Baseball And Grandbaby Are Life!

Hello? Is there anybody in there? Just knock if you can...

2012-01-12T22:46:00.012-06:00

It has been a while.
I haven't really known how to follow the previous post. It seems to me an egregious disrespect to Troy Davis to come back with something of my normal sort-pretty much 3/4 dopey.
Well, time has passed, and life is no less absurd today.
So here goes.
What shall we play with? There are so many options...
*How 'bout that GOP? The Good...ok, nobody there; The Dumb...god help Rick Perry;
and The Evil...one word: NEWT! I would say that I've missed Mr. Regular
Guy/Washington Outsider/Family Values/Tiffany's Account/Former Speaker-Freaking
3rd in line for the Presidency/Got the Trophy Wife on the 3rd try, but I'd be
lying! Then, of course, the Cast of Thousands who haven't a prayer...well I
guess that's all they've got, if only anyone were listening!
*Tebow? Leave the boy alone. But we'll shortly be raising hell about the report
today: 43% of the morons-oh, I mean people-in this country think god is helping
Tebow win. 'Course, that might be the more reasonable explanation, 'cause it
sure ain't happening on Timmy's ability!
*The Church? What's the point? Nobody can make more fun of them than they make of
themselves on a daily basis.
*Maybe I should just mention that Dancing Baby's turned 3, and is still the
absolute joy of life as we know it.
*And only 35 days until Pitchers and Catchers Report!

We're back, baby, and I made a resolution to write on the blog every week!
Which means you'll probably hear from me in August.
We'll see...

Going?

2011-09-21T16:57:00.006-05:00

Troy Davis is going to die in two hours. Davis has been on death row in Georgia for 20 years, convicted of killing a cop. A white cop. Davis is black.
There are a couple of problems here, however. One, there is not now, nor has there ever been, one shred of physical evidence that ties Davis to the murder. And, two, seven of the nine "witnesses" who testified against him have recanted their stories. Want a little more? One of the two witnesses who didn't change stories is held to be the actual shooter by several who testified against Davis. Why'd they lie? It's a textbook case of police misconduct. More than one witness was threatened with lengthy jail terms of their own if they didn't "cooperate" and others were given the chance to identify Davis in ways that any viewer of Law and Order knows to be unconstitutional.
Long story short, Georgia is getting ready to kill another black man, with no more evidence behind them than was held against all those who were lynched a century ago. This, after the Governor of Texas was applauded at the Republican Presidential Debate last week for holding some sort of perverse record for most executions presided over, by all those great Christians who populate the GOP.
I'm sorry, Troy. And I don't see how my life is going to be changed for the better in any way by your death.
But that's not the popular sentiment in our country today.
A lot of people say our country is going to hell in a handbasket.
I say we're already there.

Silence is Golden, or Just Hypocritical?

2011-09-08T15:11:00.003-05:00

As we near the 10th anniversary of the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks, I'm already feeling inundated by the images, memories, retrospectives and so on. One thing, I've noted, is missing: Falwell's and Robertson's alleged theologizing on the causes of the attacks. You may recall, the alleged Reverends saw the whole thing in terms of God's vengeance and/or not-so-benign neglect as retaliation for, depending on which day, accepting our LGBT brothers and sisters as actual citizens, needing to be "brought back to Jesus" or some other such bullshit.
They, and others, shoveled the same manure on New Orleans when Hurricane Katrina and the Corps of Engineers wiped out that wonderful city. Too many boobies for beads, don't you know. And so God recreated Sodom and Gomorrah with water playing the part of fire.
Dad tells the story of going to visit a wonderful lady, Dr. Sarah V. Clement, late in her life. She was a retired Lambuth College professor and member of the church he was serving in Jackson. She'd been his teacher. When he arrived, she had her Bibles, including her Greek New Testament, spread out on her coffee table before her. The television was blaring one of the mid-80's plague of "tele-vangelists" and she had a terribly puzzled countenance. She asked Dad to listen for a minute, and then turned to him, serious as a heart attack, and said that she had been listening, been moved to look up his text for herself in all the translations, and untranslated as well, and had come to the conclusion that TV Preacher Boy had "No familiarity whatsoever" with the text from which he claimed to be working.
That's sort of the way I feel about the "God did that to get you" crowd.
That said, however, I'm wondering why they've been so quiet on the Texas wildfires. I know that raising the question of their silence is kind of like the old "looking a gift horse in the mouth," but I just can't help myself.
If your God is the kind of petty despot that jerks the short leash on you every time he (No, I won't go gender-neutral in this context; such an asshole god would surely be male) gets a burr under the saddle, what would he be saying in burning Texas from pillar to post? Could it have anything to do with the thunderous, revolting ovation that greeted Brian Williams' reference to Gov. Perry's record 234 executions presided over? That number includes minors, mentally disabled, and at least a handful of people now commonly perceived to have been wrongly convicted. Williams' interrupted question was, basically, "Do you sleep well at night after all those people were put to death on your watch?" Perhaps encouraged by the cheering, perhaps being totally amoral, Perry told Williams that he sleeps very well at night, thank you. Rick isn't the kind of fellow, you see, that's going to be bothered by, oh, almost 10 dozen dead people in his wake; he's got a political career to advance.
And Texas burns...why?

Time to Check In

2011-08-08T19:43:00.003-05:00

It's been a long, hot, sad, delightful, terrifying summer already, and we're only about half-way through. I'm still looking for a job. The recession may have been over for more than a year, but as we've all been hearing on the news, nobody's hiring. And those who are seem to think I'm a little old and over-educated/over-experienced for what they have to offer. Oh well, something has to turn up soon, no?
The extra time has afforded a great amount of time with my granddaughter and the Boston Red Sox. Kaly is a phenomenon. She's too young to have a developed sense of humor, and yet she is one of the funniest people I know. She has discovered Blues Clues on tv. Steve is the guy on the show who sees after Blue and moves the show along. "Steve" has become, in our house, what "Bruce" was to Monty Python. I'm Steve, Grandmommie is Steve, MommaMomma is Steve and Kaly is Steve. There was no discussion, no instruction, no explanation. It is simply the kind of absurd humor that we all love. Whether it's genetic or learned, Kaly's got it, and I'm thrilled. She's too young to be polite, and yet she is one of the most gracious and appreciative people I've ever met. Kaly doesn't miss an opportunity to thank basically anyone for basically anything. She knows how to ask for things and almost always does in a way that makes everyone eager to accommodate her. And she is too young to be this smart. The child has never forgotten anything that she has seen or heard. She can discuss the details of our trip to Gulf Shores from May; she can discuss the details of the play she saw at the Orpheum last November; she can discuss the details of our May, 2010, trip to the beach. It has been my absolute good fortune to have this summer with her.
The Red Sox have had a tremendous season, after a lousy start. April saw a 2-10 start, but ever since, they've been on fire. Trailing only the Phillies for best record in baseball, the Sox have crushed the MFYs all season. After last weekend's two out of three at Fenway, the Sox are 10-2 on the season with the Yankees. CC Sabathia may be the leading contender for AL MVP (or maybe not, Josh Beckett?), but he's 0-4 with a 7-plus ERA against the Sox. Title Number 3? A distinct possibility!
On other fronts, the Tea Baggers are totally out of control, but Obama has let them get that way. We are travelling a dangerous road letting these nuts hold the keys to the asylum. Even if she can't pronounce it, you have to marvel at Michele Bachmann's chutzpah in blaming Obama for the S&P downgrade of US credit. I blame him, too, but I wasn't one of the people twisting his arm on the debtceiling deal that led to the downgrade.
I haven't set foot in a church since Fathers' Day, and I have found this summer as peaceful, happy and content a time as I have had in my life in many years. I appreciate this great good fortune, and feel totally confirmed in my decision to get out of that mess. It was lethal, and I'm not ready to go. I am sorry that the function of the church moved my one friend in the conference to the other end of things, geographically, but maybe they'll be back down this was eventually. He has family concerns that makes it a good time to be closer to home, and that's a good thing.
Time to wrap up and, hopefully, watch Tim Wakefield wrap up career win #200. Go get 'em, Wake!

Free at Last, Free at Last...

2011-07-04T00:08:00.007-05:00

It's been a long time coming.
To concerned friends, I am not ill and my health is excellent. A thorough physical in April returned the verdict: healthy as a horse! To rubber-necking non-friends, sorry. This wasn't a negotiated exit of the "or else" variety. I chose to make this change in my life, for my sanity and out of respect for many of my predecessors.
As I turned fifty early this year, enough became enough. On one hand, I got tired of being lied to repeatedly by people I have been required to trust with my family's life. I was told in 1999, 2010 and 2011 that my assignments were being made solely due to "circumstances." On each occasion I was told that the "circumstances" must certainly improve in a year or so, only to get kicked in the teeth again and again. In 2002, I was told that I was being "taught a lesson" because I was newly married and thought it a good idea to live with my wife, who was (and is) caring for her elderly parents in her home. In 2005 I was made specific promises about an assignment with some alleged potential. Those promises were made by the then-District Superintendent, repeated in a meeting with all of the church leadership (who had no intention of growing their church, regardless of the words they spoke), and then broken every day, week, month and year that I was there, with no repercussions whatsoever for those doing the lying. I met every benchmark; they met none, for five years, including their refusal to pay the Discipline's required housing allowance for two and one-half years! As I told the DS every month for 2 1/2years, they were stealing from me, to a total of $18,900! Only when I told him, in January 2008, that I was done and he needed to find someone else to enjoy these folks did he come out and meet with them to straighten out the mess. And that "straightening out" included no discussion of the theft, no discussion of making things right, not even an apology for their continual violation of the Discipline. At the end of the five-year appointment, I was punished for their deception. When told that the only assignment available to me this year would require one more salary cut, this one to the dollar of the minimum salary allowed, and I would have to abandon my family to go and model the family of God in a distant county, well, again, enough was enough. I have responsibility for seven other people. I could not afford to play their sadistic game any longer.
As all this drama was playing out, I also came to a good decision about the way I contribute to my community. I believe in public service. I think that every person has obligations to others. The social contract, whether it is the one that is represented in the terms "Memphians" or "Tennesseeans" or "Americans" or even the one called "Christians" is supposed to be significant, it's supposed to mean something. I have spent my life believing in that concept, and working out of it.
The problem isn't the belief in community. The problem isn't the concept of service. The problem has been the venue.
I have sought to live out this notion through the church. The church has been deeply ingrained in my life and my family's life for generations. And in previous generations and previous decades, the church has been a fit vehicle for contributing to the lives of others.
No longer.
The church, specifically the Memphis Annual Conference of The United Methodist Church, is dead. It is bankrupt, fiscally and morally. It is bereft of leadership. It manifests nothing of Jesus Christ in its organization, behavior or blind acceptance of immoral and incompetent leadership. It is quite simply a corpse that has yet to lie down. And I have wasted enough of my life trying to pump a little air into this corpse.
I have watched as the church has changed from an institution that sought out opportunities and avenues to reach out and into the poorest neighborhoods of Memphis, into one that abandons neighborhoods, and tells the remaining churches that if they don't perform financially, producing for the Annual Conference, that they will be closed too. And how many of those closures do you think have been in the wealthier neighborhoods of Memphis and Shelby County? That's correct: 0. It's hard to explain the strategy when the two worst offenders in failing to pay apportionments have been two of the jewel churches of the Annual Conference.
In the larger society, when a stronger entity forces a weaker entity to pay to be allowed to function, it's called a protection racket. People are arrested and incarcerated. When the church does it, it's called "financial responsibility." Sometime in the last 26 years, the church became about what the bishop could squeeze out of the neighborhoods, rather than the historic Christian approach of what the church could contribute to neighborhoods. I associate with this philosophy no longer. (And I would encourage the larger society to review in detail the practice of allowing churches to operate tax free when the church exists today almost exclusively for the benefit of the members of the church rather than for the benefit of the community. Perhaps a requirement is in order, to document how the church uses its resources to make a difference in Memphis, if Memphis is to forego the property taxes that other social clubs-also existing for their own benefit and entertainment-must pay.)
I am past grieving the depths that the church has fallen into. I have no more tears to shed. I would simply leave one suggestion: change the Book of Discipline to require that any person elected to the episcopacy be immediately assigned to the Annual Conference that nominated and elected them. That stipulation would stop a practice that has plagued the Nashville Area: big conferences deal with their personnel problems by making them bishop, because all too often that is the only way they can get rid of a person who is a problem for that large conference. At least three of the bishops I served under were elected to move them along, including the soon-departing one who has presided over the closure of an incredible pile of churches, lost our 150-plus year old college, seen both of our historic helping agencies at the constant door of bankruptcy, systematically usurped the authority and responsibility of the Board of Ordained Ministry in dealing with personnel issues, and presided over the total destruction of the morale of the Annual Conference, resulting in historically low apportionment payouts throughout his tenure. He told us when he got here that he never went to Annual Conference when he was a pastor, that he doesn't particularly like preachers, that he could "tell what was wrong with a person just by looking at them," and that he had a "special relationship" with God that gives him "special insight." We should have risen up, ala Egypt or Libya, against this megalomaniacal sociopath at that moment. But since he held the power of assignment, everyone in a position to make a difference protected their career instead of doing what was right. What was sown has been reaped.
I am moving on. I am seeking my path toward making a positive contribution to my community. We have significant problems in my hometown, but they are problems that can be addressed and corrected, and I'm eager to play some small part in making a difference.
And, finally, to the church: you haven't led and you won't follow, so just get out of the way. Keep on arguing about the role, or lack thereof, for gays in the church, and all of the other nonsense contrary to the gospel, and the rest of your buildings will be locked up and torn down soon enough.

I Blame Roger Ebert

2011-06-23T23:52:00.005-05:00

Roger Ebert shared this photo as being in need of a caption. His: What, and leave show business?
Of course, such a fabulous photo causes the mind to race. Mine: I know it's only been a week, but is there anything you miss about your former job? Not really...

Anthony's Weiner, Newt's Balls and Sarah's...Uh...Whatever!

2011-06-08T00:19:00.003-05:00

Rep. Anthony Weiner (D-NY) may sit on my side of the aisle in Congress, but he's a fool. All the psychologizing has been offered: he's self-destructive, he's self-hating, he's misogynistic, he's power-mad, he's, he's, he's. Fine. To me, he's an arrogant fool. Go home. Stop plaguing my party. Grow up! But don't expect me to wait around for you to do so. You blew it, pal!
Like Ron White testified out of his own experience, "You can't fix stupid."
As with Newt Gingrich. Newt apparently decided that the statue of limitations had passed on notifying wife #1 of his divorce filing in the midst of her cancer treatment, and wife #2 in the aftermath of an ALS diagnosis. And when asked the inevitable questions, he proclaimed his love and constancy for Mrs. Gingrich #3, apparently still healthy, as proof he's gotten his act together. Then the enormous Tiffany's debt reared its ugly head. Not exactly living up to the Family Values bullshit, Newty! Sit down and shut up, please!
This week has also marked the return of Sarah Palin, and her endlessly arrogant stupidity, to the campaign trail. After the spectacular Paul Revere f-up, available on video all over the internet, she decided on the same Big Lie strategy that Weiner, Gingrich, Arnold, et al, have pursued. She announced that she didn't mess it up! Hey, go for it, pal.
If the people of this country decide to go as stupid as many of those in leadership positions often do, then we really will have the government we deserve!

All Camping, All the Time!

2011-05-23T22:28:00.009-05:00

Wouldn't want to leave you hanging on something as significant as the End of the World. Harold Camping took to the airwaves tonight to explain himself, or God, or something. In laying out why Crapture didn't happen Saturday, Camping made like John Cleese in the classic Argument Clinic sketch: he simply said it DID happen! Only, instead of the spectacular fireworks, blood and gore show that this brand of bitter bigot aches for, God decided to simply use May 21 for a quiet, Dean Wormer-like double-secret Judgement Day. Kind of like the subdued way that the Oscars make their nominations at a breakfast in February before putting on the big, fabulous shindig with blood-red carpets and borrowed jewels in March/April. So, the prophet clued us in tonight that the Big Show is actually going to be October 21.
In a totally related note, the AP reports that "In 2009, the nonprofit Family Radio reported in IRS filings that it received $18.3 million in donations, and had assets of more than $104 million, including $34 million in stocks or other publicly traded securities.
Nice little nest egg for eternity, no? But that's ok, since all those marks who gave it won't be needing their kids' college funds, their retirement savings or home downpayments once God gets done smoting and all. Just one question: how much does an 89 year old guy need to steal to feel secure? You know, for his Golden Years. On Earth.

This Just In: God's Testing You!

2011-05-23T15:59:00.003-05:00

Twice-revealed fraud Harold Camping has notified a desperately waiting world that he will have something to say on tonight's Family Radio International (whatever the hell that is) broadcast. Which will be remarkable, as he hasn't had anything to say yet. According to the Associated Press, Camping's underlings are attributing the non-Rapture to God playing tricks. That's understandable, as God has always been known for practical joking. Just look up the whole "Abraham and Isaac build an altar" joke in Genesis.
"Family Radio's special projects coordinator, Michael Garcia, said he believed the delay was God's way of separating true believers from those willing to doubt what he said were clear biblical warnings. 'Maybe this had to happen for there to be a separation between those who have faith and those who don't," he said. "It's highly possible that our Lord is delaying his coming.'"
Garcia, apparently the person in charge of Rapture-related activities for Family Radio, obviously sees God jerking around the merely semi-rapture prepared whackos. For those without the secret decoder ring to understand these con artists, this means that they still believe there is some money to wring out of the weak-minded, desperate and despondent in the world. Saturday's lack-of-rapture stories included a "mystified" New York retiree who had sunk his entire life savings of $141,000 into Family Radio to "publicize" the Crapture dreamed up by Camping and/or others who should be imprisoned for defrauding the defenseless stupid of the country and perhaps world.
So, to wrap-up and review:
Harold Camping: multiple defrauder
Michael Garcia, et al: accomplices
God: practical joking jerk
Followers of Camping: too gullible for words, probably deserving their losses, and, apparently, headed for round three of bogus rapture predictions after tonight's broadcast.
Good night, and good luck!

Alright, Already; One on the Crapture

2011-05-21T12:47:00.010-05:00

First off, this isn't biblical. It's the invention of those whackjobs who invented fundamentalism in the late 19th/early 20th century.
Second, let's see: it's based on a code found in Harold Camping's tea leaves or poop, I'm not sure which. I used to be pretty good at these cyphers: we'll take what we know:

H A R O L D C A M P I N G A P R O F E C Y

Ok, drop the H 'cause it starts Hitler, and Hitler's bad.
Drop the M 'cause it starts Man and God hates Man, just like the Bible says.
Drop the I 'cause there's no I in team. Or Rapture.
Drop the N 'cause it starts Nazis, and there's Hitler again.
Drop the G 'cause you're headed for the Gates of Hell!
Drop a P 'cause it starts both parts of Pontius Pilate, and you know about him.
Drop an R 'cause of Regis Philbin.
Drop the E 'cause of Elvis, of course; 'nuf said!
Drop a C 'cause the Catholics aren't invited.
And drop the Y 'cause Camping's 89, and wants all Young People off his lawn.
That leaves:

A R O L D C A P A O F

Rearrange those letters, and you get: A LOAD OF CRAP, which is precisely what this whole thing is!

ps. I know how to spell prophecy, but it served my purposes to misspell it, and under fundamentalist rules, it's always ok to do whatever serves your own purposes.

A Dose of Reality, A Pinch of Honesty

2011-05-02T19:43:00.006-05:00

I do not believe in the death penalty. I am not troubled in the least by the splendid performance of our Navy Seals, or the decision by the Commander-in-Chief to send them into action, to excuse Osama bin Laden from the planet. I preach the Bible that says that God wants to save and not condemn. Bin Laden, directly responsible for the deaths of some 3,000 people in the 9/11 attacks and indirectly responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands via his provocation (arguable) for at least two wars, had to go. We are a nation of law that seeks justice. We had no intention of arresting bin Laden and experiencing another trial like that of Saddam Hussein. I believe that everyone deserves a second chance. I cried, applauded, cheered and sang along with those in Washington and New York last night when the President made the announcement of bin Laden's killing. We will not elect a President who cannot convincingly parrot the broad, general tenets of the Christian faith. That President will not be reelected (Jimmy Carter) if he (so far) cannot lay aside that faith in the snap of the fingers. The Vatican announced today that there should be no delight in the death of any person. Too bad they couldn't figure out over the last forever that there should be no delight in or protection for child molesters.
Life is not fair. It too often makes no sense. The rules can protect the incompetent, the criminal, the evil. And an awful lot of the time they do. But this time, things are different. The bastard is dead. I'm delighted.
Life is paradoxical. Faith is often inconvenient, and therefore set aside. I know of no one who is consistent in every instance. Walt Whitman said, "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself."
Such is life.

