Beyond Obession

Last year’s world series rewarded cubs fans for decades of undying devotion. But one fateful night in 1949, young star Eddie Waitkus found out what could happen when that passion got too intense. The moment altered a career, inspired Hollywood and fed belief in a franchise curse.

- Rich Cohen

EDDIE WAITKUS, a tall, slender 29-year-old first baseman, had played well that afternoon—June 14, 1949—reaching base twice in his second trip back to Wrigley Field since the Cubs traded him to the Phillies. He’d finished a couple post game cocktails in the lobby of Chicago’s Edgewater Beach Hotel when a bellboy told him a message was waiting at the desk. It was written on hotel stationery:

Mr. Waitkus—

It’s extremely important that I see you as soon as possible. We’re not acquainted, but I have something of importance to speak to you about. I think it would be to your advantage to let me explain it to you.

As I’m leaving the hotel the day after tomorrow, I’d appreciate it greatly if you could see me as soon as possible.

My name is Ruth Anne Burns, and I’m in room 1297A.

I realize that this is a little out of the ordinary, but as I said, it’s rather important.

Please, come soon. I won’t take up much of your time, I promise.

BURNS . THE name sounded familiar. He asked the receptionist to check the register. Where is she from? Portland Street, East Cambridge, Massachusetts. Eddie’s street, Eddie’s town.

He called from a house phone.

The woman who answered sounded sleepy.

“This is Eddie Waitkus,” he said.

“Come up to my room right away,” she told him. “I have a surprise for you.”

He looked at his watch. Midnight.