiMaggio-Examiner every day. I bet somebody would read it 57 days in a row, breaking the old record of 56.

Joe’s lawyer would be so pleased.

In case you haven’t been following it, there is a Florida fellow named Morris Engelberg, who was both friend and mouthpiece for Joe back when old No. 5 was alive. And a big fuss is going on over Engelberg’s opinion of how San Francisco should tip its cap to the famous Yankee Clipper.

Engelberg represents the estate of the legendary New York Yankee outfielder, who died in 1999. DiMaggio grew up in San Francisco, and there’s a neighborhood playground that the city would love to name after Joe.

But, just like the sale of the newspaper, the naming of this playground is being held up because Engelberg doesn’t think it’s enough.

Engelberg is finicky. He thinks it’s an insult. He thinks a bridge should be named for Joe, or a freeway, or a hospital.

Is that asking too much?

Hey, come on. It’s not as if Engelberg has asked anybody to change the name of the Pacific to the DiMaggio Ocean. It’s not as if he asked that the name of the entire state be changed to DiMaggiofornia. It’s not as if he asked anybody up there to start calling the city San Francisjoe.

A bridge, a highway, an airport, a county--be honest, what’s that, compared to a guy who married Marilyn Monroe and sold Mr. Coffee pots on TV?

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Joe’s younger brother, Dom DiMaggio, who played a little baseball in the big leagues himself, is perfectly happy with the proposal to name a playground after Joe. He says they practiced there together as kids and he believes Joe would be quite appreciative of having it called DiMaggio Park.

Engelberg disagrees.

“Dom doesn’t know his brother,” says Engelberg, who has the interesting theory that blood is actually thinner than water. “Joe died in my arms, not Dom’s arms.”

Oh. I guess you had to be there. I guess if Lou Gehrig’s last words were “I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth,” Joe DiMaggio’s must have been, “I want a bridge, not a playground.”

A couple of days ago, U.S. Rep. James Rogan (R-Glendale) proposed that Pasadena’s post office be named after Mack Robinson, brother of Jackie. A wonderful idea. Mack died on March 12. He was a great Olympic athlete who deserves a great tribute, just as Jackie Robinson should have a bridge named after him in Pasadena, if Pasadena has a bridge.

If I lived in San Francisco, I would want to honor Joe DiMaggio in just as big a way. Bigger. Joe’s too big for a post office.

That’s why I would buy the DiMaggio-Examiner newspaper every morning. If I were Joe’s lawyer, it would be the perfect solution, the one that would please everybody. Where have you gone, Morris Engelberg? A city turns its lonely eyes to you.

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Mike Downey’s column appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Write to him at Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles, CA 90053. E-mail:

mike.downey@latimes.com