Bits and Pieces

2011-04-29T00:53:00.006-05:00

Things I hadn't known until now:1. At least as of April 29, the Cardinals' signing of Lance Berkman looks brilliant. I thought he was washed up. He looked washed up last year with the MFYs. He looks like Lance Berkman-plus so far this year (.410, 8 hr, 22 rbi). One for the Cards' GM, whose name I cannot spell.
2. The Hawks are pretty good/the Magic stink. See any of that series? Surprised as I am? Or were we all just confused? One-man basketball teams don't tend to be very good, and the Magic look very much like a one-man team.
3. Preparing for retirement is fun. Almost every day, there is something that I realize I won't have to do in 52 days. Something that I don't like doing, and will be glad to be relieved of.
Things I suspected but wasn't sure of:
1. The Grizzlies are very, very good. I was fortunate enough to be in FedEx Forum for games three and four and am thrilled to see that, while the Spurs aren't the Spurs of five years ago, they are still the slapping, scratching, flopping, whining, cheap shot artists that they have been since the honorable David Robinson retired. And we're up 3-2. And that's after losing a game where the Griz were the better team for 47 minutes and 57.2 seconds. Prediction: the series ends tomorrow night, and it won't be close.
2. The NFL Draft, the "royal" wedding, all "reality" programming and TNA Wrestling are vital to occupy mouthbreathers everywhere.
3. Donald Trump's megalomania truly knows no bounds. Can't chase the birther crap any longer? Well let's just jump straight into the George Wallace campaign of 1968! How did that black fella get into a good school anyway? And how on earth did he write a book? Hey, Don, Lester Maddox, Bull Connor, James Earl Ray, Richard Russell, Strom Thurmond and Wallace are all smiling up at you today!
4. It truly is time to amend the Book of Discipline to require that every newly-elected bishop will be appointed to serve his or her home Annual Conference immediately upon election. That's the only way we'll ever stop this practice of the large Conferences passing on preachers they want to get rid of into the episcopacy. And brother, would that one change have benefitted our Annual Conference!
Things that Boneheads still won't acknowledge:
1. Have you seen the storms this week? Climate Change? Hello? They used to be 500 and 1,000 year floods, now they're just the worst since last week. And 300+ people killed in one round of tornadoes? Really? Mother Nature's back, and she's pissed off!
2. Government budgets are moral documents. Or immoral documents. And all our fine "family values" folk who suddenly got religion on deficits after spending the nation into bankruptcy on GWB's Wars of Proving My Manhood couldn't give a rat's ass less about all of those that Jay-sus described as "the least of these." And they prove it every time Speaker Boner opens his orange mouth.
Awesome things on the horizon:
1. The Levitt Shell's season-opening benefit is May 14. Jimbo Mathus' latest crew, Alvin Youngblood Hart and Todd Snider will perform on what promises to be an utterly fabulous Saturday night!
2. The Shell's Spring Series starts the week following. This is one of the best things about living in Memphis! Whatever kind of music moves you will be offered at some point during the run, and if there is no music that moves you, lie down and gather some dirt over you, as you're already dead!
3. It's only 51 days now!

Ellis Island

2011-04-17T19:49:00.003-05:00

Ellis Island has always been, for me, one of the truly iconic American sites. I had wanted to see it myself for decades. Friday I had the opportunity, by the good and generous graces of my friend, Mike Gilliam. Most of us have seen the black and white pictures of ships, decks crowded with people coming from other places, faces full of hope and expectation as they sail past the idealism of the Statue of Liberty to the reality of Ellis Island. These are the people who chose to come, overwhelmingly from Europe, white, young and wanting something different than what they had known wherever home was. This path is the one of interest to me personally, because I am here and who I am due to people who followed this path. I honor and respect the journey, suffering and struggles of those who did not choose to come, those who came through the west coast, those who were not welcomed like the northern and western Europeans. But my family came from Ireland and Scotland, and if not through Ellis Island (we were here before the years Ellis was in operation), then similarly at some other point of arrival.
What was it like on those ships? What did it take to make the decision to leave home, or send the child or children away from home? Did they find community through shared dreams en route, or did they realize at times that they could be in competition for quota slots with their countrymen and women? What was America to them, that they would take the chance on a new life in another part of the world? As I sat in the room where they were taken for sorting and evaluation I couldn't help thinking about those questions. In its peak years, Ellis Island really did look like Francis Ford Coppola's recreation of it in The Godfather Part II, as he showed the young Vito Andolini arriving and being renamed Corleone by a tired, irritable clerk who mistook his hometown for his last name. Given the tens of millions of people who passed through Ellis Island in those years, it's a miracle any of the information was recorded properly.
There is a door at one end of the hall, with a stairway that is divided into three sections. If you were directed to the first section, you were approved and admitted into America. The second section meant that you were found to be ill, and were being taken into isolation for whatever time your malady required. If you were sent down the third part, you were being rejected and sent home to wherever you had come from. I can't imagine the joy of the first group, the terror of the second and the absolute heartbreak of the third.
There was, in many cases, a harshness to Ellis Island. Mistakes were made, from the names that were botched, to the policies that required pregnant women traveling alone to be rejected, lest their babies be born here as American citizens (sound familiar?), to laws that limited the influx of people into the country to the quota of the total population of this or that census that came from a given country. At times, as few as 150,000 were allowed in in a year's time. The immigration debate has been long and often even uglier than it is today. I walked alongside descendents of Chinese immigrants as I took in the exhibits at Ellis Island, including those that detailed the Chinese Exclusion Acts of the 19th Century. I wondered how they felt about the promise of America while reading those exhibits.
We have failed on many occasions and in multitudes of ways to live up to our documents and ideals. But Ellis Island bears witness to the importance of the idea of America to the whole world, and the desperate desire on the parts of people who came from anywhere and everywhere to be part of that idea, to possess it and live out its blessings.
It was a powerful experience that I was privileged to have on Friday, and it is one that I would encourage everyone to undertake at some point in their lives, as well.

Barry Bonds, With a Side of Roger Clemens

2011-03-29T01:15:00.008-06:00

Right off the bat, I will not refer to Barry Bonds by his common baseball title. Henry Aaron (not Hank Aaron, as The Hammer considers "Hank" a character he has to perform in public, but does not particularly like) was my first hero in sports, the man who carried the burden of approaching and then surpassing Babe Ruth on the Home Run list, and I will not now or ever describe any juicer as Mr. Aaron's better on baseball's greatest list. So...
The Giants' former slugger, Barry Bonds, is on trial in California due to steroids. Not because he used steroids. But because he lied about using them. He has repeatedly insisted, under various oaths and to multiple law enforcement officials in sworn statements, that he never "knowingly" used steroids. I did not use the popular "allegedly lied" because anyone who has seen pictures of Barry Bonds prior to, say, 1997, and after, say, 1998, knows that something happened. In his mid-30's Bonds' head went from being an orange to being a grapefruit. His shoulders went from those of a sprinter to those of an offensive tackle. His arms...well, you get the idea. His best single season home run total also went from 49 to 73. That's a lot. Many ballplayers saw a similar increase in those years.
Most of that many have owned up to what caused their improvement. A lot of them, granted, were outed by the Mitchell Report or the periodic spurts of names from the list of positive testers that set baseball's testing program into motion from 2002. But they've owned up to it. And not one of the people who has admitted what happened, either before Congress, the FBI, local police or other officials has ever been prosecuted for steroid use. Miguel Tejada pled guilty to perjury, with a full elocution of his usage, and had his sentence suspended. That, to my knowledge, leaves the prosecutions of Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds.
Again, neither of them is being prosecuted for using steroids. They are being prosecuted for lying about their use of steroids. It does not matter that Clemens and Bonds seemed to themselves to have been bigger than the game of baseball, no usage pun intended. It does not matter that both men seem to believe themselves bigger than Congress (in Clemens' case) or federal grand juries (in Bonds' case). And, yes, this combination of charges may indeed mean that Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens find their freedom in peril because they are stupid. Nonetheless, as Bruce Pearl can now also bear witness, when you are caught, own up to it. Otherwise, it will cost you, and cost you big.
And it is precisely the nature of that cost that is now at issue. Bonds and Clemens have already cost themselves election to the National Baseball Hall of Fame. The Baseball Writers' Association of America, those who cast the ballots for the Hall, have already made themselves heard on steroid usage, and even whispered allegations of steroid usage. Look at Mark McGwire's vote totals, or Rafael Palmeiro's, or even Jeff Bagwell's this year. If you used, or are believed to have used, you aren't getting in, period. Bonds and Clemens don't have a prayer of being elected.
Any day now would be a good time for these two fellows to wake up, own up to their actions, beg the mercy of public opinion and the courts, and pray fervently that they get to live out their natural lives outside the bounds of a federal penitentiary.
Or, they can just keep going as they are, as arrogant and foolish as they have lived for pretty much their entire adult lives. And kiss their freedom goodbye for a few years, and what's left of their names goodbye forever.

Madagascar Live!

2011-03-27T19:46:00.003-06:00

Dancing Baby's second foray into the theatre was Friday night at the opening performance of the utterly delightful stage version of Madagascar. The show basically follows the movie, with, of course, more music and silliness. These characters have been pretty significant for DB, as her first portable high chair's lion has always been Alex, and every zebra anywhere has always been Marty, and the species is, collectively, identified as Martys, at least in our house. And we usually ride Marty at the Wolfchase Mall Merry-Go-Round, too.
We had great, unobstructed seats in the Orpheum's balcony, which is vastly preferable for a petite two-year-old. Sitting in the only slightly inclined main floor's seating just doesn't get it, when taller people are all about. She fixed on the curtain immediately upon our arrival, and when the announcer declared that the Central Park Zoo would open in ten minutes, she started winding up. From curtain-up it was hysteria. She recognized the characters, made sure the requisite adults in tow did, too, and never looked away from the stage. For all 40 minutes of Act I. She danced and laughed and was just generally delighted with the whole thing. When Intermission arrived, she almost started to cry, wanting them to "Go Again!" After our best explanation, she took a bit of comfort, and waited for Act II, refusing to leave our seats for any reason whatsoever.
She clapped and cheered when the curtain went back up. And she started asking for "Moving Moving." If you've seen the credits of the movie, you understand. Her song came up at the end, and it was time to boogie. DB was begging, "Do it again!" before the show was even over. All the way out of the Orpheum and the two blocks to the car, she kept asking if we could "See it again?" If she hadn't been going to visit another grandparent for the weekend, we just might have done that.
It was a cute show, smart enough for us old people to be entertained. But the real show for me was watching my little bundle of curls transfixed for an hour and a half, transported into a world outside her everyday experience. No, it wasn't The Iceman Cometh, but DB is already learning the power and fun of the theatre, and if we can facilitate her enjoyment of it, we'll have done a good thing.

An Ideal Sunday Afternoon

2011-03-21T00:04:00.010-06:00

It's been a pretty intense week, with a pretty heavy decision made (previous post) and plans for the future laid. That all just served to make it that much more enjoyable to spend part of the early evening at the Midtown Huey's. Grandmommie and I took Dancing Baby; MommaMomma and Auntie Em arrived shortly after. My old pal DiAnne Price was performing with 2/3 of her Boyfriends. We missed Jim Spake, but nobody's ever mistreated getting to hear DiAnne, Tim Goodwin and Tom Lonardo. DiAnne is Memphis music. She is at home in the Blues, Jazz, Standards, Rock 'n' Roll, and any other genre you can come up with. She can hammer out the barrelhouse, sing with the smoky authenticity of late nights and bad circumstances, turn on a dime, and bring more life to I'll Fly Away than I've ever heard in any church of any denomination. My girls have been listening to DiAnne and the Boyfriends play since Auntie Em was Dancing Baby's age, so I'm now indebted to her to the fourth generation (as my parents are fans, too!)
I don't know what to make of people who don't take music as a part of their lives. Such an absence betrays an emptiness of soul that I cannot account for. I can't begin to explain what relief I have found in seeing my granddaughter, since she was about six months old, literally moved by music. DiAnne was the first person DB heard play live, and she was wiggling and cooing from the first notes. Now, we've graduated to a need to stand on the floor, on her own two feet, to shake a tailfeather. My mother always conquered her low times at the keyboard of her piano. My daughters do the same. Saturday night, at our monthly family gathering, Miss 2-years-old handed out the instruments (woodblocks, cymbals, cow bells, triangle, etc.) as the whole family concentrated on her and followed her lead in Family Band Practice. She sang Itsy Bitsy Spider at the top of her lungs, as eleven or twelve hand-held percussion pieces thundered around her. Pretty much the way it should be.
I hope she will always find solace, diversion, direction, hope, joy and so much more through music. As I have come, this spring, to the realization that the work in which I have spent my life has no more use for me, it has been music that has comforted and mended my soul, something that the church doesn't seem interested in doing any more. But then again, there has always been more authenticity for me in the ministry of a musician performing for wandering souls than in the often absurdly rigid dictates of a faith that carries less and less relevance for humanity every year, with our endless, petty arguments over what kind of sinners God is willing to love and use, and our endless paperwork that reports on fewer and fewer people every time the reports are filed. Case in point: I preached to 12 people this morning. DiAnne played to a crowd of over 200 this evening. I'm glad she's doing the Lord's work.
And, fine, I'm sure those numbers are totally related to my incompetence.
But I know the truth. And so do you. And so does God.

March 15, 2011

2011-03-15T12:49:00.004-06:00

Dear Judy,
I retire, effective June 30, 2011.
I'm confident that the District Office will forward this note to anyone else who needs to see it.
Joe

Dancing Baby Roundup

2011-01-24T12:14:00.003-06:00

I haven't reported recently on the doings of our Dancing Baby, so, time to catch up.
We were out running errands one night. DB had a new book, brought it with her, and wanted it read. Only problem: Auntie Em was her seatmate, and Auntie Em has motion issues. Auntie Em tried to explain, "We can't read it right now." Dancing Baby responded, "Well we can look at it, can't we?" In just the intonation that sentence needs!
On another day at the bookstore, Granddaddy and DB were shopping. We found a couple of good candidates, and I asked, "Do you want the Dora book, or the fish book?" DB doesn't miss a trick, answering, "Yes!"
Grandmommie always checks the sale racks at Barnes and Noble, and one day she found a three or four dollar dvd that featured animations of several Scholastic Books titles, including the old animation of Where the Wild Things Are. DB immediately fell in love with it. If dvds can be played out, we're probably getting close. The constant request: "See the Wild Chings (adorable sic)"
Dancing Baby has, courtesy of the Pink Palace's entry-way sign, developed an interest in the planets. As we went into the Palace one day, she identified Jupiter and Saturn by their obvious features. One of their workers, duly impressed, said that he hadn't seen that small a child able to identify two planets. Which left Granddaddy in a mood to show off. So I asked DB, "Which planet is little and close to the Sun?" "Mercury." "Which one has ice?" "Mars." Which one is ours?" "Earth" "Which one is like Mars, but no ice?" "Venus" "Which one is far away and cold and blue?" "Neptune." The fellow was stunned. We are expecting calls from MIT any day now.
The Palace incident was kind of like the day at the Zoo when a guy was standing in front of the elephant exhibit with his five or six year old little girl. He asked her, "How many elephants." She looked, pointed, and answered, "Two." "Look again," her Dad instructed. "Two," she insisted. About ten feet down the rail, the devil got hold of me (thanks, Flip Wilson!) I asked DB, "How many elephants?" The then-not yet two year old looked up, said "Three" and turned to go see the Martys (that would be the Zebras for those who do not know the cinematic classic, Madagascar), proud Granddaddy smirking quietly.
We like to go to Wolfchase Galleria to ride the Merry-Go-Round. On that back entrance to the Mall, there is an interpretation of a giant horse, announcing the location of the ride. As we approached the doors last week, DB looked up at the neon-lit figure, and breathlessly gushed, "Granddaddy, it's the most beautiful thing in the world." I didn't say it, but I sure thought it: No, sweetheart. It's not even close!

50

2011-01-14T23:38:00.006-06:00

There is a story that has been told in my family as long as I can remember. As a small boy, I was riding in the car with my grandfather. I asked him how old he was. He answered, "50." (He was certainly older than that at the time, as he was 52 when I was born.) "Granddaddy! You're old enough to die!" was the kid's response.
In fewer than 20 minutes, I will join the list of those, from my little-boy-opinion, old enough to die.
50.
I never thought I'd be this old. And I'm having trouble caring.
I find the non-caring interesting. I think that 50 is a symbol to a lot of people. I am in the business of interpreting symbols. It just seems like it should be a big deal. I should be let in on the secrets of life. That whole wisdom thing should just boil up from...somewhere.
Something! Anything? Nothing.
I don't feel any different. I don't know any more. I certainly hope I don't know any less, at least not yet. It's sort of like becoming a grandfather. Maybe there's just a bit more enjoying of the moment, at home, anyway. Perhaps in a different circumstance there would be a little more "be here now" rather than the constant "where will I be shortly." That one really doesn't apply to my life at the moment. (Where I'll be shortly is probably the largest single issue in my life at the moment.)
Most of the change comes from the outside.
When in Washington last spring, I let my utter joy at visiting the Jefferson Memorial get the best of me, and in my rush to get to old Tom's statue, I threw a shoe and took a header. Right in front of about a dozen teachers with their thousands of eighth graders. So a couple of the 30-ish teachers come rushing over with their heartfelt, "Sir, are you alright? Can we do anything for you? Is there anyone we can call?" I was so grateful that my wonderful friend, Mike Gilliam, had stayed with the car so that I could endure my humiliation and remarkably skinned legs in anonymity. You haven't lived until you've stood in the Jefferson Memorial with blood streaming down both your legs! People just kind of back away...
I used to go over to poor unfortunates like me, with those solicitous words that I found so unpleasant when they were spoken to me.
Bishop Roy Clark came back to preach at Annual Conference some years after his retirement. Dad had served as his Associate Pastor at St. John's, and the old friends made a date for lunch one day of the session. I got to tag along. Early in the visit, Dad asked the Bishop how things were with him since retiring. Bishop Clark told a story about becoming distracted while stopped at a red light, missing the light's turning to green, and getting honked at and waved at in those special ways that people do when they've been delayed for 10 seconds in traffic. He said that none of that really mattered. What got him riled up was the fellow who rolled down his window and hollered at him, "Get out of the way, old man!" Oh, those last two words! The scary ones. The ones nobody ever wanted to hear.
Maybe the deal with 50 is that "old man" suddenly doesn't seem impossible any more. In fact, "old man" seems pretty likely. Unless...well, you know.
Because that's another thing about 50-something: we may say "too soon" when it happens, but a death in one's 50's? Just not the same as in the 30's or 40's. We're told all kinds of things by today's actuarial tables, that if you make this age, then you can expect to make it to that age...and then comes 50. Not old. But no longer young. And young is farther away than old is. Brutal reality: no man in my family bloodline (at least four generations) has celebrated an 81st birthday. That's sobering for multiple reasons.
Just to be clear, I like being this age, reaching this point of life. (None of this seems morbid to me, just a little bit of honesty and reality) I like being Granddaddy. No, I LOVE being Granddaddy! There is no sweeter sound on this earth than my Dancing Baby laughing at my approximation of the Wild Thing's growl and responding with her laughing "Granddaddy!" It is amazing watching my daughters as grown women. Sara is a good mother, putting all that she's learned from Nana, her psycho aunts, and, for the last nine years, Shannon, to good use caring for her child (who is so much like MommaMomma that I sometimes get transported in time, back about 22 or 23 years!). To her credit, she's also learned a lot about what to discard in mothering. Emmy is getting ready to teach. She adores children more than anyone I know, alongside my mother, and will be the teacher that every parent wants for their child when she gets finished at the U of M and into the schools. The only frustration with my girls is that I know my time with them in our home will run out at some point. Totally selfishly, I'd keep them here with me forever. But that's my wants rather than their needs. At least that's what the therapist says.
I also like being married at 50. Sure, we drive each other crazy at times, but that just goes with the territory. It's fun having a playmate. It's fun not having to worry about what she's going to think when I'm being me. It's great fun grandparenting in tandem. She's awesome with our granddaughter. And our daughters.
If you know me, you're not surprised that this is mostly about family. Family is big with us. We take it very, very seriously. It's why we know who we are.
When it comes to work, I will currently invoke the Thumper Rule. (If you don't remember, watch Bambi) But check back with me in five or six months, and we'll see what's what.
I'm 50 now. Nothing's fallen off. Nothing's dawned. Life goes on. James Albert, I apologize for my ignorance all those years ago. Maybe you told me that being
50 wasn't bad. I'm pretty sure that you thought it, even if you knew I wouldn't understand. If, after 50, I can mean half to my grandkid(s), of what you mean to us, still, then I'll have accomplished something.
50, but there's a long way to go...

