But sir, we're making history.....

Hot and sultry best described that summer in Kansas, and as we approached the July 4th Holiday it just got worse.  Most of us were fifteen years old, had our "restricted" drivers licenses, and were full of mischief.....

It wasn't that we were actually looking for ways to get into trouble, it's just that it was so darn tempting at times. 

That year several of the football players had enrolled in summer school under the pretense that we would have to carry a lighter load the following semester.  The real reason, of course, was that our "restricted" licenses provided freedom to drive to and from school.....with an occasional side trip thrown in for good measure.Okay, lets be honest, the side trips far exceeded the letter of the law, but what the heck!

Our class, World History, was taught by the nicest man you could imagine. He had retired from teaching several years earlier, and looking back, I'm sure this was a way to supplement his retirement income. Regardless, we all liked him, and probably took full advantage of his good nature.

We were situated in a room on the ground floor of a non air-conditioned building, and most days it was stifling. Even with the tilt-in windows opened wide there was little or no air flow to help dry the perspiration dripping from our brows, and sticking the shirts to our backs......like I said, stifling hot.  Our teacher, bless his soul, was old school and wore a coat and tie.....everyday.

As we neared the end of the summer session, a day dawned that was semi-cloudy with a nice breeze that felt almost cool. We convinced "Mr. Nice" to let us open the double doors near the back of the room in order to take full advantage of the welcome breeze, and soon the sounds and smells of summer wafted into the room. Perfect!

During the morning break several of us congregated just outside the open doors until we were called back into the room. The three amigos, Randy, Johnny, and I were the last to saunter back inside and take our seats.

Two M-80s, one lit cigarette, and about five minutes, give or take, can really create havoc in a classroom full of unsuspecting kids......who knew?

I sat across the room near the front, Johnny was a couple of rows back, and Randy was seated nearest to the door. As history was being taught, we were about to make some of our own.  Suddenly Randy's head went down and he covered his ears. -- KABOOM -- Holy cow, was it ever loud as the sound reverberated and echoed throughout the room and down the hall.  Then, heavy blue smoke, carried by the nice breeze, began to find its way inside.....uh oh.

Poor "Mr. Nice" was beside himself as he tried to control the chaos.  "Everyone, outside! We need to evacuate the building, right now!"  We did, and after a short discussion about who, what, where, how, and why (when had already been established).....everyone filed back to their seats. 

But wait, where are the three amigos? 

You know, I really don't recall the details.  But then, there's a lot things from my youth that keep reminding me, what did I know?

Searching for solid ground...

It was May 2, 1983 and yours truly fancied himself as an up and coming young executive with a fortune 100 company. Life was good, traveling around the country on the Company dime, and meeting with other young executives who were spending their company's money as freely as me.

Yes, we were all in the employ of "Big Oil", and money was no object as long as we could come to an agreement about developing the next major oil field.

My job at the time was to negotiate multi-million dollar joint ventures with other companies; pretty heady stuff for a young lad from rural Kansas.  But, I had gone to the "right" school, hit the industry at the "right" time, and was told that I had the "right" stuff.....Who was I to argue.

Little did I know that the date, May 2, 1983, would be just the first of many events that were to "shake my world".

Earlier that year our company had been shaken up by a couple of hostile takeover attempts led by the infamous T. Boone Pickens, and like most companies at the time, management elected to pay a huge sum of money to make him "go away". A practice that came to be known as paying "greenmail".....a not so subtle reference to paying blackmail money to have a hostage released.  The trouble with playing the game was that it made a company even more vulnerable to the next takeover.....and so it was with us.

Suddenly, we were no longer in control of our own destiny, and our futures were shaky at best.  Employees began to abandon ship and search for solid ground as our new management asserted its influence. Being the eternal optimist, I stayed on to perform the same job with the new company, and thus, made that fateful trip to California.

I landed at the airport and caught a cab to the hotel where I checked into my ground-level room.  I had no more than sat down on the bed when it was apparent I was no longer in Kansas.  My first thought was that I had activated one of those old coin-operated vibrating beds, then, I saw the lamp swaying back and forth and watched as the mirror rattled on the wall.  What the heck?  Earthquake!  A totally new experience for me.

