I've been a jock just about as long as I can remember....at least I was until I got too old to perform anything even remotely close to athletic activity. Since then, I've become more adept at appreciating the feats of the superb athletes on the tube.
There was a time, however, when I was in the fourth grade and a teacher called me aside during recess and said "Jack, you know you're really fast." and suggested that I run in the all city track meet. I did, and won a bright blue ribbon. How cool is this I thought to myself, and a new passion was born. From that time forward I was proud to be known as a "jock".
What started as simply running fast turned into playing football, basketball, track and baseball.....looking back I have to think, how crazy was that? Crazy yes, but great fun.
Last week, I was visiting with an old friend with whom I had shared high school exploits on the football field, and who I have known since the fourth grade. In fact, my dad was our football coach when we first started to play. Larry and I ended up playing on the same football teams from the fourth grade until our freshman year of college.
We were, and still are very close....I was a running back and he was the fullback who cleared the way for my runs. That forges a very special relationship, one of absolute trust and appreciation on my part, and for the fullback, the pride of knowing that without his key block, the touchdown never happens. We had played together so long that he knew exactly when I was going to cut, and I knew exactly when he was going to throw the block. I used to lay my hand on his back, knowing that he would sense it and take care of that inside linebacker who wanted nothing more than to take my head off. He rarely missed the block.
For all of you out there who can't understand why "old jocks" seem to never tire of reliving old games, and never tire of seeing their old teammates, try to think of it in terms of a relationship that has endured the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Once you've given someone your absolute trust, and they have accepted the responsibility, the bond is hard to break.
Being a "jock" teaches a lot about responsibility, trust, teamwork, winning, losing, sportsmanship....and life. Some people look down on the "jocks" of the world, but some of the finest people I know wear that label, and one of them is my old fullback. Many thanks Larry.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
It's more than winning games...
In 1969 I was a freshman in college and playing football for a not so very good team at our local college. Sometimes a coach can put all the pieces together and a team will meld into one that will over-achieve, winning games they shouldn't win and baffling all of the so-called experts. And, while we had our share of small successes, we were most certainly not an over-achieving team!
Our coach was dealing with some "off the field" legal issues that came to light much later, and all of us were aware that for some reason he had lost interest in a team that was struggling. Regardless of our dismal season my teammates were a great bunch of guys, and there was no quitting in any of them. If anything, the adversity helped to unite us both on and off the field.
After a particularly disappointing loss about midway through the season, we had to endure the dreaded film review where every play was dissected and discussed. Run it forward at regular speed, rewind it to look at it again in slo-mo, then pick it apart piece by piece, player by player.....a really thick skin helped to endure the painful process, but typically there was no place to hide.
On this late October evening three of us were gathered outside the building, sitting on a wall and licking our wounds after a scathing review of our inept play, when we heard a scream from across the street. A real scream, from someone in trouble.
Now remember, we were in a small Kansas town at a time when this would have been a very rare occurrence. In fact, I'm not sure I had ever heard a real scream, and it took all of us a couple of seconds to react. We saw someone running away and someone lying on the sidewalk.
Suddenly all of the aches and pains disappeared, the sting of our coaches' sharp words were forgotten, and we became that well-oiled machine that we rarely experienced on the football field. We were off the retaining wall in a flash, making decisions and shouting directions as we ran, "Tommy, you check on her! Bill and I will go get him...."
All we had seen was a young man in a red jacket running down the alley, but there was never any doubt that we would catch him.....We didn't. He was gone. Disappeared somewhere into the dark recesses of the edge of downtown. Lucky for him, for I feel that a lot of pent up frustrations would have found there way to the surface that night.
We finally gave up the chase and trotted back to where our teammate Tommy was still trying to comfort the elderly lady, who was now sitting on the sidewalk, unhurt but minus her purse and her dignity. Other than a few scrapes she was fine, and very thankful for our efforts.
For the first time in a long time we felt good about ourselves.
The local newspaper did a nice article about the football players who came to the rescue of the victim and tried to chase down the culprit.
For a little while, we were more than just teammates on a losing football team, we were a few guys trying to do the right thing. I've forgotten most of the details about that football season, but I still have a warm feeling when I think about helping someone who was in trouble.....I think it showed the true character of the players on that team, but what do I know.
