One of the true thrills of doing my book, Babe Ruth’s Called Shot: The Myth and Mystery of Baseball’s Greatest Home Run, was getting a chance to talk to his daughter, Julia Stevens.

At 97, she remains sharp and proud to be a living connection to her father’s legacy. Earlier this week, Julia attended ceremonies marking Babe Ruth’s Centennial in St. Petersburg at Al Lang Field, where he played in spring training. This year marks the 100th anniversary of Ruth’s pro debut in 1914. Julia is shown here with St. Petersburg historian Will Michaels (Photo courtesy of Mollie Schrieber).

The event was organized by Tim Reid, who heads the Committee to Commemorate Babe Ruth. This gives me the opportunity to credit Reid for his work on a great site, BabeRuth1932. Reid conceived the site with research from Ruth historian, Bill Jenkinson. It was a valuable resource in writing my book. Can’t thank Tim and Bill enough.

As for Julia, she wasn’t at the actual Called Shot game in Chicago in 1932. However, she never had a doubt that “Daddy” indeed pointed and called his shot.

An excerpt from my book, available at Amazon and bookstores everywhere:

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It is nearly 100 years since a young kid named George Ruth played his first professional game for the Baltimore Orioles, and the woman on the other end of the phone is referring to him as “Daddy.” The notion almost is mind-boggling. It doesn’t seem possible that Ruth’s daughter still is alive in 2013, but thanks to the gift of longevity, Julia Ruth Stevens, 96 years young on this day, is being asked to share her memories of her father one more time.

I tell Julia Ruth Stevens that it is a thrill to be speaking to her.

“It’s a thrill to me that I’m still here,” Julia said, not missing a beat. “It’s a thrill to me every time I wake up in the morning.”

If Charlie Root’s family believed the Called Shot was a myth, where do you think Ruth’s family falls in the debate? While Ruth himself was all over the place with his comments about what happened on that day, there’s no doubt about it in the eyes of his daughter, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He definitely called his shot.

Julia has spent a good portion of her life talking about “Daddy” and his many deeds on the baseball field. She is the daughter of Ruth’s second wife, Claire. After their marriage in 1929, Ruth formally adopted Julia. They had a warm, close relationship. You still can hear the affection in her voice for a man who died in 1948.

“People always say, ‘It’s such an honor to meet you,'” Julia said. “I know they are saying that because I am Babe Ruth’s daughter and that’s the closest they’ll ever get to Daddy. I just enjoy meeting people, and a lot of them have stories about Daddy. And I love to hear them.”

I say to Julia, There aren’t many people still alive who can recall witnessing Babe Ruth hit home runs. What was it like?

“It was always a thrill,” Julia said. “I didn’t go to all of the games, but I went to a lot with my mother. I wanted him to hit a home run every time. Everyone would start cheering when he came up. If he hit a home run, it was beautiful to see. He’d trot around the bases. Then when he got to home plate, he’d lift his cap to the crowd.

“I used to say, ‘Hit the apple in the eye, you’ll see how high it will fly.'”

Julia, though, wasn’t in Wrigley Field to see her father hit his massive homer during the fifth inning of Game 3. However, she has seen footage and read countless stories about that memorable day.  More importantly, she heard direct testimony from a couple key witnesses at the game: Her mother and Francis Cardinal Spellman, the long-time Archbishop of New York.

“Daddy certainly did point,” Julia said. “He always seemed to rise to the occasion. He just wanted to beat the Cubs. If he had missed, he’d have been very, very disappointed, I can tell you. “Cardinal Spellman just happened to be at the game. He said there’s no question that he pointed. I’ll take his word and my mother’s.”

After writing 32 books, there isn’t much John Feinstein hasn’t done on the publishing front. But he got a first the other day: A review from a current MLB player.

Oakland A’s outfielder Sam Fuld critiqued Feinstein’s latest, Where Nobody Knows Your Name, for the Wall Street Journal. The book chronicles the difficult, frustrating and even heartbreaking life for several players, managers and even an umpire at Triple A in 2012. Veterans like Scott Podsednik and Brett Tomko are just trying to hang on, while others still are seeking to take that ultimate step to the big leagues.

Fuld actually is in Feinstein’s book. Feinstein talked to the outfielder while he was on rehab assignment.

Just imagine if Bob Knight was asked to write a review of Feinstein’s first book, Season on the Brink. Now that would have been some good reading.

Coming soon, I will have a Q/A with Feinstein. But first, here is Fuld’s assessment.

Fuld writes:

In the summer of 2012, I was in Durham, N.C., playing for the Durham Bulls, the AAA minor league affiliate of the Tampa Bay Rays (and the focal point of everyone’s favorite minor-league baseball movie, “Bull Durham”). I was there only to rehab after having wrist surgery, and I knew I’d be called up to the major leagues as soon as I was ready.

So when I was asked by the sportswriter John Feinstein to interview for a book on minor-league baseball, I initially balked. I was insulted. Didn’t he know that I had spent all of the previous year in the big leagues? But I soon floated back down to earth and agreed. I was only two years removed from playing nearly an entire season in AAA. I had spent parts of seven seasons overall toiling in the “bush leagues.” And I knew that in all likelihood I’d someday be a minor leaguer once again.

Later Fuld writes:

I breezed through the 350-page book as fast as a father of three little kids possibly could. Part of it was the name recognition and learning about guys I’d only known from across the dugout. But more than that, I was propelled by the emotions and memories that Mr. Feinstein’s vivid portraits stirred up. The stories of big-league call-ups took me back to Zebulon, N.C., in 2007. We had just finished our last regular season game, and I stood in the shower, celebratory beer in hand, when my trainer beckoned me. “Now?” I asked, confused. “Yes,” he said with his eyes. I stepped outside the shed/clubhouse and took my trainer’s cellphone. With a towel around my waist and shampoo lather in my hair, I listened to my manager say that I’d be playing in Wrigley Field the next day. A teammate stripped my towel away, leaving me naked in front of a few autograph seekers. It could have been a few thousand, and I wouldn’t have cared: I was going to the show.

Fuld concludes:

Within the scope of AAA baseball, Mr. Feinstein does a decent job of painting accurate, compelling stories, though they come with a few flaws. He claims Mr. Tomko “fractured the biceps muscle in his shoulder,” which sounds painful and almost impossible. He places the AAA Cubs in Iowa City, where there is no team, rather than Des Moines. And the Sabermetrician in me couldn’t help but note every time Mr. Feinstein referenced primitive metrics like RBIs and win-loss record.

But his book offers plenty of poignant moments and sound information. Last year marked the 25th anniversary of “Bull Durham,” and I’m pretty sure a lot of people still think that’s how things go in the minors. Mr. Feinstein clears the perspective on the realities of minor-league life so that the reader can move on from Nuke LaLoosh imagery. And for the average baseball fan, this is no minor accomplishment.