Thank You, Santa Theo!

2010-12-08T23:28:00.006-06:00

One Possible Batting Order for the 2011 World Champion Boston Red Sox:

1. Carl Crawford, LF

2. Dustin Pedroia, 2B

3. Adrian Gonzalez, 1B

4. Kevin Youkilis, 3B

5. David Ortiz, DH

6. JD Drew, RF

7. Jarrod Saltalamacchia, C

8. Marco Scutaro, SS

9. Jacoby Ellsbury, CF

Theo Epstein has a remarkably youthful appearance, but he sure looks like Santa Claus tonight!

30

2010-12-08T01:44:00.004-06:00

Thirty years ago tonight, Howard Cosell told us during a Monday Night Football telecast that John Lennon had been shot and killed. His murder is every bit as nonsensical today as it was then.

Life Is Good! (At Least This Part!)

2010-12-07T23:46:00.004-06:00

It was a Monday, so I picked Kaly up from Mothers’ Day Out. As we walked to the car, I asked her what she wanted to do for the afternoon. “I want to see the forest,” was the immediate response. Not unexpected, as we go to the Pink Palace frequently on Mondays, and with the Enchanted Forest open now, well…Off we went. She got excited when she saw the fence along Central, and by the time I got her out of the car seat, she was wired. I had trouble keeping up with her crossing the parking lot and getting to the doors. I had to tell her to slow down, as she went toward the escalator when I approached the ticket counter. When she stopped, she looked at the mobile of the solar system in the lobby. “Jupiter!” she screamed out when she saw the big boy. “Saturn’s rings!” followed as she spotted the next one. “Spot! Rings!” and by now, everyone including the ticket selling kids were staring at this tiny little girl who seems to know way, way too much about her universe.
We escaped around the corner and checked out the penguins prior to her calling out for the escalator to the second floor, and the Christmas Tree garden. When we got to the door of the Forest, I went into my pocket for the tickets to show to the attendant. Kaly went for Frosty. I had to run to catch her. I didn’t want her to turn the corner, out of my sight, for some reason. She was so wound up that she was making monkey sounds. We’ve been through the Forest at least nine times (usually two rounds per visit; we’d made three once), but this time brought out her internal monkey. “Granddaddy, the mouses! Ooo, Ooo, Ooo! Penguins! Ooo, Ooo, Ooo! Fox! Ooo, Ooo, Ooo!” This was the pattern through the first half, all the way to the Marty Bear. She avoided the elves again. She went right to the big, floppy reindeer, as soon as the family ahead of us finished their pictures. She marched right up, looked up to me, and asked, “Can I pat him?” “Yes.” “Can I hug him?” “OK.” She added a kiss for good measure.
We wandered over to the train display, with one eye on the bridge penguins. I haven’t ever known her to watch Thomas the Tank Engine on television, but she loves him at the Forest. We checked out the entrance to his tunnel, and the exit and watched him go in and come out for about 20 minutes. She actually tried to follow him through the mountain and time his emergence. She’ll be two in January. After the trains comes the Big Guy himself. Fortunately, there was a family with a baby and a little girl about Kaly’s size visiting with Santa. Fortunate for Kaly, that is, as Granddaddy simply walked along the back rope and tried to catch Santa’s eye to wave (unsuccessfully).
We started the second loop much like the first, Granddaddy struggling to catch up with an excited little monkey. We followed the path until skipping from Marty Bear to the Beaver camp. We wound around, and this time, Santa was alone, talking only with the photographer. He spotted her this time, stood up, and walked over from his house to the velvet rope. As he made his way over, she buried her head in my shoulder. Santa, a very, very skilled man, recognized the situation and made his allowances. He actually got her to give him a high five! He leaned in, and said “I bet you’d like a baby doll for Christmas. A little pink baby doll, with diapers and a stroller.” Kaly’s eyes grew into saucers! “How did you know that?” was all over her face. He told her that he wanted to give her a candy cane, but that children have to stand on a magic spot to get the candy. She let me carry her over, into Santa’s house. She agreed to be put down on the spot. He handed her the little, cellophane-wrapped candy cane, and held his hand out, envisioning another successful enticement into a package of photographs, $20 for a 5X7 and four wallets, but his dreams were just torched! “NO!” My granddaughter never has any difficulty making herself understood. “Sit with Santa just for a moment?” he asked, plaintively. “NO!” the little bundle of fury and curls declared! “Granddaddy!” she demanded, with her arms reaching up, her voice sounding like the most demanding woman in Manhattan hailing a cab. And with that, her conveyance whisked her away from the large man in the very red suit, a successful escape effected flawlessly.
As we left, I told her that we are going back on Thursday, with MommaMomma. She nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think you might sit with Santa for a picture with Momma?” Granddaddy asked with a fair amount of trepidation. “OK,” she lied, to let Granddaddy live a little longer with his delusions.
We got home just a few minutes before Grandmommie, and then MommaMomma. We spent our “us” time turning on all the Christmas, which must be done anytime the family comes home and enters the den. Don’t sit down without hitting the trees, the banners, the things that require cords, because you’re just going to be getting up.
The “time to go scramble” cranked up as soon as Grandmommie and MommaMomma got home. There is so much to do: change the diaper, change the shirt, change the shoes, get a cup for her milk, check the diaper bag for the appropriate contents, assemble the blankets, mittens, hats and layers, and then head for the car to discover what mandatory equipment we have left inside the house. Kaly always helps Granddaddy drive up to the first curve on our street. It used to just be the end of the driveway, but she mastered that space so quickly that we needed to make it more challenging.
This time, the vast quantities of material were precisely as needed, so the adventure was on.
The larger plan for the evening: attend the Court Square tree lighting, with flatbreads at the Majestic and a trolley ride to, before, and from, after. Mission Accomplished Evaluation: mostly pretty good. The pizzabread substitutes (Grandmommie insists there is a difference) were more than acceptable. We ordered the standard roasted chicken, and MommaMomma wanted one with artichoke hearts, feta, spinach, olive oil and lord knows what else (it was awesome!) and asked about ordering a cheese and sausage plate, one of the great Majestic appetizers. Kaly was in total agreement, adding “Cheese, yeah!” when MommaMomma spoke to the waitress. We attacked all the food as it arrived, and wiped out everything. Kaly ate her crackers and cheese, and then, smooth as a jewel thief, lifted the crackers off MommaMomma’s plate and seemed to swallow them whole, too. She liked the cheddar, which was aged and very sharp, and ate a good bit of the goat cheese, too. I was concerned that they might both be harder than she would appreciate, but no worries. I should have known.
Then, on to the trolley. Kaly has been in love with the trolleys ever since she first saw one. It was months ago. But she hadn’t ridden in one until Monday. If it wasn’t love at first ride, then it was surely over by the time we had moved the hundred yards from Peabody Place Station to Union Avenue. The driver stopped for the light, and Kaly was immediately upset that the ride was over and incredibly too short. I quickly explained why the pause. She turned on MommaMomma’s lap to verify that there was, indeed, a red light impeding our progress, and, once satisfied that I had told her the truth, she turned back to studying the holiday displays in the stores and restaurants along Main Street.
We got to Court Square. It was deserted. No one anywhere in sight. Not even any of the notorious cadre of beggars who haunt the park. No lights. No trees. Nobody. And way too cold to wait for them. We walked around for just a moment, complained about the apparent disruption, and decided to take refuge in a southbound trolley. Which left Kaly utterly delighted! She hadn’t wanted to get off the trolley in the first place. We rode back to our stop, but she still wasn’t ready to get off. We promised, in the face of threatened tears, that we would return shortly for a longer ride.
Once in the car, we headed toward Central Gardens. There is an absolutely beautiful and overwhelming display on one of the old mansions, all in red and white lights, on the house, the shrubbery and even some of the stately oaks that dot the majestic yard. We had wanted to show it to Kaly for several days, since Grandmommie and I had first seen it. Upon arrival, I pulled onto a side street, parked and retrieved my lights-looking partner from the car seat. MommaMomma and Grandmommie wanted to sit this one out, so Kaly and I walked down the sidewalk in front of the fabulous house, to get the full experience. Kaly smiled as she looked. That’s all the reward I need. We spent a couple of minutes before the cold drove us back toward the car.
As we walked back, I asked my granddaughter, “Did you like the lights?” The light of my life looked up at me a little bit sideways, and answered, “I liked the trolley.”
It was a perfect night!

RIP Leslie Nielsen (1926-2010)

2010-11-28T22:07:00.006-06:00

Jane: I've heard police work is dangerous.
Lt. Frank Drebin: It is. That's why I carry a big gun.
Jane: Aren't you afraid it might go off accidentally?
Drebin: I used to have that problem.
Jane: What did you do about it?
Drebin: I just think about baseball.
*********************************************************************************

Drebin: It's the same old story. Boy finds girl, boy loses girl, girl finds boy, boy forgets girl, boy remembers girl, girls dies in a tragic blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year's Day.
Jane: Goodyear?
Drebin: No, the worst.
*********************************************************************************

(as a food-poisoning epidemic sweeps the plane)
Captain Oveur: What is it Doctor? What's going on?
Dr. Rumack: I'm not sure. I haven't seen anything like this since the Anita Bryant concert.
*********************************************************************************
Dr. Rumack: Can you fly this plane, and land it?
Ted Striker: Surely you can't be serious.
Rumack: I am serious. And don't call me "Shirley!"
*********************************************************************************
Dr. Rumack: You'd better tell the Captain we've got to land as soon as possible. This woman has to be gotten to a hospital.
Elaine Dickinson: A hospital? What is it?
Rumack: It's a big building with patients, but that's not important right now!

Baseball's Golden Era

2010-11-16T22:05:00.003-06:00

It wasn't the glorified 50's. Nor the Hall of Famer-laden 60's. Not the wild 70's, the mild 80's or the steroid era 90's.
Baseball's Golden Era is right now.
Just think about the current decade. Baseball was instrumental in rallying the country after 9/11. Google Jack Buck's speech, check out the Braves-Mets series in the aftermath, or the Yankees winning the AL pennant for the 2001 season. The Diamondbacks may be said to have missed the part in the script where the trophy went to NYC at the end, but that 7 game series did a lot for the spirit of the country in those days.
In 2002, the Los Angeles/California/Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles won their first World Series. The Angels' history had always been marked by just missing the mark, but Mike Scoscia's managerial skill was made evident to everyone who bothered to watch. Barry Bonds, holdover from the rampant steroid days, had a brilliant post-season to refute the argument that he couldn't perform in the big games. The Giants, without a championship since 1954, were perhaps only a Dusty Baker decision to leave Russ Ortiz on the mound in Game 6 from taking the title. They'll be back in a few paragraphs.
The 2003 season brought a bunch of young, poorly paid Florida Marlins players defeating the legendary New York Yankees in six games. The finale saw Josh Beckett shutting the Yanks down in Yankee Stadium for the win. The Marlins won their second World Series, without yet winning a Division Championship. Thus the influence of Bud Selig's tenure as Commissioner.
A year later, baseball's assumptions were turned on their collective ears: after 86 years of heartbreak and misery, the Boston Red Sox defeated the St. Louis Cardinals, and carried the trophy back to the Fens. This Series also marked the first time your humble blogger attended a World Series game. It was Game 3 at Busch Stadium. Pedro Martinez summoned up his last spectacular moment in a Sox uniform, and dominated the Cards.
In 2005, the Chicago White Sox went the Red Sox two years bettter. The Pale Hose hadn't won the championship since 1917. 88 years the Southside had waited. Ozzie Guillen finally led them to the promised land, and while you never knew (and still don't know) where Ozzie's mouth will blow up next, his skill at managing became indisputable.
2006 saw the St. Louis Cardinals as champs. The Cards hadn't won since 1982, and that 24 year drought was their longest since they started winning titles in 1926. Tony LaRussa became only the second manager in baseball history (along with the late Sparky Anderson) to win a World Series in each league.
In 2007, the Red Sox proved that 2004 wasn't a fluke, and became the first team with two titles in the 21st Century.
For 2008, The perpetually pitiful Tampa Rays won the American League pennant, and the typically awful Philadelphia Phillies took the NL flag. Joe Maddon and Charlie Manuel are two great managers who got to show the whole baseball public what they can do. The Phils, baseball's oldest team that has played in only one city with one nickname, took the Series for only the second time.
The New York Yankees, the greatest franchise in the history of professional sport, reasserted their dominance in 2009, taking their 27th World Series title by defeating the defending champion Philadelphia Phillies. Joe Girardi was in his first season managing in the Bronx, after Joe Torre's long, successful run. The Bombers were also celebrating their first season in the new Yankee Stadium, a gleaming billion dollar plus palace across the street from The House that Ruth Built.
Finally, in the season just ended, the San Francisco Giants won for the first time since 1954. They defeated the Texas Rangers for the championship, the first time that the Rangers had ever won a playoff game at home, won a playoff series, or won the American League pennant. It was baseball after the old style, brilliant pitching, timely hitting, speed and defense. The legendary Giants' manager, John McGraw, would have had no trouble recognizing the game that he dominated at the turn of the 20th century, as played by Bruce Bochy's team. Add to that the retirements of Bobby Cox, Joe Torre and Lou Piniella, and the stage is set for a new era to begin.
The only thing that I now hope to live to see in baseball is a championship won by the Chicago Cubs, now set to begin their 103rd season since they won the World Series last, in 1908.

The Red Sox Season Finally Ends!

2010-10-23T01:17:00.006-05:00

Dateline: Arlington, TX

ALCS Game Six Recap: TheRod Back to Postseason Stinking; Phil Hughes' Command as Reclusive as Howard Hughes; Yanks Fear Hamilton; 2010 Yanks Became Old and Older!

Fashion Critique: Brian Cashman looks much better in the cap whose logo read "Spring Training" than he does in one marked "AL Champions."

The Granddaughter's Assessment of the Yankees: Yankees Stink! (Very advanced for not quite 22 months)

Final: Yankees Lose...TheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeYankees Lose!
(Bite it, Sterling!)

The Sox may now Rest in Peace for 2010!

11:01 pm, CDT, October 19, 2010

2010-10-19T23:00:00.003-05:00

In regards to the previous post on this blog: Nevermind!

I guess they left the ghosts across the street.

Rangers 10, Yankees 3, top of the ninth. Rangers already leading 2-1 in the ALCS.

The Yankees Are Still the Yankees

2010-10-16T00:14:00.004-05:00

Everything was going the Texas Rangers' way in tonight's ALCS Game One. Nolan Ryan threw out the first pitch. The Great Sabathia was, after pitching once in 18 days, merely a mediocre pitcher, as only 51 of his 93 pitches were strikes. And he had managed to wake up Josh Hamilton's bat in the first, throwing a meatball that quickly turned into a three run homer. CJ Wilson was in the middle of his coming out party. Brilliant through 7, allowing only a perfectly acceptable solo shot to Robinson Cano in the top of that frame. Texas had their hands on the first home playoff win of the year.
But the Yankees are the Yankees.
And so Ron Washington behaved reasonably. He pulled Wilson, after 104 pitches, two batters into the top of the 8th. Gardner had outrun Wilson on a scratch grounder. That happens. Jeter promptly whacked a double down the left-field line, 5-2. Hey, the kid was great, but he was finally out of gas. Out came the manager, and Wilson, in favor of the dependable Darren Oliver. Who walked the next two batters, regardless of his spectacular record of control throughout the regular season. So Wash tried O'Day for Arod, and the first pitch almost killed Michael Young as it passed by third, 5-4. That brought Cano up again, and Wash called for the lefty Rapada, going straight by the book. Cano hadn't read the book, but singled to center, 5-5. Righty Holland for Marcus Thames, but he isn't much of a reader, either. Another single, and 6-5, Yankees.
Kerry Wood hadn't been in pinstripes long enough to understand everything about being a Yankee, so he walked Ian Kinsler leading off the 8th. After a couple more balls to Murphy, Dave Eiland came out to remind Wood to look at his uniform. So the former Cub phenom promptly picked off a brain-frozen Kinsler and moved through the rest of his inning, leaving the ninth as easy pickings for The Great Rivera.
So, the Yankees are the Yankees.
And the Rangers will be very fortunate to avoid a sweep after tonight's game.

A Very Difficult Four Days

2010-09-20T20:38:00.003-05:00

We were at AutoZone Park, worried only about the score of the Redbirds game against Tacoma in Game 3 of the PCL Final. My phone rang, and it was my brother. Our uncle, Bill, had gone into cardiac arrest, and the doctors were not giving any hope of getting him back.
Before we could get to the hospital, he was gone. While he had been an insulin-dependent diabetic since age 2, he was only 55. He had married just 14 months ago, and now, Teresa was a widow. And in my mother's family, just as happened in my father's family a few years ago, the baby had died first.
We gathered at Memorial Park last night for the visitation. Then, today, the funeral was held at Aldersgate UMC, where Bill and Teresa married in the summer of 2009. Finally, he was laid to rest at Memorial Park, just five feet from his parents, the people who had saved his life, and pointed him to the life he enjoys today.
Bill was just six years older than me. He was 11 years younger than his next sibling. He always seemed more a part of the generation with my brother, sister and me than that of my mother and other uncles. Bill only beat me into the family by two years. He was adopted by my grandparents when he was four. He had come to live with them at 2; at 4 he came in one night to my grandfather's room and asked if he could become a Fisher. The adoption process started the next day.
Bill was funny. He was brilliant. He was passionate about life. And given the work that my grandparents did in teaching their adopted son what it means to be chosen, he committed his life to ministry. He understood fully that just as he was chosen to be part of his family, so does God choose us all to be part of God's family. He needed to communicate that opportunity to other people. He did it in a variety of ministry settings, from running our Conference camp, to serving as pastor to the poor and elderly in our retirement homes, to the Singles ministry at our largest church, to all of his more traditional assignments as pastor of several churches in the West Ohio Conference, as well as here, at home, in West Tennessee and western Kentucky.
Please keep Teresa in your prayers, and my mom and uncles. And all the people whose lives Bill touched as pastor and bearer of God's good news.

New Rules for Hiking, Mountaineering and Protesting

2010-09-15T01:56:00.011-05:00

OK now, boys and girls, please pay attention. Circumstances have now necessitated a new set of rules for those among us who continue to choose inappropriate neighborhoods for our hiking, inappropriate seasons for our mountain climbing, and want to be able to protest anywhere in the world like we were at home in the good ol' USA.
1. Sarah Shourd is, as of this writing, in Oman. She has been released by Iran. She was arrested for being in Iran. During a hike. By my rule, she's the last one. From now on, if you decide to hike in Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, North Korea or any other such site on God's Green Earth, then we, the sane portion of the American people, will recognize that you have a bizarre need for attention, that you are willing to risk anything-including death-to get that attention, and we will allow you to pursue it. But don't expect anybody to come get you. No diplomats will waste their time and our money, no military excursion will be mounted at the risk of the lives of military personnel. You hike in Iran, your booty belongs to Iran, have a nice day.
Prior to your departure, backpack in hand, for the Persian Gulf, you might consider the Appalachian Trail, the Rocky Mountains, the Sierra Nevadas, or any other number of exquisite places within the bounds of the United States of America, where you will not be arrested by a totalitarian regime, regardless of what Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck say.
2. New rule #2. It is cold in the winter. On tall mountains, at great elevations, it is even colder in the winter. Do not plan your mountain climb in those months. Understand? Every year now, a certain number of geniuses choose to mount their expeditions at precisely the time that will be the most likely to leave them stranded and in peril for their lives. Some of them even include spouse and children in these lame-brained stunts. OK. I guess that's one of those rights to stupidity guaranteed by our great Constitution. But from now on, you're on your own. You go up there in January, you better get your butt back down. Because we will not endanger the life of any fine park ranger, rescue personnel, National Guard member, or full-time military personnel. You want back-up? Make your climb in August. Then, if there is a problem, there will not likely be an avalanche involved in your rescue. Otherwise, it's been nice knowing you. And, again, if you include your kids in one of these cockamamie schemes, they will be taken from you, as you are, by definition, unfit to be around children, and unable to make decisions about their care.
3. Kim Jong Il don't give a rat's booty about your rights. You want to protest, you better do it here. You can go to Lafayette Park and march your hiney off. You can make a sign and hold it on Wall Street. You can cry out your message from most any street corner in America. But North Korea and some of those other fine countries listed above, well, they don't want to hear it. And if you try to bully your way into their little piece of heaven, you're going to jail. For a very long and hard time. And now, by rule, you're on your own. We will no longer ask the (nearly) 86 year old former President Jimmy Carter to travel to the other side of the world to bail your stupid ass out of a mess of your own creation. Doesn't an 86 year old Nobel Prize winner have better things to do than apologize to a bunch of wingnuts to bail you out for being stupid? Don't want to be in a North Korean jail? Don't go to North Korea. Stand in front of our Capitol, make a great big sign, scream your head off about the injustices of their way of doing business. But stay the heck out of their territory. Because they will flush you and never remember having been in the bathroom.
These few rule changes will encourage a handful of our countrywomen and men to make more informed and much more intelligent decisions about their behavior in the world, and you're welcome! Glad to be able to help.
And check back in a couple of days for the new rules that will govern those who choose to interact inappropriately with wild animals. Got some changes coming there, too.