Our coach was dealing with some "off the field" legal issues that came to light much later, and all of us were aware that for some reason he had lost interest in a team that was struggling. Regardless of our dismal season my teammates were a great bunch of guys, and there was no quitting in any of them. If anything, the adversity helped to unite us both on and off the field.
After a particularly disappointing loss about midway through the season, we had to endure the dreaded film review where every play was dissected and discussed. Run it forward at regular speed, rewind it to look at it again in slo-mo, then pick it apart piece by piece, player by player.....a really thick skin helped to endure the painful process, but typically there was no place to hide.
On this late October evening three of us were gathered outside the building, sitting on a wall and licking our wounds after a scathing review of our inept play, when we heard a scream from across the street. A real scream, from someone in trouble.
Now remember, we were in a small Kansas town at a time when this would have been a very rare occurrence. In fact, I'm not sure I had ever heard a real scream, and it took all of us a couple of seconds to react. We saw someone running away and someone lying on the sidewalk.
Suddenly all of the aches and pains disappeared, the sting of our coaches' sharp words were forgotten, and we became that well-oiled machine that we rarely experienced on the football field. We were off the retaining wall in a flash, making decisions and shouting directions as we ran, "Tommy, you check on her! Bill and I will go get him...."
All we had seen was a young man in a red jacket running down the alley, but there was never any doubt that we would catch him.....We didn't. He was gone. Disappeared somewhere into the dark recesses of the edge of downtown. Lucky for him, for I feel that a lot of pent up frustrations would have found there way to the surface that night.
We finally gave up the chase and trotted back to where our teammate Tommy was still trying to comfort the elderly lady, who was now sitting on the sidewalk, unhurt but minus her purse and her dignity. Other than a few scrapes she was fine, and very thankful for our efforts.
For the first time in a long time we felt good about ourselves.
The local newspaper did a nice article about the football players who came to the rescue of the victim and tried to chase down the culprit.
For a little while, we were more than just teammates on a losing football team, we were a few guys trying to do the right thing. I've forgotten most of the details about that football season, but I still have a warm feeling when I think about helping someone who was in trouble.....I think it showed the true character of the players on that team, but what do I know.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Mardi Gras, the rest of the story!
Okay, so maybe I wasn't entirely forthright when writing one of my previous blogs. It has been brought to my attention that I left out some of the more "relevant details" of the infamous Mardi Gras road trip. People who know the entire story, but who shall remain nameless, have threatened to suspend my literary license unless I come clean and inform my readers of "the rest of the story".
Let's pick it up where five very tired and somewhat cranky young men from Kansas are approaching the outskirts of the Big Easy. It's late afternoon, we're all sober, unbathed, unshaven, unfed, and really tired of each others company after fifteen hours in the car. We have very little money except for our ringleader who wisely thought to "borrow" his daddy's credit card.
Someone finally said "Let's find a motel and grab a shower before we hit Bourbon Street". "That sounds like an excellent idea, 'cause the smell in this car is making my hair curl....Hey, there's a Howard Johnson right over there on the left" came directions shouted from the back seat. I'm driving and cut across two lanes of traffic to make the turn.....Oh crap, four lanes of traffic with all the cars going the same way.....except me! Horns blasting, tires screeching, and we make an "emergency exit" into a service station on the right.
We regained our composure and made it to the Howard Johnson where we showered, donned our same old dirty clothes, and headed out to see the sights. By now it's dark outside, and as we've already exhibited, our navigational skills are suspect. But, we made our way down to Bourbon Street....hmmm lots of hot spots to explore. Hey, these folks are serious about being twenty-one to gain entry....what's that all about! Remember, none of us are even remotely close to being the legal age, so all we were able to do was peek through the doors, and that soon lost its appeal.
Despite all of our bravado, we were unnerved by some of the more "unkempt" gents who seemed to appear whenever we turned a corner. Time to give it up and go home.
We had driven about two blocks when a car pulled in front of us and blocked our way, then another blocked us from the back. Once again, "Oh crap". Suddenly, there were blue lights flashing from both cars and we were being ordered out of the car...not gently, I might add. Those same "unkempt" fellows were all over us, "Up against the car! Spread em!" This was a first for me, and it was really scary. Then, they started searching the car....no search warrant needed....probable cause? Not a peep of objection from us.