The little town of Coalinga was the epicenter of a 6.2 earthquake, and I wasn't all that far away. Geez, where I was from tornadoes might blow everything away, but the dad gum earth stayed put!

Like I said, that experience was just the beginning of many challenges for me.  Our new owners began to systematically dismantle their acquisition, and it soon became a very unpleasant place to work. I lasted until 1989 before parting company with "Big Oil" forever.

Last week Miss Elizabeth and I were sitting on the sofa watching television when the house began to rumble and shake.....Hey, I've felt this before, but we're in Kansas where the earth is rock solid....right?  I guess not, as we've experienced another trembler since then.

My only hope is that this earthquake doesn't set off a similar sequence of events that led to the demise of a fine company back in my youth.....I think I'm much too old to start over now, but really, what do I know?

Was the outcome ever in doubt......I think not.

This month is one when many high schools and colleges hold their homecoming celebrations.  It's a chance for alumni to return to their respective schools, spend some time with old friends, relive some old memories, and hopefully, celebrate the event with a victory over a fierce rival on the football field.

Usually the week preceding the game is filled with activities as well. There's the obligatory spirit week contest, pep rally, and usually a homecoming parade.  Of course, the main event occurs at half-time when the Homecoming Queen is crowned, and receives the celebratory kiss from the captain of the football team. Afterward, at least at most high schools, the finale is a big homecoming dance.

At least that's the way I remember it from "back in the day".....

My senior year in high school I was selected as captain of the football team.  Actually, that's not quite true, as for the first time in team history we had tri-captains. I'm not really sure why or how that happened, but it did and the duties were shared among the three of us.....can you see where this is going?

As the Homecoming festivities approached, the voting for the Queen was on every one's mind.  Of course the only candidate I remember from that election ended up being my current bride, Miss Elizabeth, and in my mind the outcome was never in question.

The week before Homecoming, one of our captains incurred a season ending ankle injury...out for the season, but still available to perform the captain's duty of crowning the queen. Not In This Lifetime!

When I heard that the decision had been made to have our injured captain crown the queen, I was shall we say "concerned".  I've always been a pretty easy going guy, and I don't suppose the principal and guidance counselor had ever seen a different side of me before that day. I'm not sure my argument was all that persuasive, but in the end it was agreed that "if" the crown went to Miss Elizabeth, I would do the honors..... 

Again, if my memory serves me correctly, the senior class won the spirit week award, we had a fine pep rally that whipped everyone into a frenzy for the big game, followed by a somewhat haphazard parade around the school. We then played a big game against a team we were supposed to beat, and yes, there was a big homecoming dance.

We lost the game to Fort Scott 14-7, and the dance was a dud.

However, in the fall of 1968, one of the tri-captains crowned the homecoming queen, and life's been a celebration ever since.

I believe it was the right selection......Yes, " I do."

To some they were just problem kids and cast-offs.....

Last night Miss Elizabeth and I were watching the baseball playoffs on television....Okay, okay, let me rephrase that.  Last night we were sitting on the sofa and the television was tuned to the ball game, I was watching and she was working on one of her  needlework projects. Occasionally I would make a comment to the TV, and she would raise her eyes briefly to see what had transpired.

The Cardinals were winning as the hapless Brewers were committing error after error, leading to several unearned runs for the Cards.  The starting pitcher for the Brewers was frustrated by the lack of defensive support, but there was little he could do to correct the ineptitude of his infielders.

I've seen it all before.  Last night just reinforced the notion that it happens at all levels, all the way from little league to the professional championship series.  As I watched thrown balls go awry, batted balls skip under player's gloves, and Zach Grienke's displeasure, it took me back to another game where I witnessed a similar display.

When I was in college I worked a number of part-time jobs to pay the bills.  One of jobs was as an umpire for a youth baseball league in Tulsa. The kids were young, maybe 9-10 years old, and were just learning the fundamentals of the game, including some rules of baseball etiquette.....My job was more than just calling balls and strikes, it sometimes required a firm but gentle hand to keep the kids on track.