On the Burning of Qu'rans

2010-09-08T23:15:00.012-05:00

So some nobody "pastor" of a nobody, nondenominational "church" in Florida with a total of a reported 50 adherents wants to "draw a line" and burn the holy book of Islam. Responses from your poor blogger:
1. Why is the press paying any attention to this buffoon? Regardless of the choices of my local tv stations, the robbery of a Dollar General store somewhere in Oklahoma is not news in Memphis, and neither is some goof who's clearly staging a stunt to garner attention that his efforts at "ministry" haven't been able to get him. Why not give the book burner's time to the homeless man who walks up and down Summer Ave. everyday, talking to someone the rest of us can't see? They are operating on pretty much the same plane.
2. Apparently "Pastor" Terry Jones (and he isn't the Monty Python genius, or any other sort, for that matter) is not conversant with the Christian scriptures he claims to defend. Either that, or he really wants someone out there to burn a bunch of Bibles. (See the whole "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" thing.)
3. I'm tired of living in a world of Jerry Springer's making. Only in Springer-World can a toothless Alabaman sharing a bedroom in his trailer with his wife, her sister, his sister and a goat be presented on stage as the equal of a psychologist. Well, there, and on the average network newscast. And, now, in presenting Jones as anyone with the intelligence, education, tradition or vision to speak for Christianity. Baseball broadcasters have the good sense to never put on tv those who are either drunk or crazy enough to run out on the field during a game. Because showing them would only encourage other drunks and nuts. News people should only be so bright.
4. I'm tired of this crap and I'm going to bed. To quote Keith Olbermann, "Good night and good luck."

He was a Mighty Man, Dead and Gone...

2010-09-07T02:33:00.007-05:00

Most of the attention paid in these parts to any departed musician tends to focus on August 16, Whitehaven, and peculiar things like candlelight vigils. Please pardon a minority report.

On August 15th of last year, James Luther Dickinson died of complications following heart surgery. Jim was the Godfather, the soul, the heart of Memphis music. Judy Peiser dedicated this year's Memphis Music and Heritage Festival to Jim's memory. That's a start, in remembering this embodiment of what Memphis is all about, and why it matters.

Johnny Cash died on September 12, 2003. Johnny Cash was rock and roll, and Johnny was country. He was big and cool and strong, with a voice that sounded like the voice of God. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, can ever take the place of Johnny Cash.

Warren Zevon died five days prior to Johnny Cash's death. Zevon was smart. He, too, brought an incredible cool to the table. Warren had a good time, even when he was dying. In his last television appearance, he encouraged David Letterman, and all the rest of us, to "enjoy every sandwich." Good advice, to this day.

This trio are way at the top of my list of musical heroes. I am eternally grateful for their work, that their recordings survive, and that their music guarantees Dickinson's chosen epitaph: "I'm just dead. I'm not gone."

Rest well, my friends!

Is the President a Christian?

2010-08-22T13:31:00.003-05:00

Apparently it has been a slow news week, but attention has been paid to a Pew Research poll that found 18% of the American people generally, including 31% of Republicans, believe that Barack Obama is a Muslim.
The discussion surrounding the poll is much more interesting to me than the actual topic of the poll, but let's start with that subject.
Is the President of the United States a Muslim? I'm of two minds here.
First, who cares? When the time came to consider our Constitution over 200 years ago, there was a general outcry that the document would never be approved without an enumeration of certain rights that could not be denied to (given the ignorance of the time) white, male citizens. Over time, our forebears discovered the wisdom to extend these freedoms to all people. The first of those amendments made six sacred declarations: that the government would never be in the business of establishing a church or churches; that the government would never interfere in the rights of individuals to practice their religion; that people would be free to speak their minds; that the press would enjoy that same freedom; that people would be free to associate with whom they choose; and that the people could come to the government seeking justice when wronged. Each of these points is simple and clear. Read them sometime. The significance of the First Amendment for this discussion: It's none of your business or mine whether or not Obama has a religion, and if he does, what it is. That must necessarily be the response of any American citizen who takes our Constitution seriously. Anything less is, by definition, Unconstitutional, and therefore by definition, Un-American.
The second part of what chews on me about this is the arrogance of Obama's political opponents. The exemplary statesman, Sen. Mitch McConnell, was on Meet the Press this morning. Mediator David Gregory asked McConnell, the Senate Minority Leader, about the Pew Poll, wondering how such a misperception could arise. McConnell answered, "I have no idea." Really, Senator? I would have thought by this point that someone would have introduced a fine conservative such as yourself to Fox News, Rush Limbaugh and all of the other people who have committed their lives to convincing Amercans that Obama is lurking in their closets or under their beds, just waiting to get them like those childhood monsters that disappeard when the light was turned on. Disingenuous at best, Senator. A bald-faced lie, more likely.
McConnell went on to say, about his own opinion of Obama's faith, "I take the President at his word [that he is a Christian]." How noble. I'll tell you what, Senator, since you've been so generous with the President, then I'll take you at your word that you're a Christian, too. And I'll take Rush's word for it, too, although he's from Missouri, and just up the road from his hometown of Cape Girardeau, a Muslim father carried out an "honor killing" of his daughter for shaming the family. And, come to think of it, Rush just got married for the fourth time. Kind of violates that whole sanctity of Christian marriage being between one man and one woman (at a time?). (Whoever heard of a nearing-60 multi-millionaire suddenly feeling the need to marry a stunning blonde in her early 30's anyway?)
But I'll take your word, and Rush's, because that's all any of us can do. We take one another's word for it. You don't know what's in my heart, and I don't know what's in yours. But here's what I do know: You and/or I deny a brother or sister in Christ at our own peril.
Whether or not any person is a Christian or not is, ultimately, between that person and God. Again, meddle in that at your own peril. Deny a brother or sister in Christ at your own peril. You might Google "Bible, Jesus, Millstone" and see what you come up with. Read it carefully. And then share with 31% of the Republicans what you find.

For a Reason?

2010-08-19T23:25:00.006-05:00

"Everything happens for a reason."
This mindless statement has become extraordinarly fashionable as a catch-all for those moments when most of us have absolutely no idea what to say. It is usually attached to some equally mindless palaver about "God's Plan" or some such idiocy. Most of the time, thinking people are gracious enough to allow the stupidity to go unchallenged, although there are times when it is utterly painful to let it pass.
Here's a newsflash, boys and girls: there is, indeed, a reason for everything. It is not, however, the same reason for everything. Let's consider a couple of examples.
A child is born, mother and child both emerge healthy, the child is loved, provided for in every way, and grows to adulthood well in the care of a church family? Indeed, the grace of God is at work, and God's intention has been fulfilled. A child is born, only to die, suffocated by his mother? How about two children, for good measure? (If you've been in a cave, this happened, in our country, earlier this week) Yeah, there's a reason for this. A human being, operating under whatever set of circumstances that will be presented in court as a defense, did an evil, evil thing. Don't blame this on God. The God I know was disregarded totally on this one.
A person makes mistakes in life. Becomes substance-dependent. "Comes to himself" as Jesus said in the Prodigal's story. Asks for help, finds it, and proceeds to live a redeemed life? Again, God's grace on display, available to all. Another person, substance-dependent, comes to himself and asks for help. But he's unemployed, has no insurance, and cannot get a placement for care, and that, after appeals for help to both of the prominent church-named hospitals in the community? Not God's fault! God was not considered in this; a throw-away person was, simply, thrown away. This is not God's Plan, God's intention, or in any way an expression of God's presence in the world.
These are both very small examples, nothing on the scale of the Holocaust, the Killing Fields of the Khmer Rouge, Stalin's purges or the Rwandan genocide of the last decade. Or, for that matter, any of the evil that you and I encounter and wrestle with on a daily basis, inflicted by petty, evil people who are determined to abuse and destroy and abandon? I would never, ever, consider working for a God who would include such circumstances in his/her "Plan" and neither would you.
So, how about a little more honesty and integrity? The next time we feel "There's a reason for everything" or "It's part of God's Plan" or any such horse excrement, about to escape our lips, decide, instead, to tell the truth: "I don't know what to say, but I love you, I believe God does, and God and I are here." Because that's actually God's plan for us to care for one another.

Excuses or Explanations, the Truth is the Truth

2010-08-16T01:45:00.006-05:00

After the games of Sunday, August 15, the Boston Red Sox are 67-52, the fifth best record in the American League. They are third in the AL East, trailing the first place MFYs by six games (seven in the loss column), and the Wild Card leading Tampa Bay Rays by five games (six in the loss column).

Here's a quick trip around the diamond.

Catchers: Victor Martinez, 4 time AL All-Star
Jason Varitek, 3 time AL All-Star

First Base: Kevin Youkilis, 2 time AL All-Star, 2008 Hank Aaron Award, best AL hitter
Mike Lowell, 4 time All-Star, 2007 World Series Most Valuable Player

Second Base: Dustin Pedroia, 3 time AL All-Star, 2007 AL ROY, 2008 AL MVP

Short Stop: Marco Scutaro

OF: Jacoby Ellsbury, Franchise single season stolen base record holder
Mike Cameron, 1 time All-Star, 3 time Gold Glove winner

Pitchers: Hideki Okajima, 1 time All-Star, 8th inning set-up specialist
Josh Beckett, 2 time All-Star, 2007 ALCS MVP

These players have all spent significant time this season on the Disabled List, with Youkilis and Cameron being lost for the season. Only 3b Adrian Beltre, DH David Ortiz, and (ironically) RF JD Drew among the everyday players have avoided the DL this season, and Papi forgot how to hit in April.

The fact that the Sox are still in contention is a miracle, and points to only one thing: Terry Francona is the Manager of the Year in the American League.

Guided by Gibby

2010-07-05T23:02:00.004-05:00

In 1967 Cardinals' Hall of Famer pitcher Bob Gibson suffered a broken leg when he was struck by a ball off the bat of Roberto Clemente. Gibby was never known to be the most patient man. One legendary story about Gibson's on-field disposition finds catcher Tim McCarver being dispatched by manager Red Schoendienst to go to the mound and talk to Gibson during an opponent's rally. As McCarver tells it, he got a couple of steps toward the mound only to hear Gibson bellow, "What the hell are you doing?" McCarver told his pitcher of the manager's instructions. "Get back behind the plate," came the answer. "The only thing you know about pitching is that you can't hit it."
As you might guess, Gibson quickly tired in the summer of 1967 of being questioned repeatedly by reporters about his injury. Finally, he made a small sign that he taped to his shirt. On the sign:
"1. Yes, it is off." (meaning his cast)
"2. No, it doesn't hurt."
"3. I don't know how much longer." (before he could pitch again)

I have developed a better understanding of Gibson's frustration in the last month than I ever had before. The questions have been frequent and awfully repetitive. I don't have a sign (yet), but if I did, here are the answers:
1. No, I don't know who I ticked off.
2. Yes, it hurts a great deal.
3. No, I'm not sure how we'll manage.
4. No, thank you, I haven't been accused of anything.
5. No, I don't think you can be embarrassed unless you worry about the opinions of people whose opinions don't matter.

I am grateful for the well-wishes of a few kind people; less so of those who also stop on the interstate to gawk at the crash victims. I wish I had better answers. I wish even more that I didn't need them.

Remembrance of Things Past?

2010-06-12T03:33:00.003-05:00

The whole clan, very nearly, spent a glorious week in Gulf Shores, enjoying a spectacular house, the gorgeous white sand beach a few steps out our back door, and the wondrous water of the Gulf of Mexico. From the Saturday prior to Memorial Day until the Friday after, we had an incredible week, courtesy of my parents. (All anyone needs to know about my parents: Dad, his sister, and the heirs of their late sisters sold Granny and Granddaddy's farm a few months ago, and he and Mom decided to spend a fair chunk of their part of the proceeds taking all of us on this trip. A lot of people do a lot of lip service to the value of family; my parents have always and invariably put their money where others only put their words.)
Dancing Baby provided a great deal of the entertainment to the whole crowd. My younger niece seemed to have been singled out for particular attention from the 16-month-old. Alie must have heard her named called several million times on this trip, but she never showed anything but good humor and patience with her littlest cousin. DB's uncle has been away at college for most of her life, so she's been a bit hesitant with him. At least prior to the trip. Bubba, as she named him, took her out into the Big Water, where Granddaddy and Grandmommie were only willing to go along the edge of the water. Bubba is now a god on the Dancing Baby scale. So is Emmie, for the same reason. These poor old people who won't venture out, well, DB was patient, but the feelings were clear. Bubba and Emmie are where it's at!
Tacey was the partner for the never-ending "Uh-oh Game." You know the one: the hair band/bracelet/spoon/whatever is at hand is "accidently" dropped, again and again and again and again, with the requisite "Uh-oh" from Dancing Baby, to see how many times the playing partner will pick the darned thing up. Tacey is a very good, very kind, very patient partner for the "Uh-oh Game." Bike-a-Bike (DB's version of Mike-a-Mike, my brother's name since DB's mom was 2 1/2) taught DB how to build sand castles, and that was the least of the challenge. Just getting her to sit down in the sand (she shares her grandfather's aversion to sand) was a major accomplishment! We, and by we I mean DB, fed the deer at the little Gulf Shores Zoo. We looked, unsuccessfully, for alligators along the nature walk; checked out the fish on the walls in all the restaurants; listened to the musicians at the West Beach Grille; had DB's first encounter with flying food at Lambert's Cafe.
It was an utterly delightful week, and something we hadn't all done together since my kids were little.
That was from Saturday to Friday.
On the second Saturday, going home day, we awoke to look out at dark stains on the beach. The Deepwater Horizon oil spill had reached Gulf Shores.
We knew it was coming, and, yes, we hoped it wouldn't arrive until we were gone. But it still hurt my heart to think that Dancing Baby could well be in her mid-teens (at least) before the beaches and the Gulf would look again like they looked during our visit. As little use as I have for sand, the Redneck Riviera has been a big part of our family's life, just as for southerners from all over. And if it is a loss to us, just visitors to the area, what of the people who live there? We had the beach to ourselves on several days of our trip, in the early days of June. I'd never seen that before. People were cancelling trips even before the oil arrived on the beach. Nobody will book now that it has hit.
Will BP pay the waitstaffs who will be laid off when the restaurants close? What about the people hired to clean the rental properties that won't need cleaning? How about the properties that will be foreclosed upon, as there will not be nearly enough income to meet the mortgages? How can the fishermen be made whole? We've all seen the pictures of the pelicans and other creatures who depend on oil-free water to live and thrive. How do we fix that? They can't cash checks.
I don't understand how this happened. And I don't mean the spill. How do we still allow corporations to destroy the world around us, unregulated, unaccountable and unrepentant? Is it alright for the Gulf to be turned into a toilet, with the oil and the chemicals from the dispersants? What of the plumes of oil still underwater and drifting?
I can still see my granddaughter standing at the edge of the Big Water, her face declaring the joy in her heart at seeing such a thing. At least she was spared knowing that she may never see that sight in the same way ever again.
And pretty much the only thing that's getting reported today: BP's stock is down a fraction of a point. Their assets should have been seized immediately after the pipe started spewing oil into the Gulf, as has become our practice with other terrorists. Instead, BP will, of course, declare bankruptcy, so they won't have to pay a nickel to the millions of people whose lives they have destroyed.
And they will never even apologize to the little girls and boys who will never have the experience that has been so important to families all across the south.

Disconnect

2010-05-18T23:52:00.009-05:00

Superbly talented Florida Marlins' shortstop Hanley Ramirez has summed up the zeitgeist neatly. A day after totally dogging the retrieval of a ground ball that he had misplayed, being removed from the game by Marlins' manager Fredi Gonzalez, and being benched by Fredi for a couple days after, Ramirez shared his learnings from the whole experience: "He (Gonzalez) doesn't understand. He never played in the Major Leagues."
See, I'm now indebted to Hanley. I saw the highlights show review of the whole situation, and I thought I was seeing an immature, rich, catered-to young man having an unnecessary and unacceptable mistake brought to his attention. I just didn't understand that I was watching the persecution of the righteous by the ignorant. I remember sometime in 1997 watching Bobby Cox of the Braves pull Andruw Jones out of a game for nonchalanting a short fly ball into a game-losing triple. I thought Cox was helping Andruw grow up into a Major League player who could enjoy a productive 15 year career. Turns out, Cox was mistreating the poor baby. At least according to Hanley-Think.
But the truth is that Hanley Ramirez is in the shallow water when it comes to the "You just don't understand me, and can't possibly understand me, because you aren't fortunate enough to be me" way of looking at the world.
Pat Buchanan, considerably older than Mr. Ramirez, has announced that Elena Kagan is not acceptable for the Supreme Court because she is Jewish, and the rest of the court is made up of Catholics and Jews. The devoutly Catholic Mr. Buchanan is disturbed at his sudden discovery of the dearth of Protestants on the Court. Now, in my adult life, we've typically identified Court nominees by their abortion opinions. And your side doesn't want anyone from my side on it, and vice versa, because we, obviously, cannot communicate or understand one another about anything. I'd never been aware of the concern Pat Buchanan has for the spiritual descendents of Martin Luther and his colleagues, but good ol' Pat wants to make sure that we WASPish types have our representative on the Court.
Thanks, Pat, but I just don't feel that where somebody goes to church on their holy day, if they go at all, and if they observe any holy day at all, is the qualification I want to run to when considering Supreme Court nominees. Rather than understanding the theology of The United Methodist Church (Which is impossible, as we don't understand it ourselves; that's why we are perpetually studying and rewriting standards and policies and trying to turn ourselves into those "real" churches that have been around a whole lot longer than we have. Like Pat's. But I digress.), how about somebody that understands the law? Somebody who has given her/his life to the study of the law in America, how that law is to be applied, and what that old Constitution's about, anyway? Somebody like, oh, I don't know...a former Dean of the Harvard Law School?
As a citizen, I don't care where or if Elena Kagan goes to church, temple, mosque or whatever else is out there. I just want to know if she knows the law.
As for the rest, we used to have this thing called "Empathy."
Empathy was that human quality that let a more mature man, say, a Joe Torre, relate to a young bi-racial man, let's call him Derek Jeter, and help him get established as a Major League baseball player in the world's toughest media market.
Empathy was that human quality that let a judge like John Paul Stevens envision the circumstances of the young, the poor, the woman, and new immigrant, and anyone else that didn't match up molecule by molecule with a 90 year old man who has served on the Supreme Court since 1975.
Empathy was that quality that allowed Pope John XXIII to consider the plight of Catholics world-wide, still sitting in services every Sunday that were being conducted in Latin, which was understood by just about no one outside the clergy. His empathy led him to call for the Second Vatican Council, and start the process toward allowing people to actually understand the liturgy and homily they were faithfully attending.
Empathy was that quality that led Abraham Lincoln to look at the plight of the slave and know that the Peculiar Institution was wrong and had to end.
Empathy was what led Mother Teresa to care for the incurables.
It's what kept Nelson Mandela from treating the white South Africans during his Presidency the way black South Africans had been treated for generations when the white folks were running the show.
It's what caused my grandfather, a West Tennessee sharecropper trying to move out and up to his own farm, to cry upon the death of President Roosevelt, as aristocratic a President as this country shall ever know, because Granddaddy believed that Mr. Roosevelt was on his side.
Empathy is what enables us to see beyond ourselves and our own limited experience to know something of the lives and experiences of the other people who make up this world.
And Empathy is sorely lacking in our divided, angry, frustrated world. And that lack is revealed in every Hanley Ramirez, Pat Buchanan, Tea Party, terrorist, you and me, whenever we lack the will, the energy, the time or the desire to try to grasp the reality of anyone's life but our own.