Suddenly, one of them jumps out of the car and says "Okay, where's the gun?" as he waves a small leather pouch filled with .22 shells. I think this is where we started to cry. "Sir, we don't have a gun, I just keep those shells in the console for when we go target shooting back home." "I don't believe you son, where's the gun?" he growled back. Finally, after much groveling and pleading, the undercover cops began to soften up. After all, who could make this stuff up, and before long we were all joking and laughing about our predicament.
Now, it really is time to get back to the motel for a little sleep before heading home. "We're lost aren't we? Do you know where you're going?" Two hours later, and a few close encounters in the more unsavory parts of New Orleans, we found our way to the good old Howard Johnson motel.
So now you know the rest of the story, or at least most of it. There are still a few odds and ends that will always remain locked away, Especially some of the harrowing experiences on the drive home....too fast, too tired, and too young to know better. By the Grace of God we survived to see another day. I'm still glad we did it, but road trips are for the young at heart....aren't they? Oh well, what the heck do I know anyway.
Let's pick it up where five very tired and somewhat cranky young men from Kansas are approaching the outskirts of the Big Easy. It's late afternoon, we're all sober, unbathed, unshaven, unfed, and really tired of each others company after fifteen hours in the car. We have very little money except for our ringleader who wisely thought to "borrow" his daddy's credit card.
Someone finally said "Let's find a motel and grab a shower before we hit Bourbon Street". "That sounds like an excellent idea, 'cause the smell in this car is making my hair curl....Hey, there's a Howard Johnson right over there on the left" came directions shouted from the back seat. I'm driving and cut across two lanes of traffic to make the turn.....Oh crap, four lanes of traffic with all the cars going the same way.....except me! Horns blasting, tires screeching, and we make an "emergency exit" into a service station on the right.
We regained our composure and made it to the Howard Johnson where we showered, donned our same old dirty clothes, and headed out to see the sights. By now it's dark outside, and as we've already exhibited, our navigational skills are suspect. But, we made our way down to Bourbon Street....hmmm lots of hot spots to explore. Hey, these folks are serious about being twenty-one to gain entry....what's that all about! Remember, none of us are even remotely close to being the legal age, so all we were able to do was peek through the doors, and that soon lost its appeal.
Despite all of our bravado, we were unnerved by some of the more "unkempt" gents who seemed to appear whenever we turned a corner. Time to give it up and go home.
We had driven about two blocks when a car pulled in front of us and blocked our way, then another blocked us from the back. Once again, "Oh crap". Suddenly, there were blue lights flashing from both cars and we were being ordered out of the car...not gently, I might add. Those same "unkempt" fellows were all over us, "Up against the car! Spread em!" This was a first for me, and it was really scary. Then, they started searching the car....no search warrant needed....probable cause? Not a peep of objection from us.
Suddenly, one of them jumps out of the car and says "Okay, where's the gun?" as he waves a small leather pouch filled with .22 shells. I think this is where we started to cry. "Sir, we don't have a gun, I just keep those shells in the console for when we go target shooting back home." "I don't believe you son, where's the gun?" he growled back. Finally, after much groveling and pleading, the undercover cops began to soften up. After all, who could make this stuff up, and before long we were all joking and laughing about our predicament.
Now, it really is time to get back to the motel for a little sleep before heading home. "We're lost aren't we? Do you know where you're going?" Two hours later, and a few close encounters in the more unsavory parts of New Orleans, we found our way to the good old Howard Johnson motel.
So now you know the rest of the story, or at least most of it. There are still a few odds and ends that will always remain locked away, Especially some of the harrowing experiences on the drive home....too fast, too tired, and too young to know better. By the Grace of God we survived to see another day. I'm still glad we did it, but road trips are for the young at heart....aren't they? Oh well, what the heck do I know anyway.
Friday, October 29, 2010
There are simply no words.....
I penned the following piece three years ago after learning of a friend's tragedy. Each autumn, as I watch young people going about their lives, I often think of just how abruptly things can change, and offer a small prayer on behalf of all the Nathans in the world.