My favorite team that year, and yes umpires are allowed to have favorites, was a group of rag tag kids from the Tulsa Boys Home. To some they were just "problem" kids and "cast-offs" whose parents were either unable or unwilling to handle them. My favorite player was a little mop-haired bundle of energy who pitched for that team. I loved that kid....and he responded. We were buddies.

He was a good little pitcher, competitive, animated, and just a little bit bossy toward his team mates, especially in games like the one the Brewers were having last night. One night he had just about had it with everyone, including the umpire behind the plate, and when a call at home went against his team he let out a stream of expletives that had every one's ears burning.

Uh oh!  He knew he had stepped over the line when he saw me taking long strides to the mound. I was glaring at him, and he was not quite sure what to expect. His eyes were wide and his little body was shaking as I arrived to "make the call".  He had disappointed me ,and I could see the remorse in his face.  Tough call for a young umpire.

I waved off his coach as I knelt down to look him square in the eyes. His heart was pounding when I put my arm around his shoulders and asked, "Do you have something you need to tell me?"  He didn't know what to say, so I asked again, "Don't you think you should apologize for what you just did?"

His voice was barely a whisper, "Yes sir, I'm sorry."

"Now, you're going to sit on the bench for the rest of this game, and after the game we're going to meet with your coach and your team mates for you to apologize to them too." 

It was hard for him, but he did it. He stood there and said he was sorry, and I think he really meant it.

I don't know if it was the right thing to do or not, but we never had to have another conversation about his behavior on the field. I'd like to think that maybe it made a difference in his life, but what do I know?

   

 

Mediocrity for everyone.....it's better that way!

"Son, I'm sorry, but you're just too good to play in this league, and if you want to continue to play you're going to have to quit scoring so many touchdowns."  This is a true story that was recently reported in the news across the nation. Where it occurred is not important, but the fact that it happened speaks volumes.

Can you imagine being eleven years old and having the best time of your life playing football, only to have your coach relate that you'll have to quit playing your "A" game if you want to stay on the team?  What a bunch of BS! If there was ever a perfect example of why this country is struggling to maintain its competitive edge, this is it.

Whether in the classroom, recreational sports, class plays, art class, or in the selection of all-star teams, we've removed competition from the equation.  Over the course of the last thirty years or so, someone decided that competition was a bad thing.  It created stress for our children by recognizing winners and losers in everything we do, and that's just unacceptable. Guess what,  even if you don't keep score, the players still know who the winners are.

But, I guess it's been decided that it's best to create a level of mediocrity across the board!

I'm sorry, but I disagree. Having coached sports for many years, and supervising/managing hundreds of people in the work force, I'll attest to the fact that all people are not created equal.  Some are excellent writers, some are excellent musicians, some are great artists, but none of them excel at everything they try to do. That doesn't mean we give them all a blue ribbon or trophy for just trying. The biggest disservice we can do is to mislead someone into thinking they're a better (?) than they really are.

The worst thing we can do is to reward sub-standard performance and to penalize excellence.

Maybe this old man is just way out of step with what is "politically correct", but I've been on both sides of this issue and we are now reaping the benefits of a policy that is just flat wrong. If you don't reward excellence, those who have the ability to excel, don't.  Likewise, if you continue to reward mediocre performance, those who excel at mediocrity continue to believe that it is acceptable.

Surely I'm not the only one who feels this way, but maybe so, 'cause after all, what do I know?

Probably not the nicest thing I ever did....

It was just after dinner time at our house. The time of the evening when my dad would settle comfortably into his easy chair, pick up the latest Mickey Spillane thriller he happened to be reading, and make it known that for a few hours he expected to have a little peace and quiet. The constant squabbling of my younger sister and me, plus dealing with a seventeen year old daughter who pretty much knew everything, made peace and quiet an impossible request.

The time would have been in the early sixties and I was eleven years old.  A time of political unrest, and a time when racial tension was beginning to grip the nation. For the most part our little community, and our little family, was insulated from most of it, although it was apparent from the six o'clock news stories that it was becoming an issue that would eventually affect us all.

But, here in our little home, all was well....

We didn't have a doorbell so  most people who came calling would open the screen door and rap on the flimsy wooden door to get our attention. Bam, bam, bam.....Dad laid down his book and looked around the room to see who would answer the knock at the door. I glanced out the window and knew it was trouble, but my little sister was already opening the door.  "I'm here to talk to Rocky Marciano". It was my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Grundy, and  though my parents didn't, I knew exactly why he was here.