No Fool Like an Old Preacher Fool

2010-04-30T22:10:00.009-05:00

People in my line of work have, generally speaking, a bizarre fetish. No, not the Bakker/Swaggert one. Or the one the Pope tried to cover up. There is, however, a deep, entrenched, time-honored notion among many that if you can come up with a few pieces of information that in a very few weeks are going to be published openly in the church's version of Pravda, then you...what? Win something? Should be a detective? Are the smartest person in the room? What? (for starters, participants in the fetish should heed the words of Hall of Fame baseball writer Peter Gammons: "I don't care about being first; I just care about being right)
Those pieces of information are, and I kid you not, where the preachers will be assigned for the new year. I don't get that. In the first place, who has time to go around chasing this alleged treasure? In the second place, who cares? Because, as I mentioned above, in about six or seven weeks, it will all be very publicly published!
Usually this fetish is played out in coffee cliques spread around throughout the conference. Typically it is harmless, just shop-talk among people who don't know enough about anything else to carry on a normal conversation. Occasionally, it has become malicious. There are even stories that have circulated about people using their discoveries to sabotage colleagues, which is pretty sick, to state the obvious.
My course in life has generally left me out of these types of speculations. My assignments haven't been interesting enough to generate conversation. Hooray for me. One night recently, however, my daughter came in and said she had seen one of my retired colleagues. One we've known forever. One known to be a bloodhound-type loudmouth when on the track of some insignificant piece of SOON TO BE PUBLISHED INFORMATION. He slithered up to my daughter and asked, "Where's your dad going?"
She did great. She told him she had no idea. He pushed and prodded for a couple more sleazy attempts at the nugget of gold. She finally just told him we don't discuss such things. Which was wonderful, because there are never, ever any secrets of significance between my children and me. I was completely and totally proud of her for her dealing with that old fool.
Because that's what he is.
And if, sir, you should ever happen up on this, and you know who you are just as I do, that's what you are. Maybe, especially in retirement, your life is so devoid of meaning that you have to spend all your time chasing down this utterly useless information. Have a big time, you dope! But if, in the future, you want to know something about me, call me. What do I care? I'll tell you what you're breathless to know. Just spare my children any display of your fetish! Why in the name of the God you pretend to serve do you need to show young people just how petty and stupid the clergy can be? Why would you pull back the curtain to reveal the sorriest part of the church to someone who's already got plenty of reason to be suspicious of it?
To amend the wise old saying, There truly is no fool like an old preacher fool!

The Changing of the Guard...Soon

2010-04-23T02:35:00.005-05:00

There was a poignant moment in the telecast of tonight's Red Sox v. Rangers game. The camera caught David Ortiz and Tim Wakefield together. The two great players were in the dugout as Mike Lowell served as Designated Hitter and Clay Buchholz pitched.
With the signing of Adrian Beltre to play third this season, the Red Sox had announced to the world that they didn't want or need Mike Lowell anymore. They, indeed, had traded the former World Series MVP to the Texas Rangers, only to find the deal voided because Mikey's thumb needed ligament surgery. Now, not quite three weeks into the season, Lowell has supplanted Big Papi in the Sox' lineup.
43 year old Tim Wakefield, fresh off his first-ever All Star Game selection, was signed last winter to a two year contract. This should have provided more than ample opportunity to Wake to surpass Cy Young and Roger Clemens as the winningest pitcher in Red Sox history. Tim has 175 wins in a Sox jersey; Young and Clemens sit at 192. Seventeen wins in two years for a pitcher who has won 17, 10 and 11 in the seasons since his 40th birthday? No problem! Except that the Sox signed John Lackey, bringing the total of starting pitchers to six. And the Sox are clearly determined to keep Clay Buchholz in the majors this season.
Papi doesn't seem able to hit anymore. The Greatest Clutch Hitter in Red Sox history (quite a title for a player on a team that's had Teddy Ballgame, Yaz, Pudge, Rice, Lynn, Nomar, and a whole lot of other great hitters) has lost his batspeed, his knowledge of the strike zone, and, seemingly, his confidence.
So the unwanted Lowell plays, and Papi sits. With Wakefield.
The camera showed the two veterans together, Ortiz' arm draped around Wakefield's shoulder, Wake speaking and Ortiz in rapt attention.
I wish I could have heard that conversation. I suspect that I know a fair percentage of it. Things that neither of those consummate professionals will ever, ever say to anyone else. Things that each understands about the other's predicament. Things that are borne of frustration and demotion and humiliation. Things that come up when you're wondering, "Can I get this done anymore?"
I treasure each of those men. There would have been no 2004 without the two of them. No 2007, either. The Red Sox might well have continued as a moribund franchise had they not come along. They may very well have made it possible to persuade Schilling to come, and Manny to stay, and given Theo the courage to trade Nomar in the first place.
But time marches on.
And time can be so very cruel.
I hope Papi can find his swing, and I hope Wake gets his turns in the rotation. I want these old friends to continue forever, productive and effective.
It will all end sometime, and the NESN camera strongly suggested it won't be long, but I can still hope and root like hell for one more season of glory for two Champions who led the eternally-suffering Red Sox Nation to the Promised Land, not just once, but twice.
Come on, boys! I'm with you, and always will be! Calendar be damned!

Happy Thoughts

2010-04-18T23:58:00.003-05:00

1. Reason enough for them Internets to exist: http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/
Roger Ebert's natural voice doesn't work any more, due to multiple bouts with cancer, but his writing is an excellent as always. The man is insightful and brilliant on a great many things beyond film.

2. Reason enough to carry hope for the old home town: http://ilovememphisblog.com/
Kerry Crawford is a young woman I've never met. Count me, however, a big fan. A young white person open about her love for Memphis! Who'd a thought? And if that's not enough, she's a member of the local Roller Derby team! Roller Derby, people!

3. Reasons enough to treasure raising the grandchild in Memphis: http://www.levittshell.org/
Free music series, including a day for kids, each May/June and September/October
http://www.southernfolklore.com/
Judy Peiser may not be God, but she's sure doing the Lord's work!
http://www.memphiszoo.org/home
Disregard the histrionics of the local dog trainer, and check out the treasure that is our zoo. I started going there when the elephants still had chains around their feet. How far things have come!
http://www.memphisbotanicgarden.com/index.cfm?section=12
The Botanic Garden (Goldsmith Gardens forever to those of us who still refer to Memphis State) has put its time, money and energy into a great place for children...in addition to feeding the koi!
http://www.dixon.org/
Need an object lesson on the beauty of God's creation for your little one? Pretty good place to begin teaching the value of art to the soul, as well.
http://www.hueyburger.com/music.cfm
Need a good, smokeless place for your Dancing Baby to discover the fun of live music? (Not to mention a great burger, to boot.)

4. Reason enough to keep an old-fashioned radio around: http://www.wevl.org/
Community radio, with as eclectic a playlist as you'll ever find anywhere.

5. Reason enough to carry some hope for the soul of the church: http://www.churchhealthcenter.org/
As we abandon the city, at least somebody's still trying to make a difference for the working poor and forgotten of the community.

6. Reason enough to enjoy summer: http://www.minorleaguebaseball.com/index.jsp?sid=t235
No, I can't explain why the Memphis Redbirds are in the Pacific Coast League. But hey, we won the PCL Championship last year!

7. Reason enough to enjoy some creativity: http://www.artsmemphis.org/
All the arts that are arts, right here in river city.

There, I did it. Seven happy thoughts.

Things an Insomniac Just Doesn't Need

2010-04-13T01:44:00.006-05:00

1. A beloved baseball team that does not wish to win its games.
2. A beloved granddaughter who is not required to take naps or go to bed for the night when visiting another grandparent, thus rendering her internal clock destroyed for the next four or five days.
3. A goodbye gift from the current Finance Committee. Try being told in the month when the IRS expects to be paid that the workplace will not pay your family's insurance for the quarter. Which brings the current workplace's theft of salary and benefits to $22,141.69, not to mention the salary promises and staff additions lied about prior to arrival.
4. Three months up in the air as to whether there will be a workable job available for the coming year.
5. Being told to "leave well" in the face of numbers 3 and 4 above. Huh?
6. Having three more sermons to preach on lectionary passages that can't be followed where they lead, due to number 5 above.
7. Having to face the wife and kids, two in college already and the other who wants and needs to be this fall, when the current income has never lived up to what was promised, and the next income is dropping like a rock.
Sleep tight!

We Had 'Em All the Way!

2010-04-04T23:00:00.003-05:00

And if you believe that title, would you like to buy a bridge?
Josh Beckett didn't pitch like an ace tonight. By the time he left in favor of Scott Schoeneweis in the fifth, the Sox were down 5-1. That's the bad news. The good news is that Carsten Charles Sabathia didn't pitch like an ace tonight, either. CC took it to 5-4 in the fifth, before David Robertson let Adrian Beltre tie the game.
Take a look at Theo's additions. Beltre was 1-3 with two RBI and a handful of nice plays at third. Mike Cameron was 2-3 with a walk and a run scored. Marco Scutaro 3-4 in the 9 slot, with a run and an RBI. Nice pickups, Mr. GM!
Concerns: Papi was 0-3 with a walk. Two of his outs, a couple of groundballs to the right side, came with runners in scoring position. Jacoby Ellsbury went 0-5, but we had glimpses of just what our jackrabbit outfield is going to deliver in terms of fly balls going to die in their mitts. Ramon S. Ramirez gave up a couple of runs, but the rest of the relievers were fine in their initial outings.
Need I point out that Pedey and Youk are just ridiculous. As a Memphian, I can direct you to the moment the Grizzlies regressed from the low-rung playoff team that they were for three years: the Shane Battier trade. Every sports team has to have at least one guy who doesn't mind doing the dirty work, brings energy and intensity to every single game, is the first man there for practice, game or the airplane, and is the last one to leave when they turn out the lights. Battier brought that ethic to the Grizzlies. Youk and Pedey are both that guy for the Sox. They started out the season pounding on the MFYs. How about 5-8 and a walk, 2 doubles, a triple and a homer, 5 runs scored, 5 RBI. People speculate about whether they'd take TheRod or Pujols or Ryan Howard to start a team. How about a couple of All-Stars whose uniforms are always filthy, who never give away atbats, and play like their lives depend on it every single night? I'll take Youk and Pedey over any pair you can show me.
Game One: Red Sox 9, MFYs 7. What a wonderful world!

New Life

2010-03-29T22:18:00.010-06:00

If you want a profound Easter post, you can probably find one with very little effort, but, then again, nobody comes here looking for profundity.
No, the new life I'm excited about at the moment is that which begins at 7 pm, CDT, on Sunday evening. Jon Miller and Joe Morgan will welcome ESPN viewers to Fenway Park. The Boston Red Sox will host the MFYs in the opening game of the 2010 Major League Baseball season. And all will be right in my world again.
It has been a long time since November 4, when the MFYs beat the Phillies in Game 6 of the 2009 World Series. An insufferable football season was played to completion. College basketball and the NBA slog on and on. Do they still play hockey? Does anyone care?
This Sunday night, baseball will be back. Baseball means Spring. Baseball means that the Cubs have a chance to play in the World Series. Shoot, they could even win another one after 102 years. The Red Sox have done it twice after 86 years, and the White Sox got one after 88.
Bobby Cox will begin the last season of his Hall of Fame career on Monday. Tony LaRussa and Joe Torre will continue their progression towards Cooperstown. Albert Pujols will continue his reign as the best all-around player in the game. The Phils will seek their third straight NL pennant, and the Cards, Dodgers, Braves and Cubs will try to stop them. The MFYs will look to repeat, but my Beantowners will be hot on their trail. The Rays still have the core that took them to the Series in 2008, and in a new, openair ballpark in Minneapolis, Ron Gardenhire will find a way to keep the Twins in the chase in spite of already losing Joe Nathan for the season to Tommy John surgery.
A kid named Jason Heyward will play right field for the Braves, coming off a spring where he has looked every inch the best prospect in the game. Old veteran Mariano Rivera will try to be the Sandman for one more season. Chipper Jones will try to be Chipper Jones again, and Joe Mauer will try to be worth that contract.
I'll be visiting with old friends each evening. Vin Scully will call Dodger games for the 61st consecutive season, and Chip Caray will go back on Braves TV. Joe Castiglione and Dave O'Brien will keep Red Sox nation informed, while the execrable John Sterling will prove, once more, that all the money in the world can't buy class in the Bronx. John Rooney will try to make sense of the beloved Mike Shannon, and the Brennamans will see Reds fans through another season. Jon Miller, bound for the Hall of Fame as this year's Ford Frick Award winner, will once more provide the San Francisco Giants' fans with the best broadcast in Major League Baseball, while his protege, Dave Fleming, just gets better and better. Pat Hughes' good humor and Ron Santo's utterly blind loyalty will encourage, or more likely, comfort Cubs' fans all summer long.
Locally, we will occupy our seats at AutoZone Park throughout the summer as our Redbirds try to defend their Pacific Coast League championship. My granddaughter's baseball education began before she could possibly have known that she was at the ballpark. Baseball Second Grade will commence on April 16.
The next six months will be grand. The Perfect Game is back, and just in the nick of time. The old water heater flooded the house last week. The Career (sarcasm intended) is on the rocks. The winter doldrums have been brutal this year. My country lost its freaking mind over the idea that everyone should be able to get healthcare. Bush's idiotic wars have become Obama's idiotic wars, and for reasons that I will never understand, people still send their children to die in them. Patriotism? As though there is any reason we and our enemies see the world as we do other than the geographical accident of birth.
But Baseball is coming. Tony Campolo made a forture preaching that "It's Friday But Sunday's Coming." Good for him.
My message of hope tonight: It's still March, but Baseball's Coming!
Hallelujah!

Who Would You Like to Be?

2010-03-25T23:29:00.003-06:00

For several lengthy portions of my life (those not crowded with the exploits of various sports or political figures), if I had been offered the opportunity to be anyone in the world, my first choice would have been Jim Lovell. Long before he was immortalized by Tom Hanks and Ron Howard in a very, very good movie, Jim Lovell was an honest to goodness hero. Lovell flew fighters in the Korean War, and, familiar to the stories of many of the astronauts, became a navy test pilot later. He missed out on being in the Mercury 7 over a marginal medical problem. It wasn't enough to keep him out of the Gemini program. He flew Gemini 7 with Frank Borman, and again, with Borman and Bill Anders on Apollo 8.
Apollo 8 flew around the moon.
They flew around the moon.
Three American men in a tin can flew around the back of the moon, that part that faces away from Earth and out into space.
They were the crew that made the Christmas Eve broadcast back to us in 1968. They (and it depends on whether Lovell or Borman is telling the story of just who held the camera) got the first shots of the "Earth-rise" over the moon's horizon. They are breathtakingly stunning photographs to this very day.
Apollo 8 and the Christmas Eve telecast are the earliest memories that I have, outside of family life, of something good and positive. The first memories that I carry, outside the family, are of the murders of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy. Perhaps that's why our parents were so determined that we watch Lovell, Borman and Anders on Christmas Eve. 1968 had been a horrible year of assassination, Viet Nam, Chicago and Nixon.
Lovell flew next on Apollo 13.
He, Fred Haise and Jack Swigert had the rollercoaster ride of all rollercoaster rides. An explosion in an onboard oxygen tank cost them their opportunity to land on the moon. It very nearly cost them their lives.
Their survival is testimony to the intelligence and training of the astronauts and the Mission Control staff, and the sheer determination and leadership of Jim Lovell. He willed that spacecraft home.
Lovell is a modest man. His wit is self-deprecating. He is often to this day applauded for his strength and toughness in that toughest of circumstances. He often pokes fun at being lauded for a failed mission.
Lovell is a man of courage. He is a man of science. He is a man of intellect, loyalty and character.
Jim Lovell is 82 years old today. And he is still one of my heroes.
Happy birthday, Sir. And thank you, again.

Alex Chilton is Gone

2010-03-18T00:18:00.007-06:00

Is it a needless redundancy to say that Alex was an artist, and a different sort of bird? Of course it is. But he was.
Alex was working with Chips Moman and Dan Penn when he was barely old enough to drive. The band was the Box Tops, and another group of Memphis kids changed music, again. The Letter and Cry Like a Baby are the most enduring cuts. They stand up to this day. The lead vocalist is a big part of the reason why. (The Box Tops went through several incarnations, one including a drummer named Thomas Boggs. He would later take his TGI Friday's experience and open a restaurant in his home town, and then a series of them, called Huey's. And he gave additional generations of Memphis musicians a place to play.)
After the Box Tops went their separate ways, Alex bounced around before landing in Big Star with Chris Bell, Jody Stephens and Andy Hummel. There would have been no alternative music movement without Big Star. Period.
Where did Peter Buck's jangling guitar come from? Big Star. Where did Michael Stipe and Eddie Vedder find their inspiration as lyricists and lead singers? Big Star. Or, more specifically, Alex Chilton. Where did the model for records lost as record companies went to pieces or turned on their own artists? Big Star.
#1 Record changed music. Third/Sister Lovers blew music up. By that time, the band was a conspiracy between Chilton, Stephens, Jim Dickinson and a lot of Memphis musicians, the great Richard Roseborough in particular, but Richard's another story.
Everything that would arise in Rock and Roll for the next 40 years has its roots in Third/Sister Lovers. That's not just my opinion. Michael Stipe said so. Peter Buck said so. A Who's Who of the alt rock generation agreed.
Alex had a third career as a solo artist. Like Flies on Sherbet is the pick here. It is weird. And brilliant. And free. Like Rock is supposed to be. Alex got it. Or it got him.
Chilton managed to keep the relationships alive no matter how the artistic temperament affected him and his colleagues in the various bands through the years. He and Stephens picked up Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow to perform and record as Big Star off and on for 15 or 20 years. Several versions of The Box Tops have appeared at the Beale Street festival and other settings recently.
Big Star was set to play a benefit for the Overton Park Shell (corporate name ignored intentionally) on May 15. I hate like hell that we won't get that show.
Thanks, Alex, for keeping the faith. Thanks for bearing witness to the truth that still lives and breathes at this weird, funky, inexplicable doorway to the Delta. Thanks for everything you shared with us. And thanks for that moment you shared with me at the Beale Street Festival, when the sound wasn't set up to suit you, so you jumped down off the stage and signed autographs, posed for pictures, talked and laughed until it was brought to your liking.
Rest well, brother, even if it is far, far too soon.