We were new to town and didn't really know anyone. A job transfer had taken us from Oklahoma to Kansas City, and we had settled in a small community a few miles south of the metropolis. It was quite an adjustment for all of us, kids trying to find their place in new schools, me trying to move the career forward, and my wife trying to cope with it all.
As with many families, especially ones with two athletic boys, we began to make new friends with those of similar interests......sports. The boys were involved with baseball, football, and basketball, so we had a lot of opportunities to interact with members of our new community. Soon I was involved with the local Athletic Association, and later served on the City Recreation Commission. We enjoyed the community and made many friends.
One of the people I came to know well, and admire for his genteel manner was a neighbor named Ron. He readily accepted us and introduced us into his circle of friends, his church, and made sure we were invited to participate in civic events. He was a gentleman in all respects, and he and his wife Connie became good friends.
I remember sitting behind them in church and chuckling as he tried to control young Nathan, a toddler with way to much energy to sit still for the required church service. We used to laugh together as I gave both of them a hard time. It was just a few years earlier that we had dealt with the same dilemma with our two youngsters, but they were older now, and that time had passed us by. I rather enjoyed the boy's antics, and was perhaps just a wee bit guilty of providing encouragement from time to time.
We moved from Spring Hill several years ago, and Nathan grew into a teenager overnight. I would stop in and visit with Ron on an occasional trip to Kansas City and we maintained a long-distance friendship. We would both ask about the families, and exchanged condolences as we both had parents pass away.
This morning I heard the word about Nathan. It was stunning news, and I still can't quite get my arms around it.
Nathan died last night.....playing in a high school football game.
"Ron, I don't have the wisdom, nor the words, to help you cope with this tragedy. I'm at a loss myself as to how to deal with it. The best I can do is tell you that you and your family are in our hearts and in our prayers. You're a family of extreme faith, and that faith will be your solace as your heart has time to heal. Take care my dear friend."
We were new to town and didn't really know anyone. A job transfer had taken us from Oklahoma to Kansas City, and we had settled in a small community a few miles south of the metropolis. It was quite an adjustment for all of us, kids trying to find their place in new schools, me trying to move the career forward, and my wife trying to cope with it all.
As with many families, especially ones with two athletic boys, we began to make new friends with those of similar interests......sports. The boys were involved with baseball, football, and basketball, so we had a lot of opportunities to interact with members of our new community. Soon I was involved with the local Athletic Association, and later served on the City Recreation Commission. We enjoyed the community and made many friends.
One of the people I came to know well, and admire for his genteel manner was a neighbor named Ron. He readily accepted us and introduced us into his circle of friends, his church, and made sure we were invited to participate in civic events. He was a gentleman in all respects, and he and his wife Connie became good friends.
I remember sitting behind them in church and chuckling as he tried to control young Nathan, a toddler with way to much energy to sit still for the required church service. We used to laugh together as I gave both of them a hard time. It was just a few years earlier that we had dealt with the same dilemma with our two youngsters, but they were older now, and that time had passed us by. I rather enjoyed the boy's antics, and was perhaps just a wee bit guilty of providing encouragement from time to time.
We moved from Spring Hill several years ago, and Nathan grew into a teenager overnight. I would stop in and visit with Ron on an occasional trip to Kansas City and we maintained a long-distance friendship. We would both ask about the families, and exchanged condolences as we both had parents pass away.
This morning I heard the word about Nathan. It was stunning news, and I still can't quite get my arms around it.
Nathan died last night.....playing in a high school football game.
"Ron, I don't have the wisdom, nor the words, to help you cope with this tragedy. I'm at a loss myself as to how to deal with it. The best I can do is tell you that you and your family are in our hearts and in our prayers. You're a family of extreme faith, and that faith will be your solace as your heart has time to heal. Take care my dear friend."
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Where does it end.....
Last week I received one of those letters from my Alma mater. You know, the ones that gently suggest that since you attended this school many years ago you should feel an obligation to send them even more money. I'm sorry, but my old school is doing quite well without my donation, and I guarantee you that I can have a bigger impact on someones well being by donating elsewhere.