Earlier that day, there had been an "incident" at school, and I was, shall we say, involved. Ronnie and I had been at each other for a few days, nothing major, just an occasional shove or poke when no one was looking. During morning classes I was walking to the front of the room when Ronnie stuck out a foot to trip me. I saw it in time to avoid the obstacle, but took the opportunity to step on his foot.....Probably not the nicest thing I ever did, and the stage was set.

School let out at noon and everyone headed for the door. We barely made it outside before the fists began to fly, but like most grade school fights, there was little damage done before Mr. Grundy pulled us apart. We had had our spat, shook hands and were friends again. No harm, no foul, except Ronnie was black and I was white. Fortunately, no one made a big deal out of it, but my parents had to be informed, and of course that resulted in further punishment at home.

There was nothing racial about our little scuffle.  It was just two boys trying to prove their manhood. Our school was integrated, and all of us played, yelled, tussled, and made-up on a regular basis. Just kids being kids. I still have very good friends from those days, and color doesn't seem to be the discerning factor.

Those years helped shape us into the people we are today and I like to think we all learned a little from, and about, each other. No doubt we had some trying times, but we also created some great memories. Of course my perspective is skewed, as is the perspective of my black friends. It's my belief that different perspectives shouldn't build walls, they should instead, be bridges to understanding....but again, what the heck do I know.

Little Jack or Big Jack....

"Hello"

"May I speak with Jack please?"

"Little Jack or Big Jack?"

This would have been a common telephone conversation, starting when I was about thirteen years old.  Prior to then it was fairly easy to discern when my friends were calling, or when the call was for my dad. But, as young boys' voices began to change, it became more difficult to determine the age of the callers, therefor, the "Little Jack" or "Big Jack" designation became common identifiers. Thank goodness no one in our house came up with the dreaded "Junior" as my identity!

This went on for several years, and in fact, many years later, at my dad's funeral, one of my dear friends commented that "Big Jack couldn't have ordered a better day for us to be here".  It was a beautiful  February day, and my friend's comment was in response to a flock of geese flying over as we gathered at the cemetery.

There is no doubt that this same friend had very fond memories of Big Jack. You see, as we got to be teenagers, acquired cars, and seemed to always be getting ourselves into compromising situations, Big Jack was the "go to" guy.  He was the adult that they could call at any time and find a sympathetic ear and a helping hand.  He was the guy my friends would call knowing he would keep their latest misfortune in strict confidence, especially where their parents were concerned. He understood the adage, boys will be boys!

My mom answered the call at about 2:30am, and I heard her muffled voice as she roused Big Jack. I couldn't hear the conversation, but shortly my dad walked down the hall and said, "Get up, we've got to go rescue Randy".  No ranting or raving, nor any apparent anger at being rousted out of bed in the middle of the night. Actually I sensed a smile crossing his lips as I struggled out of my nice warm bed and into my clothes. Just wait until I get my hands on my so called friend.

A few minutes later we were on our way across town, where Randy had managed to get his brother's corvette stuck on a railroad crossing. Exiting a well known "parking" spot, he had missed the edge of the road and the car was sitting squarely on the tracks with one wheel dropped in a hole. Big Jack surveyed the situation, had a good laugh as he glimpsed Randy's girlfriend in the front seat, and proceeded to pull the car out as we joked about the possibility of an oncoming train. No train appeared and the whole event was soon forgotten.


A year or so later, another friend was driving his father's pride and joy. It was a brand new, mist green, Buick Electra, and Jim had borrowed it for a special date.  You would have thought the story of Randy's exploits would have discouraged others from attempting the same maneuver, but as I mentioned, that event was long forgotten. Jim ended up in the very same predicament.....stuck on the tracks.

I'll never know if Jim was on his way to give Big Jack a call.  As he trudged to the nearest gas station, a light appeared down the tracks.....

As I recall, it made the front page of the local newspaper, "Teens escape unscathed".  Okay, I made up the headline, but I bet Jim remembers it very clearly.  Yes, very clearly indeed, but what do I know.