A Personal Note

2010-02-23T01:07:00.003-06:00

I'll give you a couple of options. You can consider this a belated anniversary valentine, or you can consider it a comment on how life has been the last month or six weeks. Take your pick.
Now, down to business.
Thanks, honey!
Thanks for eight years of this partnership. Thanks for loving my girls, and now our granddaughter. Thanks for buying in to my goofy life, and treating it with far, far more respect than it deserves. Thank you for hanging in with a migraine sufferer. Thanks for learning baseball to details you had never imagined existed. Thanks for your encouragement when I see no point or hope. Thanks for believing when I'm ready to give up. Thanks for doing your job all day and then getting home many nights and helping with mine, too. Thanks for tolerating the calls that come at weird hours and during the birthday parties and other celebrations. Thanks for making room in your house as well as your heart for my kids and the baby. Thanks for enjoying some of the more peculiar of my acquaintances (or at least pretending to), because I love some of these whackos dearly. Thanks for ignoring my devotion to rasslin' and roots music and especially Levon Helm-I know how his voice grates on your nerves, and I really am trying to remember not to play him right after you get home from work. Thanks for trying to smile as I drag you to every Dylan show in a seven state area. Thanks for reminding me not to yell at the television during Red Sox-MFY games after the under-30's have gone to sleep. Thanks for pretending to tolerate cajun/creole food, moroccan food and whatever kinds of critters are skewered on those kabobs from the cuisines of various parts of the world. Thanks for pretending to think it's a good idea to visit those neighborhoods in Chicago that contain the great blues clubs. Thanks for letting me rant when I need to. Thanks for your patience with Zevon and Dickinson and Cash and Grohl and Earle and Snider and Hiatt and Guthrie and Haggard and Lovett and Waits and Kimbrough and Burnside and Willie and all the others you really don't care for.
And for all I've left out, thanks for that, too!
I love you more than I can ever explain.
Me

Tiger, The Women, and Apologies

2010-02-21T17:58:00.007-06:00

A young man, married, twice a father, the best (perhaps ever) at his job, wealthy, handsome and as famous as anyone in the world: Awesome!
The same young man, outed as a philanderer, facing the loss of his wife and children, reputation, half his wealth (at least) in a divorce settlement, seriously damaged earnings potential for the future: Stupid, arrogant and sinful.
The same young man, emerging momentarily from therapy, owning his behavior, apologizing profusely to everyone he disappointed and wounded: Hopeful.
Some (any) portion of the Other Women involved in his philandering asking for the young man to apologize to them, women who wanted to be with a famous man they knew to be married, women who demonstrated no restraint or morality themselves: Absurd!
If there are to be additional apologies in Tiger Woods' case, how about Tiger's girlfriends, all, some, or any of them, summon up an attempt at decency themselves, and apologize to Mrs. Woods?
One thing that hasn't been said anywhere by anyone about Tiger Woods is that he forced or coerced anyone into his bed. That being the case, they were, at the bare minimum, willing participants. With a married man. And twice a father.
There is a lot of speculation in the media about Tiger's body language, choice of words, eye contact with the camera, and everything else about his statement last Friday. He brought that on himself. But what must be said is that whatever his motivation, he seems to be trying to get his life together.
We must applaud anyone who makes such an effort.
But there is no sympathy here for any of those who shared in his misbehavior looking to play the victim. They all knew who he is. That's why they made themselves available to him.
Instead of asking for apologies, ladies, how about growing up and making one?

Hey, Pat: Just Shut Up

2010-01-14T15:43:00.006-06:00

This is an 80 year old fool named Pat Robertson who has been a boil on the ass of Christianity for a very, very long time. Pat believes that God does very bad things to people.

Pat believes that 200 years ago, some Haitian people made a "deal with the devil" when the French came calling to try to re-enslave the Haitians. Pat believes that God has a very long memory.

Pat believes that God sent an earthquake to destroy one of the poorest, most impoverished areas in the Western Hemisphere and kill as many Haitians as possible.

Pat Robertson couldn't recognize Christianity if it came up and bit him on the ass. This is one moment when I wish that I could see the world the way Pat does. Because if God treated evil people the way Pat thinks God does, I would really love to see what God would do to Pat.

If you have a clearer image of God than Pat (and that wouldn't be difficult), and believe that God identifies with the poor and destroyed of the world, then give to UMCOR or the Red Cross or any other agency that will tell the Haitian people that God is gracious and loving and knows what it means to hurt, and that God's people are in the business of caring for life's victims.

Happy Birthday!

2010-01-06T22:55:00.010-06:00

One year ago today, our whole family raced to Jackson to await this little lady's arrival. Today, she enjoyed a good chunk of birthday cake thoroughly. And we all still wait on her moment by moment.

Happy Birthday, Dancing Baby!
I love you!
Granddaddy

Decade? What Decade? Or, 9/10 of the Way There!

2010-01-02T01:26:00.007-06:00

Remember The Count from Sesame Street? When he began to count cookies, did you ever hear him point to the first and say, "Zero cookies" the second with, "One cookie" and so forth? I didn't think so.
When you count noses in whatever setting you do that, be it family members at the dinner table, passengers in the vehicle, children in the classroom or worshippers in the pews, have you ever started your count with person zero? Me, either.
Then what in the world are all these people doing with their "End of the Decade" lists of music, movies, historic events and so forth?
Unless we have moved to some sort of base nine numeric system, which would mean the thing would never be called a "decade" in the first place, then we haven't reached the end of anything.
All this nonsense results, of course, from the inability of the world to wait for the actual turn of the century-wait for it-nine years ago. The real "Y2K" disaster was in missing the end of the twentieth century by a full year! The end of 1999 didn't complete anything, and certainly not a century. HENCE THE FREAKING "99" AT THE END OF THE NUMBER!!!
The 100 years started with a "1" at the end of the beginning number-1901-and ended with "00" at the end-at the midnight that lay between December 31, 2000 and January 1, 2001. Which, of course, is then when the current decade began, along with the new century. Just as we never start counting with "0" in other areas of life, so do we not do so when counting years.
I understand that what passes these days for the Great American Press has gotten so lazy that they opt, invariably, for the easy, simple story (decade Top Ten lists in addition to annual Top Tens) instead of covering, oh I don't know, the wars that we're still involved in? But I digress.
Unless there's been some sort of vote that I missed, we still start out counting with "1" and complete decades with "10" or its multiples, and centuries with a "00" at the end of the number.
So let's all just settle down, wait for the appropriate time, and FOLLOW THE STINKING RULES!

Tiger

2009-12-12T01:02:00.013-06:00

I don't like golf. Don't play it. Never think about it. Except when Tiger is playing. Tiger playing golf must be what it looked like when Babe Ruth walked up to the plate, John D. Rockefeller sat down to negotiate a deal, or Thomas Jefferson took pen in hand.
We now know that Tiger isn't as good at some of the other parts of life as he is at golf.
What a shock.
A rich, handsome man took advantage of the situation when women made themselves available to him, even though he was married.
What a shock.
I have been at my job long enough to know that people with none of Tiger's advantageous adjectives get themselves into the same predicament on a fairly regular basis.
And yet, a great many wise (heavy sarcasm intended) people want to tell Tiger what to do now. Some say take a break from golf (Hey, Rick Reilly: I genuinely cannot wait until you get caught doing whatever it is you do! Your piety over Tiger is way, way, way past getting on my last nerve). Tiger announced today he will do that. Others suggest he perform the Great American Penance, go on the Oprah Winfrey Show and grieve over his hideousness. No such appearance has been announced. I hope it isn't forthcoming.
Others just want him to appear in public and own the whole problem. I don't think he can do that.
I don't know anything about Florida law, but in Tennessee, if the cops arrive and see any evidence of violence on the person of one spouse, the other is arrested. The last thing Tiger is interested in right now is causing Elin to be arrested. So we will see him when his injuries from (ahem) "the car crash" are healed, and not before.
I am the father of two grown young women. Truth be told, I kind of hope Elin did take the three wood to him. She's entitled.
The rest of us aren't.
May I remind all of us that we are in the season of Advent?
Advent is the time of preparation for Christmas, the birth of our Savior. As in, the One Who Saves Us. As in, We Need A Savior. As in, We Are Sinful. As in, All of Us Are Sinful!
I mentioned Schadenfreude a few posts back. May I suggest that any of us who are taking delight in Tiger's very, very public confessional (not sought, but inflicted), should be very grateful that we are nobodies? May I suggest that the only difference in Tiger and you and me is that we aren't headline news when we screw our lives up? May I remind us all that what Tiger did doesn't matter in sin terms. He decided to make himself God in this particular issue, just like you and I do in our sins. That's why Tiger's behavior, and yours and mine, is sin. And may I remind us all that this is the very season when we of the Christian faith affirm that God had mercy on all of us, took the initiative that we wouldn't/couldn't, and acted to save us in spite of everything?
Good News, Tiger! Good News, Self! Good News, the Rest of You! God knows, but God loves you/me anyway! And in Jesus Christ, wants to save us from ourselves!
Merry Christmas!

29

2009-12-09T04:25:00.007-06:00

December 8, 1980. 29 years without John Lennon in the world. Could it have been so long? It remains tragic for Yoko, Sean and Julian. But we're all poorer for what we lost in that moment, in a still-young life, and for all that hasn't been heard, and never will be, from the spectacularly gifted composer.
John Lennon, Public Figure, was everything we all wanted to be when we grew up. Imagine if those dreams still lived in us...

Midtown Huey's Sunday Night, Part 2

2009-12-07T21:47:00.002-06:00

Midtown Huey's Sunday Night, Part 1

2009-12-06T23:34:00.004-06:00

Thanksgiving 2009

2009-11-26T01:26:00.008-06:00

Counting away...
Kaly has to head any list like this, and probably will for the next...oh, I don't know, rest of my life? Becoming a grandfather is just the coolest thing. I recommend it wholeheartedly. Nobody has ever been crazier about their children than me, but this grandchild thing...it's just different. And awesome.
My girls are home. A year ago, I had no idea where we were headed. But this is a really good place. I'm humbled by the grace that has my household where it is. I am proud and utterly delighted at the young women my daughters have become. Sara is an attentive mother, totally committed to her baby. And God knows, apart from my mother, she didn't have a lot of instruction or example on that sort of thing until Shannon and I got married. Em continues her preparation to teach little children. I couldn't possibly be any prouder of either of them.
The older woman in the house has put up with me another year. That's no small thing. She's also put up with my job for another year. That's a huge thing. This job sucks for the family of the person doing it, but she is as gracious about it all as anyone could ever be asked to be. No kidding, I have been called away on every single holiday, the birthday of every member of the household at least once, and I'm still working with a group that hasn't lived up to even one of about 28 significant promises that were made before I agreed to go there. And she hasn't blown a gasket yet. Well, not over that stuff.
My parents are well, active and able. Most people my age can't make all of that statement, if any of it. What a blessing and a joy. I'm not sure there has been any single part of my grandparenting that's been more fun than watching my Dad with his great-granddaughter. It's just absolutely and utterly the coolest thing I've seen in my whole life. Mom's always been Mom, to the extent of most of us taking her totally for granted. But that's Mom. I knew how she'd be as a great-grandmother, because nobody's ever been better at being a Mom or Grandmother. She sets the example every single day, now, to the third generation in her wake.
I'm grateful for my friends. There aren't many of them, but boy, they are quality. Mike (non-brother, but might as well be) and Dave, I love you both, your wives, and Mike's Bryce. I apologize for my long silences, and your disregarding of them whenever they come. My life is infinitely richer for your presence in it.
In the sibling category, I am also thankful, as always for and to Mike (brother) and Laurie. I love both you knuckleheads, too. We've hung the longest, and I fully intend and expect that to last until it doesn't matter any more.
Thanks, Boss, for these and all other blessings this Thanksgiving!

But most of all for Kaly! Hey, a wise friend once pointed out that Grandbaby Is Life!

Schadenfreude

2009-11-10T01:11:00.007-06:00

I'm not a big fan of things German. My aunt was one of those people whose family braved the barbed wire and Russian rifles when word circulated in East Berlin that a wall was going up (to be taken down 20 years ago today, oddly enough).
But it's time to dust off a great German word: Schadenfreude.
It is usually translated as "enjoying the misery of others" or some such similar phrase.
And boy, have I got it these days.
Jay Leno has turned into one royal stinkbomb at 9 pm Central Time on NBC. I couldn't be happier.
Now, some feel the need to bring up the recent turmoil surrounding David Letterman in this conversation. Well long story short, Dave apparently acted like an idiot, and he should have known better. But then again, the best President of the United States of my lifetime behaved worse than Dave, and he was in a job just a bit more significant than late night comedian.
I am enjoying Leno's loser-dom for one simple reason: disloyalty.
Is there a single human trait that is worse than disloyalty? I'm not aware of what it is. And I'm not talking about disloyalty in the sense of a Nixonian, enemies list, I'm right no matter what I do, America: love it or leave it kind of crap.
I'm talking about basic gratitude.
Common decency.
Grateful for food on your table kind of stuff.
A little history: Jay Leno couldn't get arrested prior to David Letterman's creating Late Night, with the blessing of, and at the behest of, Johnny Carson. Dave gave that ugly goof Leno, with his irritating accent and act a career. And kept it going with routine appearances on his, Dave's, highly rated and highly reviewed program.
And Leno repaid that extravagant gift with a craven act of piracy against his friend, Dave, and the god of Late Night Television, Mr. Carson.
Johnny wanted Dave to succeed him. Common knowledge. Dave wanted the job. Obvious. And Leno connived and schemed, plotted and planned, to snake the thing out from under the man to whom he owed everything.
Leno got his prize. Dave went to CBS to host The Late Show.
Johnny's Tonight Show became, under Leno, the lamest hour on television. Jay cribbed everything he did from Dave, Howard Stern and anyone else with a creative bone, which Jay never had. See, he didn't have Dave to make him look good any more. Instead, he staged such a bland program that middle-America was thrilled.
Dave just kept winning Emmy awards.
Then Jay got turned out. NBC wanted to keep Conan O'Brien. He brought in the young viewers. The ones the advertisers want.
Jay had an old audience.
That was in the good old days. Now he has no audience.
Apologies to John Lennon, karma isn't always instant. Sometimes karma, like revenge, is best served cold. Now, NBC has wrecked 9 pm every night, has damaged the ratings in every market where local news follows Leno, and 10:30, the sacred Tonight Show, has tanked as well.
Letterman, at long last, stands as the King of Late Night.
I'm thrilled.
Not at O'Brien's plight. I think he's a good guy, and he was funny on Late Night. Haven't seem him since he moved to 10:30, and won't.
But Jay Leno deserves every bad thing that happens to him. Cancellation won't be humiliating enough to suit me. Of course, he wants to go back to Tonight. It's the only place his alleged humor can draw flies.
You just don't spit in the face of a person who gives you a life and a career.
Ever.
Schadenfreude, Jay.
'Cause payback's a bitch!

The Conversation

2009-11-08T23:39:00.023-06:00

Kaly (waking up from her nap, heard on the baby monitor): la la la, la la la, la la la.

Grandparents: (giggling on the couch in the den)

Kaly: la la la, la la la, la la la.

Granddaddy (unable to wait any longer): Ah-ooo (think howl of Carol in Where the Wild Things Are)

Kaly: (sudden silence)

Granddaddy (halfway up the staircase, and a little louder): Ah-ooo

Kaly: (giggling)

Granddaddy (at the bedroom door, louder): Ah-ooo

Kaly: (laughing out loud now, like great-uncle Mike [think Eddie Murphy's laugh if you don't know Mike])

Granddaddy (at the now open bedroom door): Hi!

Kaly: (total laughing meltdown)

Granddaddy: Do you want to get up?

Kaly: Yeff!

Granddaddy: (lifting her out of the crib) Let's go see Grandmommie!

Kaly: Yeff! (melting into laughter again)

Granddaddy: (hiding around the corner of the bookshelf at the den door) Let's get Grandmommie!

Kaly: (vigorous nodding)

Granddaddy: (leaning around the corner of the bookshelf before jumping back) Where's Grandmommie?

Kaly: (giggling)

Granddaddy: (leaning out again) Where's Grandmommie?

Kaly: (breaks out laughing)

Granddaddy: (jumping out into plain view with the baby) Grandmommie!

Kaly: (arms out for Grandmommie, laughing her head off) Yeff!

[Playing ensues, with Grandmommie and Granddaddy being climbed, lots of laughing, baby being tickled and tickling back]

Granddaddy: Are you hungry? Do you want some bites?

Kaly: (nodding hugely) Yeff!

Grandmommie: Kaly, you want Gabba Gabba?

Kaly: Yeff!

Granddaddy: (returning with a jar of Bananas and Strawberries while Grandmommie turns on the tv to Kaly's favorite show) Bites! Bites! Bites!

Kaly: MMMMM!

[Fade out: grandparents feeding the baby while they enjoy DJ Lance Rock and his friends on Yo Gabba Gabba]

Life is Good!

Mr. Tony is on the radio!

2009-11-06T00:04:00.006-06:00

Does Curb Your Enthusiasm speak to your life as closely as it does mine? Do you have even a passing interest in sports? Do you know what PTI stands for and watch it daily? Are you a big timer? Are you a little who wishes to be a big timer?
Get over the iTunes bias, and subscribe to The Tony Kornheiser Show podcast.
Mr. Tony is the doppelganger of Larry David. He is wonderful. He is paranoid. He is totally and completely out of touch with real life. And he is hysterically funny.
You should be listening to him every single day of your life.
What will you get out of it?
Hypochondria.
Whining.
Social Climbing.
Sports (occasionally).
World Wide Wilbon.
D.C.
Bruce Springsteen tickets. (Thanks, Nils)
Bedtime.
No flying.
Off Monday Night Football.
The littles.
Hoda and Kathie Lee.
Night of Quarterbacks.
Here Comes Tony's Mailbag. (Thanks, Darius)
I Need a Driver.
Dana Bash needs a sandwich.
Old Guy Radio.
Get with the program! iTunes. Podcasts. Audio Podcasts. The Tony Kornheiser Show.
Thank me later!
Remember, it's all for the kids!
And if you're out riding your bike tonight, please wear white.

Congratulations, Mr. President

2009-10-09T16:23:00.006-05:00

Dear Mr. President,
Congratulations on being named the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. You now stand with a number of the most remarkable women and men in human history. I hope and pray you will now go out and earn it.
You campaigned, victoriously, on twin themes of hope and change. The nation endorsed that vision. So, now, has the Nobel committee.
I did not vote for you in the Democratic primary. I'm almost seven months older than you, and I'm still not sure people my age should be in charge of anything, much less be left in charge of the whole world. It's just a little hinky. But age notwithstanding, I listened and watched, and by election day, I enthusiastically cast my ballot for you.
You see, I want every American to have access to quality health care. I want us out of Iraq. I want Guantanamo closed. I want us out of Afghanistan. I want us talking to Iran, North Korea and all of those other people we had been accustomed to just bombing, or planning to bomb. I want the banks regulated. I want business watched like a hawk. And I want our civil liberties protected.
These are some of the things you named as your priorities as a candidate. I liked the laundry list. Clearly, folks in Oslo, and all over the world liked the vision you described.
As you know, we hadn't had a lot of hope in the world in a long time. Oh, say, eight years. You seemed like a breath of fresh air. We need the hope you talked about. We certainly need change from where we were and where we were headed.
Again, the whole world is longing to emerge from our own mini-Dark Age of ignorance, arrogance and fundamentalism.
So I encourage you, in the strongest possible terms, to take our endorsement, and that of the Nobel committee, and that of the tumultuous crowds that have followed your travels around the world, and fight for what you invited us to believe in.
The Republicans are not your friends, and they never will be. You cannot depend on them or wait for them. The same applies, increasingly, to the Blue Dogs. You're the boss. They aren't. Look up Lyndon Johnson, circa 1964-1965. "Get on the bus, or we'll find somebody to take your seat who will." It is time for some party discipline, even if we are Democrats.
If I may be so bold, sir, get health care done. Stop these perverse and illegal wars. Make it clear that we are part of the human race and know it.
Many, left and right, are saying that you received the Nobel Peace Prize because you are not George W. Bush. Granted, that is a good start. But it is time to act on your promises, your vision, in such a way that at the end of your term, the Nobel committee will be as proud of your selection as they are hopeful with it today.
Yes We Can?
Only with your leadership!
From one middle-aged white southern male (that's redneck to you and me): Git'er done!

Polanski

2009-10-05T20:19:00.004-05:00

I don't get it.
Why is Roman Polanski's situation even being debated?
The man drugged a 13 year old girl. He had sex with her. He had anal sex with her. She repeatedly asked him to stop. He did not. These seem to be the stipulated facts of the case that Polanski acknowledged in his plea bargain, in return for being allowed to plead guilty to a lesser charge. (He was originally charged with heavier crimes, but in our legal way of doing business, he pled to a reduced charge. That does not change the facts of the case, that he owned in the plea agreement.)
He was to get no jail time. Simply a period of psychological evaluation prior to sentencing. 42 days into that process, word got out that the judge was likely to throw out the plea agreement and require some serious jail time. At that point, Polanski fled to France, where he had resided ever since. That's from 1978 to 2009.
At that point, he became a fugitive. Fleeing is a crime. That makes two crimes.
Roman Polanski was 43 years old when he raped the 13 year old child.
Some people who appear to be adults argue that since Polanski is an artist, he is somehow a victim of prosecution for his art. Huh? He isn't charged, and never has been charged, with making seditious films. He raped a 13 year old child.
Some have suggested that he should be given a pass given the brutal murders of his wife, Sharon Tate, and their unborn child at the hands of the Manson Family. Huh? Elie Wiesel survived Nazi Germany's concentration camps. He has spent his life working for peace and justice in the world. John Walsh suffered the kidnapping and murder of his little boy, Adam. He has spent the last 20 years working to catch criminals who perpetrate such crimes. Nowhere in the world is a victim of crime given license to commit crime. Polanski raped a 13 year old child.
To state the obvious, the only reason that Roman Polanski was ever offered a plea deal under the circumstances of his crime was that he is a wealthy and famous artist. The only reason that Roman Polanski was ever able to flee the US during such a prosecution was that he is a wealthy and famous artist. The only reason that Roman Polanski was ever afforded the protection of the French government for 30 years was that he is a wealthy and famous artist. To somehow argue that he is being mistreated for being an artist is just stupid.
As it is to argue that since he suffered crime, he should be excused for committing crime.
As the theme song to a police drama told us every week back when Polanski committed his offenses, "Don't do the crime if you can't do the time..."
And I wonder whatever happened to that Baretta guy, anyway???