Just for fun I went to their website to check on the current cost of attending this prestigious university. I was astounded! The current undergraduate hourly rate is a whopping $1007 per credit hour. For a part-timer, taking 6 hours a semester that's $12,084 per year. Full time tuition is $28,060 per year.....unbelievable. How does the average young person even begin to attend this university without being buried in debt.
I've always been a numbers person, and when I made the decision to attend this school I spent many hours figuring out how to afford the tuition, which at that time was $450 a semester. I was newly married, from a family of modest means, and the only option was to work my way through. I figured that by working full-time summer jobs, and part-time jobs during the school year, I could earn enough money to pay for tuition. That was the plan, and that's what we did.
Tuition increased every year I was there, and was $600 a semester when I graduated....debt free. By working a multitude of jobs paying $2-3 per hour I was able to pay for tuition, while my wife's wages covered our modest living expenses. Today, a young person would have to make $25 per hour working the same schedule just to cover tuition.....a virtual impossibility.
Somewhere along the way we have robbed our young people of the satisfaction of working and paying there own way because of the astronomically increasing cost of a quality education. Where does it end. No one ever seems to question these constant increases, we just assume it's the norm....I think it's time for some accountability, but what do I know.
Just for fun I went to their website to check on the current cost of attending this prestigious university. I was astounded! The current undergraduate hourly rate is a whopping $1007 per credit hour. For a part-timer, taking 6 hours a semester that's $12,084 per year. Full time tuition is $28,060 per year.....unbelievable. How does the average young person even begin to attend this university without being buried in debt.
I've always been a numbers person, and when I made the decision to attend this school I spent many hours figuring out how to afford the tuition, which at that time was $450 a semester. I was newly married, from a family of modest means, and the only option was to work my way through. I figured that by working full-time summer jobs, and part-time jobs during the school year, I could earn enough money to pay for tuition. That was the plan, and that's what we did.
Tuition increased every year I was there, and was $600 a semester when I graduated....debt free. By working a multitude of jobs paying $2-3 per hour I was able to pay for tuition, while my wife's wages covered our modest living expenses. Today, a young person would have to make $25 per hour working the same schedule just to cover tuition.....a virtual impossibility.
Somewhere along the way we have robbed our young people of the satisfaction of working and paying there own way because of the astronomically increasing cost of a quality education. Where does it end. No one ever seems to question these constant increases, we just assume it's the norm....I think it's time for some accountability, but what do I know.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
A horse with no home....
"You know guys, I've just got too many horses. I don't know what I'm going to do, this market being what it is and all, but I know I don't want to keep all of 'em through the winter."
A good friend of mine was lamenting his bad fortune to the group of us who had gathered for our monthly breakfast. We all attended the same high school years ago, and have maintained a relationship that has survived the ups and downs of life. It's not always the same group, but regardless of who's there the conversation is always lively, the laughs many, and the sentiment heartfelt. I rarely miss the opportunity to enjoy their company.
We all sat around the table, sipping our coffee, and agreed that it was indeed a predicament for him. The ones with good sense left it at that, others offering a suggestion or two that might provide him with some relief, while others poked a little fun at him for not having the foresight to avoid the problem in the first place. It seemed to me, however, that surely "we" could find a way to help him out. "Jack, you've got that ranch out there, don't you need a horse?" "No, that's the last thing I need, another animal to take care of." Of course by then the ball was rolling, and to everyone it seemed that the solution was obvious. A horse needed a home and Jack needed a horse!
"Well, it's something I'll have to think about, and of course Miss Elizabeth will have a say in this decision." Breakfast adjourned, we all went home, and I put the whole idea on the shelf, thinking it would go away.....It didn't. One thing led to another and we eventually drove out to see the horse. Now, I know nothing about horses, but this pretty little mare that needed to find a home captured our hearts. The next day she arrived at her new home, and within twenty four hours Lucky Star was "family".
Every morning I take a long walk with our young Lab. She is only 3 months old and is full of mischief and energy. To see her bounding through the tall grass, chasing butterflies and grasshoppers makes me laugh out loud some mornings. Our walk meanders through the woods, down to the pond where she usually takes a dip, and back across the pasture to the house. It lets her run off some of that youthful energy, and it helps me to get my blood circulating and the creaky joints working.