A Reflection on Health Care

2009-08-28T03:14:00.006-05:00

I woke up Wednesday morning to my daughter's screams. She was shrieking from the pain in her side. She hadn't felt well for several days; by Wednesday, it could no longer be ignored. We sought aid from the hospital that bears the name of the denomination that I have served for 25 years, my father has served for 50 years, by uncle has served for 30 years, and my grandfather served for 54 years.
Sara was there for six hours. She was barely examined. She was, for the most part, ignored. Then, at 2:30 pm, with no explanation whatsoever for what was causing her pain (which had not subsided), the nurse came in with her discharge papers and wished us well. We asked to see the doctor. He came in with a thoroughly condescending smile on his face, and told us, graciously but pointedly, to get out.
You see, Sara is a sinner. Her sin? She has no health insurance.
My daughter works an average of 46 hours a week at a local restaurant, for $2.14 an hour plus tips (and if you eat at restaurants and don't tip the waitstaff, your tongue should fall out). Those fine folks terminated her health insurance last fall when Sara was eight months' pregnant. They said she wasn't working enough hours to qualify for insurance. Which was interesting, given that they made out her schedule each week. My guess? Someone was ordered to cut costs, so they did.
Another family in our church has incurred an incredible amount of medical neglect. That neglect has caused significant damage. One of the doctors in that instance dropped a tirade on his patient, screaming at her that if she had better insurance, she'd have gotten better care!
Other families in our church have lost their insurance when the business closed. There are few scarier places in life than finding yourself unemployed and uninsured when you are several years away from qualifying for Medicare, or have young children, or you or your spouse already have health issues.
Shannon and I do not use the Annual Conference insurance program. The Conference program penalized us in ways we cannot afford for Shannon using brand name insulin rather than generic insulin. When there is no such thing on God's green earth as generic insulin. Fortunately, we have access to her collectively bargained program, that of the Mississippi teachers' union. But as good as it is, we can't put Sara on it, as she is 23 and not in school.
In Sara's case, we are fortunate. My father is still somebody within our little world. So this morning, he was able to call on a friend and former church member of his to get Sara examined, diagnosed and treated. She has a respiratory infection that, left untreated, could have gone into pneumonia and killed her. But she's going to be alright, because Dad knows somebody.
How many people don't know somebody?
How many people are being left to suffer and die because they are inunsured, and, therefore, in the eyes of far too many medical professionals, untreatable?
How many people are suffering needlessly, and becoming sicker than they should have to, because they don't even seek medical care, knowing they are uninsured and can't pay?
How much more expensive is it for all of us for the poor and indigent to show up at The Med when they are at death's door, bur never should have gotten so sick in the first place?
How much of the exorbitant premiums that we all pay are due to the expenses of those uninsured, whose "care" has to be covered somehow?
How long will the greatest and wealthiest nation in the world allow tens of millions of its people to suffer misery, physically and emotionally, over health care?
Do those who wring their hands over the prospect of "Death Panels" run by the government (which do not exist in any of the plans being considered) not understand that the insurance companies are, by their refusal or approval of procedures or tests that doctors deem necessary, acting precisely as the kinds of boards that they fear?
I don't know what the answer is. I wish I did. I just know that there has to be something better than the way we are (barely) functioning now.
Again, Sara will be alright. I'm thankful for that. But as we consider our church family, our community and nation, there are an awful lot of people who cannot say tonight that their loved one will be alright.
Because they don't know.
Because they cannot afford to see the doctor.
And may God have mercy on all our souls if we continue to accept this perverse and unjust system with our silence, selfishness and inaction.
With prayers for God's just future to come speedily,
+Bro. Joe
(from the September edition of our church newsletter)

Edward Moore Kennedy, 1932-2009

2009-08-26T01:40:00.011-05:00

We all know his failings, one horrific, others, things he should have been above.
We all know his family's tragedies, almost more than can be counted or believed.
But since Ted Kennedy entered the United States Senate in 1962,
If you have worked for a paycheck, and especially a minimum wage paycheck,
If you have worked in a safe environment,
If you have been fairly treated in your workplace,
If you have needed health insurance,
If you have sought redress after being discriminated against in any way,
If you have voted easily and without challenge,
If you love someone who has special needs,
If you have borrowed money to go to college or graduate school,
If you have purchased a home,
If you have had a problem with a landlord,
If you have been to public schools, and sent your children and grandchildren to public schools,
If you have treasured your individual liberties,
If you have lived in this nation, and this world,
you should say a prayer of thanksgiving for the life of Ted Kennedy, and another for comfort for his family.
He was, simply, the greatest Senator in our nation's history.

Jim Dickinson, Part Two

2009-08-24T01:59:00.010-05:00

In response to a couple of questions, your humble blogger is back to gather you kiddies around the rocking chair to relieve you of your ignorance. (Please remember, ignorance isn't bad unless it's willful. It just means you don't know. And some things, you need to know.)
Jim Dickinson wasn't God, but he certainly was about God's work.
How does a body go about explaining Jim Dickinson?
Jim was one of those rich souls who was born old. Not in the rigid, dead-to-the-world sense, but in the wise, seen-it-all-twice sense. In the "I remember everything" sense. He was a rocker. And a Bluesman. And a crooner. And country and jazz and...well, you get the idea. The music was in his bones. Then again, if it isn't in your bones, what the hell are you doing being from Memphis?
The city cannot be separated from Jim Dickinson. He loved it, just as an awful lot of us do. That would be the ones who don't sit around afraid to go downtown, whining about the former/future Mayor, the City Council, the School Board and whatever else you've got, no matter how much all that deserves to be whined about.
Memphis' sole excuse for existing is the music. You either get that or you don't. God help you if you don't.
Jim got it. He lived it. He preached it. He played it. He produced it. Jim was the music!
When he sat down with Lee Baker, Sid Selvidge and Jimmy Crosthwait and they became Mud Boy and the Neutrons, miracles happened. When he decided to make a solo album, a good 1/3 of the wonder was finding out what songs he had unearthed to include. Dixie Fried, Free Beer Tomorrow, Jungle Jim and the Voodoo Tiger, Killers from Space and Dinosaurs Run in Circles...if you want to get Memphis, get those discs and wear them out as quickly as you can. Then you'll know.
He was a piano player. Like Lincoln was a President. Jim Dickinson at a keyboard could haunt your soul. He did it on The Rolling Stones' Wild Horses. He did it on almost all of the cuts on Dylan's Time Out of Mind. Dylan has been crazy powerful and prolific since crossing paths with Jim in 1997. I'll go to my grave believing that's no accident. That's Dickinson.
On The Bob: there's a line in his song I Feel a Change Coming On from the new album Together Through Life: "Some people say I've got the blood of the land in my voice." Long before Bob had totally blown his voice out, Dickinson had the roar, the earth-shaking, never smooth, instrument of apocalypse that was his voice. Listen to Mud Boy's Shake Your Money Maker or Money Talks, complete with his childhood experience of Rev. Robert G. Lee's Payday Someday sermon, the judgement of God delivered bluntly and as an End Time lecture to a beat you can dance to. Make that, you have to dance to.
Jim nurtured musicians. Look at his boys. Luther and Cody are ridiculously gifted musicians. They paid attention. They learned well. The North Mississippi All Stars are an experience every single time out. I'm getting redundant, but if you're not in the audience whenever the All Stars play the Home Town, you have no soul and you need help. Immediately.
But the sharing was never confined to the family.
Big Star, Calvin Russell, The Radiators, Mudhoney, Beanpole, Alex Chilton, Paul Westerberg and a thousand others, all found their music better after passing it through Jim Dickinson's hands. Not for Jim, the neurotic "Mine is the only" or "Why should I help anyone else" approach to art and life. Never Ever.
Mose Vinson was my point of contact. Jim's work with Mose taught me about the man.
Mose was an old man when I met him. He came to live in one of our retirement homes. He had gotten too well to keep his Medicaid in the nursing home where his niece had dumped him after his stroke. One of God's great saints, Mary Lee Moore, called me to her office to back up her judgement that the old man wasn't capable of living independently. When she asked the standard questions, the old man grunted, monosyllabic at best. Finally, divinely inspired and seeking any response from him, she asked, "What do you like to do?" The head lifted off the chest, the voice became strong, the one good eye fired to life, and the man said, "I play the piano!" Mary Lee being Mary Lee, she challenged him: "You can't play the piano; you're half dead." A smile played across the old man's lips. "You got a piano?" was his question. We led him into the dining room, to the pathetic old excuse for a piano that some Sunday School class had dumped on us when they bought something nice and new. Old hands became young on the keyboard. He ripped into Howlin' Wolf's .44 Blues. When he was done, our mouths were hanging open, and he was claiming to be the real composer of the great Blues standard. Later, Jim Dickinson told me that the Wolf may well have taken the song from Mose at Sun Studios.
Mose had been used his whole musical life. Sam Phillips had hired him at Sun Studios. To be the janitor. That way, any time a piano player was missing, Mr. Sam could have Mose sit in. Ike Turner often wasn't in shape to play when he actually showed up for a recording date at all. That sort of problem wasn't rare in the old days. But the janitor had to be functional. And God only knows how many of those incredible Sun sides actually featured Mose Vinson on piano, regardless of whose name was listed on the label. Mose certainly never got paid for any of that work. Somewhere along the way, Mr. Sam did credit Mose with a few sides, but they were never released until they were included in Bear Family's fabulous box, Sun Blues. Yeah, the Germans know their Blues. Who'd a thought?
Jim Dickinson gave Mose his moment in the sun, no pun intended. Jim produced, for Judy Peiser and the Center for Southern Folklore, the only album that ever carried Mose Vinson's name, Piano Man. Jim talked Mose through the recording. It sounds like two old friends sitting and talking in the parlor, around the piano. They even play some four-hand piano on the cd. Jim and Judy threw a cd release party for Mose. He was a star, if only for that night. Because Jim Dickinson said he was important.
Jim was a real-life Yoda. He spoke his own language. He saw and heard things others couldn't fathom. He lived richly and always saw the possibilities. He told Chuck Prophet, "You can burn out, but you can get lit again. I've seen it happen."
I knew Jim Dickinson just slightly, and that, only because of Mose. But I love him. I pretty much adore him. Jim was pretty much everything I'd love to be when I grow up. On several occasions, he'd spot me at one of his performances, and he'd ask, "Reverend, how's the Good Work going?" I'd say to him, "You ought to know. You're the one doing it."
I believed it when he was alive. I sure believe it now.
There's your lesson on Jim Dickinson.
Now you know something that matters!

James Luther Dickinson, 1942-2009

2009-08-17T15:59:00.003-05:00

Our "celebrity culture" is a royal load of crap, because any society in which Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and any number of teenaged vampires are followed breathlessly from moment to moment deserves to be blown up. Filming your sex acts, not wearing underwear in public and teen angst over who is dating whom are not bases for choosing objects of worship.

That said, I have been thrilled to meet exactly three legitimate celebrities, truly accomplished people, in my life: Sam Phillips (not the woman who sings; the Real One), Stan Musial, and Jim Dickinson.

Jim Dickinson was Memphis Music. His resume is being widely rehearsed in his obituaries. Would Bob Dylan have had this late-career renaissance if he hadn't crossed paths with Dickinson during the recording of Time Out of Mind? Could he?

Would Alex Chilton have become, well, Alex Chilton without Dickinson at the board for those Big Star albums?

Would Furry Lewis, Bukka White, Son House and so many others hold their hallowed places in American music history without the efforts of Dickinson and several other young white boys in the 1960's to find them, get them performing again, and fight for their just due?

Would the Beale Street Festival have been conceived without the Blues festivals Dickinson staged and performed in at the Overton Park Shell?

Would anyone care about Wild Horses without Jim's piano?

And there is still the film scoring with Ry Cooder, the upbringing of the North Mississippi All Stars, the performances all over creation (Brownsville with Luther and Cody at the dedication of Sleepy John Estes' cabin, all the times at the Memphis Music and Heritage Festival, hundreds of others that I was privileged to hear), the gift to Mose Vinson of finally giving him an album under his own name, and so much more.

Jim was Memphis Music. Jim was American Music. And I'm sick that he's gone.

But as he left his own epitaph: "I'm just dead. I'm not gone."

Amen, brother! Amen!

Differences

2009-08-05T23:44:00.000-05:00

Country Club: charges dues
Church: offers chance to give gladly to God's work

Country Club: exists for members' enjoyment
Church: exists to change the world

Country Club: members are to be served
Church: members are to serve others

Country Club: private playground to ensure members don't have to associate with anyone below an acceptable income status
Church: public Body of Christ intended to bring together people of all incomes, races, ages, genders, backgrounds

So why is it so often impossible to tell the difference in a Country Club and a church?

Michael Jackson

2009-06-26T19:57:00.007-05:00

Coincidences being coincidences, three pretty substantial personalities in the American public life of my lifetime have died in close proximity. I don't know if there ever was anyone better at his or her particular job than Ed McMahon. If you ever saw The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, you know what I mean. Farrah Fawcett was the poster girl who was famous for being famous, along with being the subject of a great Steve Martin joke: "I wrote a letter to Farrah Fawcett. She never wrote me back. And after all the time I spent holding her poster up with one hand!" (And before you accuse me of bad taste, may I remind you that she posed for, sold and got rich and famous off the poster, not me.)
And Michael Jackson.
My first memory of Michael and his brothers is on Ed Sullivan's stage, in the theater where David Letterman now holds court. The Jackson 5 were amazing. And, obviously, not least because of the little brother with the big voice. Michael was just a couple years older than me, and was the first person of my generation to become publicly accomplished. Maybe the Osmonds were out there, but Donny? Really? Not so much.
Michael was cool. He just got cooler and better through the years. At his peak, with the albums Off the Wall and Thriller in the early 1980's, Michael really was the king of pop, and not just as some dopey marketing slogan. Those records were awesome. Pure pop perfection, guided by Quincy Jones, whose importance to American music simply cannot be overstated. Michael was one of the forces behind We Are the World, raising buckets of money for Great Causes.
Then things got weird.
Everybody knows the details. You don't need me to restate them. Michael Jackson became the poster boy for the dangers of immense wealth, immense ego and the power to make sure there is no soul in sight who will tell you "No" about anything. Somewhere amidst the accusations, the surgeries, the Howard Hughes-type behavior, Michael lost everything that mattered. His music got stale and self-serving, his wealth apparently was squandered, his behavior grew ever-more bizarre.
Our culture of celebrity worship is sick. It's pathetic for every person who has actually wasted enough of their lives to know that Jon and Kate, much less the plus 8, exist. But it is even more costly and dangerous for those who become the objects of such worship. You tell people they are God for long enough, most of them will start to believe it. It rarely ends well. It just tends to end.
And it has, again.
Pardon me if I just choose to remember the little boy who could sing his tail off, or the young man who could make perfect music and dance like he didn't have a bone in his quite tall body. The rest of it makes me sick.
R.I.P. Michael. Maybe now, at long last, you are at peace.

Annual Bleeping Conference

2009-05-30T00:44:00.012-05:00

It's two days away. I just can't wait (insert sarcastic tone and rolling of the eyes here).
We're now looking hard at two and a half days none of us will ever get back.
We will do several things. We will be led in worship by someone who has done Spectacular Things in other places. Things that most of us would be moved from our churches for doing back home, as a result of complaints from the natives to the same conference leaders who are bringing The Star in to show us how to do things right.
We will listen to arguments about money. Specifically, arguments from pastors and members from our largest, wealthiest churches who have every bell and whistle on their properties and staffs, telling the rest of us why they shouldn't have to pay the lion's share of the way, in spite of having the lion's share of everything.
We will listen to (largely) mindless debates on way too many constitutional amendments, conducted by (largely) misguided people who think they are doing the Will of God, who will have their talking points from whatever interest group they represent well-memorized for easier regurgitation. And both ends will try to scare the middle with the Secret Intents of everyone who disagrees with them. And at the end of all of it, we will find, to paraphrase The Bob, "I looked beneath the sofa, beneath the chair; looking for them Gays/Homophobes everywhere; I looked up my chimney hole, even looked deep inside my toilet bowl; they got away!" And we will be left with nothing again, as, to quote the late, great Billy Preston, "Nothing from nothing leaves nothing."
I, for one, will leave Annual Conference calculating again at what speed Mr. Wesley must be spinning in his grave. Because we haven't done much of anything in the last decade, at least, except take the temperature of the institution that has become the bloated, dying carcass of The United Methodist Church, and find it to be lukewarm. As in "spew you out of my mouth" lukewarm.
So all is lost? Not so fast.
I went to church this afternoon.
John Kilzer played at the Italian Festival in Marquette Park on this glorious Friday afternoon.
John is like many of us, a middle-aged guy, but young in ministry, with an old soul nurtured by the collision of music that enriches our native turf. He, like the rest of us, knows some parts of the world too well, but writes, plays and sings spectacularly of the hope and promise and joy that are supposed to be at the heart of this faith we profess and are supposed to share.
John reminded me that the faith isn't Annual Conference. Hell, the faith certainly isn't my short-sighted, terrified congregation. God's ability to change lives through the presence of the living Christ is the story.
And one of these days God may even get around to bringing church to Annual Conference.
Hey, they say stranger things have happened...

Melancholy, Fun and Weird

2009-05-26T21:03:00.004-05:00

It's been an up and down couple of weeks. While I am (slightly) happier with my government today than I was prior to January 21, I'm not really thrilled with the Department of [doublespeak=Defense, honesty=War]. Two truly fine families have been reassigned from our local Navy base to far away locations. This makes the tote board read three families in my current assignment ripped from our congregation. Of the first departure, the wife and mother is the most able and knowledgeable lay person I have ever been privileged to have serve alongside me in any setting anywhere. Anne is awesome, and should be a church professional in some capacity, and she is far more than competent to be a church professional any number of capacities. The husband and father in family number three is one of a group of active duty Navy men who made a commitment to our Cub Scouts, and then did stupendous things. Like growing the pack in one year from 37 to 84 boys. Like standing up with those kids for some of the genuinely good values in the world. With his colleagues, Tom made a huge difference in this program, and that means in the lives of each of these kids. Family number two is comprised of one of the neatest 4 year olds on the face of planet earth, a mom/wife who is as creative and generous as anyone you've ever met, and a dad/husband who was the best partner I've had (so far) in a Lay Leader in 24 years under appointment. Joe, you know who you are, and I know you look at this from time to time, so...THANK YOU, AGAIN, FOR EVERYTHING!
And there's your melancholy.
For the fun...we baptized two and confirmed four young people last Sunday, and we will be baptizing two more and confirming five more this Sunday (don't ask--it's about vacation schedules, custody decrees and the like). In four years at the current stop, I've had the high privilege of baptizing and confirming significantly more people than in the other 20 years combined. Yeah, seven of those other years were spent pastoring in the retirement homes, but still! I just don't think that it gets any better for Christian minsters than being allowed to participate in the growing of the faith of such a group of young people. It is, after all, pretty much the point.
And the weird...this year about to start should be the last one here. By the time four years are up, there are always people who are after your rear end, and I've got two or three of those. When you combine what will be five years of chewing by the same sets of teeth, with the growing pains of a quickly-expanding community, with the frustrations of being unable to implement the painfully obvious and simple changes that would allow the church to grow into what the community needs it to be, I feel strongly that five years will be enough. For them, I believe, and certainly for me.
I remember the sports reporting that Pat Riley had lost the ear of the players on the Miami Heat before he went back to presidenting the club last year. I think I'm starting to understand what they were talking about.
A few years ago my father had a church in a community that was about 15-20 years ahead of where we are right now. He had a very tough three years there, perhaps the most difficult years of his working life. He buried a few saints that had to go for things to move along, and when they were gone, and his work had taken him to a new assignment, things did indeed smooth out and run well so that that church became what its town and our conference need it to be.
I expect something similar to take place in my assignment. It just feels a little weird that I probably won't get to share in it myself. I have laid and am laying some of the groundwork. Someone else may have to drive in the connecting spike, to use an image from the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad. How's that for obscure, Dennis Miller?