I hadn't really given this daily routine much thought before the acquisition of Lucky, so the first morning after we brought her home I got up early and headed outside. Maddie, the wonder dog was more than ready for a run, and Lucky was standing calmly in the corral despite the ruckus we were making. As I swung the gate open and started for the woods, I noticed she had her head high, ears pricked forward, watching our every move. Oh well, I would take care of her feeding regimen when I returned.
Maddie and I hadn't gone fifty yards when I heard a snort behind us. There she was, falling right in line like it was something she did everyday. I'm sure we created quite a sight to behold, me in the lead, Maddie running here and there, and Lucky tagging happily along in the rear. I would have liked to have had a picture of the spectacle, but perhaps it's better that everyone just conjures up their own image of a great autumn morning walk with a man, his dog, and his horse.
After hearing this story, a friend of mine suggested to me that horses are made for riding. He's right of course, but I rather enjoyed the walk. Proving once again, what do I know?
A good friend of mine was lamenting his bad fortune to the group of us who had gathered for our monthly breakfast. We all attended the same high school years ago, and have maintained a relationship that has survived the ups and downs of life. It's not always the same group, but regardless of who's there the conversation is always lively, the laughs many, and the sentiment heartfelt. I rarely miss the opportunity to enjoy their company.
We all sat around the table, sipping our coffee, and agreed that it was indeed a predicament for him. The ones with good sense left it at that, others offering a suggestion or two that might provide him with some relief, while others poked a little fun at him for not having the foresight to avoid the problem in the first place. It seemed to me, however, that surely "we" could find a way to help him out. "Jack, you've got that ranch out there, don't you need a horse?" "No, that's the last thing I need, another animal to take care of." Of course by then the ball was rolling, and to everyone it seemed that the solution was obvious. A horse needed a home and Jack needed a horse!
"Well, it's something I'll have to think about, and of course Miss Elizabeth will have a say in this decision." Breakfast adjourned, we all went home, and I put the whole idea on the shelf, thinking it would go away.....It didn't. One thing led to another and we eventually drove out to see the horse. Now, I know nothing about horses, but this pretty little mare that needed to find a home captured our hearts. The next day she arrived at her new home, and within twenty four hours Lucky Star was "family".
Every morning I take a long walk with our young Lab. She is only 3 months old and is full of mischief and energy. To see her bounding through the tall grass, chasing butterflies and grasshoppers makes me laugh out loud some mornings. Our walk meanders through the woods, down to the pond where she usually takes a dip, and back across the pasture to the house. It lets her run off some of that youthful energy, and it helps me to get my blood circulating and the creaky joints working.
I hadn't really given this daily routine much thought before the acquisition of Lucky, so the first morning after we brought her home I got up early and headed outside. Maddie, the wonder dog was more than ready for a run, and Lucky was standing calmly in the corral despite the ruckus we were making. As I swung the gate open and started for the woods, I noticed she had her head high, ears pricked forward, watching our every move. Oh well, I would take care of her feeding regimen when I returned.
Maddie and I hadn't gone fifty yards when I heard a snort behind us. There she was, falling right in line like it was something she did everyday. I'm sure we created quite a sight to behold, me in the lead, Maddie running here and there, and Lucky tagging happily along in the rear. I would have liked to have had a picture of the spectacle, but perhaps it's better that everyone just conjures up their own image of a great autumn morning walk with a man, his dog, and his horse.
After hearing this story, a friend of mine suggested to me that horses are made for riding. He's right of course, but I rather enjoyed the walk. Proving once again, what do I know?
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
"You ever been to Mardi Gras"
There's a not so old movie entitled "Road trip" which I've seen advertised from time to time. We don't get out to see many movies, and I can add this one to that long list of unseen cinematic marvels. From the trailer it's not something I would find particularly enticing, and Miss Elizabeth would most certainly disapprove of the content. Ah, but there was a time when the mere mention of a road trip had us ready to, as Steppenwolf would sing, "head out on the highway".
Oh yes, "lookin' for adventure" wherever we might find it. I had a very good friend when I was young. Good looking guy, great smile, and just a little bit on the wild side.
Everyone like me needs a friend like him to help "expand one's horizons". You see, I was always the level-headed one. The one who rarely got into trouble, made good grades, and the one who had convinced the parents of all my friends that I was someone to be trusted.....most of the time.
Payday at the grocery store was Thursday, and the usual ritual was to convert the check to cash, fill the car up with some 35 cent gasoline, and head over to the La Tienda for some enchiladas and beer. Back then, eighteen was the legal age, but seventeen was close enough. A few hours passed, and in pops my very good friend with another of his brilliant ideas..."Hey man, you ever been to Mardi Gras"? Now, we're all small town Kansas boys, and the answer was obvious, but we played along, "No, why"? "cause I think it would be a blast, and what else have we got planned for the weekend"? Good enough for me, and for the three others sitting at the table.
"After Midnight" was blasting on the radio as we hit the road for New Orleans at about that same time. "Does anyone know the way" someone thinks to ask. Stop at a service station, pick up a map, and plat the route...."looks like we can drive to Memphis and turn right"...good enough.
My car was a 1963 Impala SS with a 409 cubic inch engine and a 4 speed transmission....if it had wings it would fly! I'm not sure it didn't fly on occasion that night as we made our way to Memphis, where reality began to soak in. Phone calls to home, no answer at my house, nor anyone elses except for my very good friend's dad...."You're where? Headed where? With who? Let me talk to Jack"! "Yes sir, we're in Memphis, and yes sir we're headed to New Orleans." Then he says, "You got enough money? You need anything? and, Jack, you take care of those boys, you hear!"
Damn, so now I'm going to be held responsible for this lame-brained idea. Well, to make a long story short we drove on down to New Orleans to see the Mardi Gras, which just so happened to be occurring the following week!! Details, details. So, we made a pass down Bourbon Street, checked into the Howard Johnson Motel for some much needed sleep, got up the next morning and drove home.
You might say it was a big waste of time, but then again, you might not. It's become a legendary tale for the five of us, and the stories of the drive can still give me chills. Would I want my kids to do the same thing.....no way, but for all I know they maybe did.
Oh yes, "lookin' for adventure" wherever we might find it. I had a very good friend when I was young. Good looking guy, great smile, and just a little bit on the wild side.
Everyone like me needs a friend like him to help "expand one's horizons". You see, I was always the level-headed one. The one who rarely got into trouble, made good grades, and the one who had convinced the parents of all my friends that I was someone to be trusted.....most of the time.
Payday at the grocery store was Thursday, and the usual ritual was to convert the check to cash, fill the car up with some 35 cent gasoline, and head over to the La Tienda for some enchiladas and beer. Back then, eighteen was the legal age, but seventeen was close enough. A few hours passed, and in pops my very good friend with another of his brilliant ideas..."Hey man, you ever been to Mardi Gras"? Now, we're all small town Kansas boys, and the answer was obvious, but we played along, "No, why"? "cause I think it would be a blast, and what else have we got planned for the weekend"? Good enough for me, and for the three others sitting at the table.
"After Midnight" was blasting on the radio as we hit the road for New Orleans at about that same time. "Does anyone know the way" someone thinks to ask. Stop at a service station, pick up a map, and plat the route...."looks like we can drive to Memphis and turn right"...good enough.
My car was a 1963 Impala SS with a 409 cubic inch engine and a 4 speed transmission....if it had wings it would fly! I'm not sure it didn't fly on occasion that night as we made our way to Memphis, where reality began to soak in. Phone calls to home, no answer at my house, nor anyone elses except for my very good friend's dad...."You're where? Headed where? With who? Let me talk to Jack"! "Yes sir, we're in Memphis, and yes sir we're headed to New Orleans." Then he says, "You got enough money? You need anything? and, Jack, you take care of those boys, you hear!"
Damn, so now I'm going to be held responsible for this lame-brained idea. Well, to make a long story short we drove on down to New Orleans to see the Mardi Gras, which just so happened to be occurring the following week!! Details, details. So, we made a pass down Bourbon Street, checked into the Howard Johnson Motel for some much needed sleep, got up the next morning and drove home.
You might say it was a big waste of time, but then again, you might not. It's become a legendary tale for the five of us, and the stories of the drive can still give me chills. Would I want my kids to do the same thing.....no way, but for all I know they maybe did.
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