Thanks, Mom!

2009-05-13T23:10:00.004-05:00

Yes, it's Wednesday night after. But that's pretty close for me.
One of the really fun things that goes with my getting used to being a grandfather is watching my parents become great-grandparents. Mom has taken to keeping Kaly just like she did with Sara and Emily a generation ago. Every time I see my granddaughter in my mother's arms, I am reminded of just how much Mom was my partner in raising my kids. On the occasions when something work-wise came up during all those afterschool afternoons (God Bless Paul Eubanks, a truly great man!), Mom was there. Every trip to the zoo or the Pink Palace, Mom was there. Vacations-especially the first couple of years when I was paying for the divorce and they paid for everything-couldn't have taken place without Mom every year and Dad most of them. We never could have made the Disneyworld trip with the girls being 9 and 6 without Nana going, too. It's just not simple being a single dad of two little girls in a public place without an adult woman. Mom made it work. Mom was always there.
She still is. Sara's working hard. Shannon and I have to work, too. Same with Emily, although she holds an amazing amount of time for her number 1 niece. Nana still fills all the gaps. But that's what she has spent her whole adult life doing, from the time she married while still a college student, to becoming a mom without a car or even a drivers' license while her husband was several hours away all week every week in graduate school, to being a mom to three kids all under the age of 4, to becoming an outside-the-home-working mom with that same husband and those same kids to take care of, to all I described above, and as much attention to her other four grandchildren from their births to the one she added when he was 12, she has always been there.
And I am grateful. Much more than I can say.
And we're all better people for her commitment to each of us.
Thanks, Mom! I love you!

By Special Request...Here's Kaly!

2009-04-16T01:36:00.007-05:00

Early on, my relationship with my granddaughter was based solely on shared hobbies:

As time has passed, she has obviously developed a fascination with great comedians:

She now loves the great books:

She helped with the Benediction on Easter:

She has even developed a strong sense of disgust at others' fashion sense (the problem is the hat; she hates anything on her head):

No, my dear, Granddaddy was not responsible for dressing you that day.

As anyone can easily and clearly recognize, this is one extraordinarily advanced three-month-old we're talking about here.
And pretty much the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me, alongside her Mom, Aunt and Grandmother. Just don't ask me to rank anybody any further than this! The three bigger ones might get mad.

Household Changes

2009-03-25T23:28:00.004-06:00

My daughter will now be a single mother. Her husband, the father of my granddaughter, has moved back to his father's house a couple hours away. His limitations, the source of my concern from the beginning of my daughter's relationship with him, led to the separation. In my opinion, he's just not ready to grow up. And I'm not sure it's really his fault. There is a good deal of evidence that there haven't been any grownups in his family in a couple of generations. When a kid grows up with an absent, alcoholic father and a drug addicted mother, neither of whom have ever worked regularly or finished high school, and the church was nowhere to be found in their lives, there just never was much hope.
On the good side, my granddaughter's parents were married. That makes a difference to me, and will, one day, to her, too. And at the time my daughter came home with her baby, she would never have come without the boy. And she needed to come home. So we made the effort, held our breath, and hoped and prayed for a different outcome, but here we are.
The update: our baby has passed 10 pounds. She is now 21 inches long. She smiles constantly, and laughs out loud often at all of us goofy people who make funny faces at her and speak to her in peculiar tones of voice. She especially thinks that her Aunt Em is the funniest human being on the face of the earth. My daughter is working full time, not something to be taken for granted in this economy. They are under our roof, with all of the necessities of life available to them.
There is only one problem: every now and then, the baby goes to visit with her birth grandmother, and when she's gone, none of us know what to do with ourselves. Kaly has become the center of the universe, and her schedule seems to regulate us more than it does her. Even the in-laws come searching when Shannon hasn't showed up for good night baby kisses by a certain hour. We all just sort of sit around forlorn until she is back home. She really is that much fun. And we are all-this whole crazy clan that comprises my family-thankful for the incredible blessing that is having Sara and Kaly home with us.

One of Those Calls

2009-03-11T22:22:00.003-06:00

When you do what I do, and it's 8:00 on Sunday night, and you're at a gathering with your entire family, and your phone rings, it is never a good thing.
It certainly wasn't last Sunday night.
There had been an accident. One of my parishoners was being air-lifted to The Med. Her whole family is in our church, very fine, pillar of the congregation-type people. We all gathered at the hospital. The doctor came in, and as gently as he could, he told her family and friends that she had been in full arrest when she arrived, and even though they tried for a half hour, they never got any response.
An old man from a distant state had made a mistake. He pulled out onto the wrong side of the divided highway that runs through our community. It was a head-on crash at highway speed. The two drivers were killed. Two passengers, the man's wife and my member's son, were spared with scrapes and bruises.
Alicia was 39. Her husband suffers from Multiple Sclerosis. Their children are 12 and 7. Her dad has been in and out of the hospital with heart problems as long as I've known them.
Do I even need to say that it isn't supposed to go like this? Parents should never have to bury their children. Pre-teens aren't supposed to have do deal with this kind of situation. A young husband isn't supposed to have to deal with his illness and his children's future without his partner.
But here we are.
Our Baptist-dominated religious culture wants to say that it's just God's plan. He needed another angel, or it was just her time. My tradition doesn't buy that. We don't see God killing a young woman and an old man to fill seats in the choir. We often hear that we must accept it, and not question and surely not be angry with God. Have you read the Bible? Ever hear of the Exodus? You know, the whole "we'd have been better off to stay slaves in Egypt than be brought out here to die of hunger!" Or, "thirst!" And yet, God was with them and provided what they needed.
I'm not very happy with The Boss right now. But I'm confident that God is big enough to love me through this, and all of Alicia's family that feels about like I do, only much, much worse.
We have a funeral tomorrow afternoon. I'm still struggling for what to say to this family about what's happened to them.
We'll all do our best. And somehow, even if none of us can see how right now, God will be at work, tomorrow and in the days to come, to bring something good out of this awful, awful situation.

Insomnia's Little Playground

2009-02-28T00:16:00.002-06:00

Will Shortz, if that is his real name, is the Crossword Editor for The Old Grey Lady, and puzzlemaster for Liane Hansen's Weekend Edition on Sunday mornings. (Note: my wife would include that my evaluation of the prospects of any given Sunday rest entirely on whether or not Ms. Hansen is at her appointed microphone or away on some specious member station visit with people who don't need her nearly as much as do we who are lurching toward functionality at an unholy hour that was surely not chosen by the God who loves us for the gathering of his people-I fault Paul, and we'd obviously have better attendance if we started after the NFL games were through rather than just as they're starting, but I digress from my digression-we need Liane to guide us smoothly to our alert states, somewhere between the shower and the car. Enough with the member station visits, already!)
Mr. Shortz is also the party responsible, if not for the introduction, then certainly for the popularization of the Japanese number puzzle, Sudoku, in the good ol' US of A. And therein lies my gratitude.
What would a committed insomniac do in this 21st Century without Sudoku? One shudders to consider. Just knowing that those little grids of nine innings-I mean blocks-are there, with their three outs-I mean rows-of mini-grids, where everything is ordered, logical, timeless...just like baseball........oh, pardon my reverie.
I have an enormous appreciation for the Japanese people. They love our national game even more than we do. (No, not the NFL-I didn't say our idolatrous national religion!). They love Bill Murray as proved in Lost in Translation. And they have given occupation to the sleepless everywhere, via Sudoku!
And don't tell anyone, but on a couple of recent nights, a puzzle from a level of skill marked "Insane" actually put me out! God bless you, Puzzle-sans!

You can do this from the iphone?

2009-02-19T03:06:00.000-06:00

So, you can do this from the iphone?

A Professional Perplex

2009-02-19T00:20:00.003-06:00

The year is off to a remarkable start, unlike any other I've had in 24 years under appointment. At the seventh Sunday of the year we have six new members. And those six new members have brought 5 children with them. And we have four more adults and 5 children with them lined up for the next couple of weeks. And this year's confirmation class is looking like it will be 17 strong. That's looking hard at 27 new members (17 professions of faith) and 10 for the prep roll by Pentecost (May 31). And our giving in the new year is way, way ahead of last year. Way ahead.
Obviously, anyone could leap to the perfectly logical conclusion that the fabulous preaching, worship leading and teaching that is being done by the pastor explains everything. Sounds right to me. But that's been going on for 3 1/2 years here. Seriously, what gives? The Economy? Most of these newcomers are not as susceptible to the whims of this recession as are a good many others. Fear? If so, they are putting up one hell of a good front.
A more mature colleague (thanks, Dad!) advised to stop trying to explain it and just enjoy it. Maybe the best advice I've received in a long time. But I'm a "why" guy.
They aren't abandoning some other congregation that's in trouble: they are three Southern Baptists, a UM who's a Navy man fresh from Guam, two Lutherans, another UM getting out of the city for our bedroom community, a third UM-a retiree from Iowa, and two long-time in and outs who now want to be officially in. They aren't one age group or economic level. They just all want to be part of our church.
I can't figure it out, but it is, indeed, fun!

Discrimination is Real, But Not Here

2009-02-11T23:18:00.004-06:00

Elgin Baylor has filed suit against the NBA and the Los Angeles Clippers, alleging racial and age discrimination.
As both Clippers fans on planet Earth know, Baylor was, for 22 years, the General Manager of the Clips. Donald Sterling, renowned filthy rich tightwad owner of said NBA franchise, acted as something of a pioneer, naming an African-American as GM of a big 4 Major League Sports franchise in 1986. Evidence suggests that Sterling might have felt that Baylor, briefly an NBA head coach with no executive experience, would be less expensive than other, more established basketball execs. Whatever Sterling's motivation, there weren't many blacks serving at that level of the NBA in the mid-1980's.

1986-7 Clippers: 12-70, sixth place
1987-8 Clippers: 17-65, sixth place
1988-9 Clippers: 21-61, seventh place
1989-0 Clippers: 30-52, sixth place
1990-1 Clippers: 31-51, sixth place

Baylor's first five years on the job indicated modest improvement. All the way up to twenty games under .500! Still, Sterling kept him on.

1991-2 Clippers: 45-37, fifth place; lost in the first round of the playoffs
1992-3 Clippers: 41-41, fourth place; lost in the first round of the playoffs
1993-4 Clippers: 27-55, seventh place
1994-5 Clippers: 17-65, seventh place
1995-6 Clippers: 29-53, seventh place

Years six through 10 of the Baylor regime actually saw two, very brief, playoff appearances, but unhappy with that taste of incredible success, Elgin quickly oversaw the Clips return to form. Still, with the two first-round playoff failures, this period marks the most successful part of Baylor's oversight. Need it be pointed out that even with two postseason trips, this time still saw less than two full seasons of victories, and more than three full seasons of defeats?

1996-7 Clippers: 36-46, fifth place
1997-8 Clippers: 17-65, seventh place
1998-9 Clippers: 9-41, seventh place
1999-0 Clippers: 15-67, seventh place
2000-1 Clippers: 31-51, sixth place

108 wins, 270 losses in this spectacular term. The only bright spot: 32 games were not played during the 1998-1999 season, due to a lockout.

2001-2 Clippers: 39-43, fifth place
2002-3 Clippers: 27-55, seventh place
2003-4 Clippers: 28-54, seventh place
2004-5 Clippers: 37-45, third place
2005-6 Clippers: 47-35, second place; lost in playoffs' Western Conference semi-finals (more accurately known as the second round)

Baylor celebrated his 20th season as Clips' GM with his third playoff appearance. This, in the NBA, where every team with breathing bodies (Grizzlies, anyone?) is allowed into the playoffs every year!

2006-7 Clippers: 40-42, fourth place
2007-8 Clippers: 23-59, fifth place

The last two seasons of Baylor modeled his entire career as an executive: one season just below mediocre, the other utterly atrocious.

The only lawsuit that should be filed here is one on behalf of whoever it is that buys tickets to Clippers' games, questioning the mental competence of Mr. Sterling. Elgin Baylor's record of accomplishment in 22 years as the General Manager of the Los Angeles Clippers was 619-1153. Mr. Baylor claims to have been underpaid for his tenure with the Clippers. If he made a dollar, he was overpaid. His suit alleges racism and ageism led to his firing. His lawyers must have never seen an NBA record book.
Elgin Baylor departed from the Clippers on October 8, 2008. It should have happened twenty years earlier.

Well Now; Where to Begin?

2009-02-05T00:00:00.006-06:00

I thought about just stopping when my long-standing prayers were answered at noon on January 20.
Naaaaaaaaaaaah!
Truth be told, life got hectic about then. Or a little before.
Did I mention that I have a new granddaughter? I thought I might have.
But then, said granddaughter's mom called to ask if they could come home. All three of them.
Did I mention that we weren't moving in the traditional line on this expanding family thing?
I didn't see that I could have my granddaughter and her unmarried parents living as though they were married under my roof. I shared that with my daughter and her significant other.
They understood.
They agreed.
They shared that they wanted very much to get married. And not, they said, simply because they needed a better place to be with their baby.
My daughter's mother told her she couldn't come home to her house. Said she'd be better off to stay in Lexington. Where they were about to be evicted from their Section 8 trailer. Oh, and by the way, she said they shouldn't get married, either.
Fortunately, none of us pay much attention to what their mother says.
So we planned a wedding in about five days. My wife, my mother and my younger daughter made Sara's day as special as was humanly possible. A friend of two dear friends produced as fabulous a wedding cake as I've ever seen, for an absurdly modest fee. Diana, you're the best; I'll be in your debt for the rest of my life. My partner in leading worship played the piano. Debbie, there's an awful lot I couldn't do without you! And Shannon, Nana and Emily took it from there.
The only problem with Sara's wedding is that Emily saw what we can put together in five days. Her wedding is three years off. She expects planning and execution in accordance with the extra time, God help us!
Then, it was only a matter of whether Sara's grandfathers would make it through conducting the ceremony, and whether I would get the words out in response to that satanic question, "Who gives his little girl to some guy, for him to take care of her instead of you, Dad?"
Oh, you guys who only have sons are such cowards.
I got the words out, somewhat strangled, but audible.
And my first baby became a Mrs. Only 25 days after becoming a Mom. Hey, we got it all done!
They moved in on Sunday night.
The current makeup of our humble abode: Kaly, 4 weeks yesterday; Emily, 20 years next week; Bryan (Mr. Sara), 21 in March; Sara, 22; Me, 48; Shannon, 50; Louise (Shannon's Mom), 85; Bill (Mr. Louise), 86.
I read that that goof in California who had the litter of 8 when she already had 6 more kids wants corporate sponsorships, a book deal, and to sell her movie rights. Whatever. I just want to know when our reality show will start filming. It is by far the most interesting household I've ever been a part of. You wouldn't believe.
Or maybe you would.
All I know is that my older daughter and her little family now have enough to eat, plenty of heat and as much safety as any of us can reasonably expect. And every morning and every night for as long as this lasts (which won't be nearly long enough), I get to hold/feed/change/play with my granddaughter.
And I'd take twice as many people in my house to get that little fringe benefit.
I spent most of January crying and begging The Boss to do something about this situation. I was sure that I'd never get to see Kaly, or Sara...sure I had lost them forever.
Thanks, Boss! For this and so much more, over so very long a time. I feel like I owe you, but I've read the manual. So I'll just offer you the same thanks as over the last 22-plus years: I'll be the best Dad I can, with your help and guidance. Only now, I'll throw in being the best Granddaddy possible, too.

Our Long National Nightmare is Over!

2009-01-20T15:52:00.011-06:00

So long, Goober!

Adios, Dr. Strangelove!

Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we're all, finally, after eight long years, free at last!

12 Hours and Counting: The Final Bush Bash Forever!

2009-01-20T00:39:00.005-06:00

Shortly, Barack Obama will stand on the dais at the United States Capitol and be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States.
A little while later, George W. Bush will make the one and only positive contribution to our country of his pathetic life: he will get the hell out of Dodge! Not since Richard Milhous Nixon left his slime trail out the back of the White House to the helipad has an American leader left in such disgrace. Almost 80% of the American people now recognize that the current occupier (in every sense of the term) of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue has been a complete and utter failure. To the other, just over 20%, I can only pose the question Frazier Crane put to Cliff at Cheers: "What color is the sky in your world?"
Goober has declared that whether or not we have agreed with his decisions, we must acknowledge that he has made them. Yessiree! The Dark Sith Lord Cheney has proclaimed one last time that if we just knew what he knows, it would all make sense to us. Guess we're still just too damned stupid to get it, huh Dick? Has an American official ever been more appropriately named?
My greatest consolation at this moment of momentous change: my new granddaughter will have no recollection of the embarassment of having those two men, one evil beyond comprehension, the other too stupid to know how bad he really is, as the leaders of our badly, badly damaged nation.
You may rest assured, however, that her grandfather will see to it that she knows the story of the election, inauguration and administration of a highly intelligent man of great integrity who carries the incredibly heavy burden of cleaning out the horribly fouled stall that those two horses' asses have left us.
May God forgive the United States of America for the last eight atrocious years.
And may God guide and protect President Barack Obama for the next eight years.

Let the Buffoon Go Home Already! Final Bush Bashes, Pt. 2

2009-01-12T23:47:00.003-06:00

There is no number of exit interviews that will make George II warm and fuzzy. His only service to the country has been to improve the collective recollection of Jimmy Carter. Carter, by the way, is the genuine Christian disciple that Bush has pretended to be.
There is no way that any final press conferences are going to mine some sort of hidden wisdom that will explain these last eight, dreadful years. Bush has no wisdom. He has proved that over, and over, and over, in every move The Decider has made.
The man is an inarticulate buffoon. He has done all that could be done to destroy every single thing that is good and valuable about this country. He is a murderer, worse than bin Laden. He is arrogant. He is totally unreflective. He is smug. He has ruined the name of this good country throughout the world. He has bankrupted the nation.
And he has done it all in the name of Jesus.
There is a special rung of hell for those who claim to know, but fail to embody anything resembling the Christian faith. George W. Bush will occupy that special place.
It seems at this point that the transition has gone on forever. Barack Obama has a horrific job in front of him.
The good news is that he is not George Bush.
That means, by absolute and total default, that he will be an improvement.

WOW! Or, Your Humble Blogger Becomes a Grandfather

2009-01-07T22:45:00.024-06:00

This is Kaly.

This is Kaly with her mom.

This is Kaly with her mom and her grandfather.

This is Kaly with her grandmother.

This is Kaly with her great-grandmother.

This is Kaly with her great-grandfather.

This is Kaly with her grandfather again.

This is Kaly with her mom and her Auntie Em.
No kidding!

This is Kaly with her great-uncle.

This is Kaly with her great-aunt.

This is Kaly with her other great-aunt.

This is Kaly with her grandfather again.
Kaly likes her grandfather.

Kaly's grandfather likes having the blog. It lets him choose the pictures!

Kaly's family is glad she's here.

Finally!

ps. Kaly's grandfather knows how to use a computer. Sadly, the Blogger people don't. Sorry about the pathetic arbitrary spaces between photos and captions.

Final Bush Bashes: 34 Days Until the End of an Error

2008-12-19T01:10:00.007-06:00

The administration found over $700 billion for the financial institutions. And were devious enough to tie any oversight to assets sold at auction. Which none of the financial institutions are doing. Result: free money! Free to be spent on "retreats" or corporate jets or bonuses to incompetents or any other damned thing striking the fancy of these bozos.
But now Detroit needs help.
Tennessee's junior Senator materialized long enough to propose that any money for the auto makers should include a requirement that the United Auto Workers' members should be forced to take wage cuts to the level of the car plants in the south. Was there ever a clearer statement of the constituency of the modern Republican party?
Citizens whose addresses are on Wall Street, whose bonuses range up to 8 figures (not even counting salaries and stock options), who are getting $700 Billion, are free to answer only to consciences that they apparently don't have. But actual American workers, people who sweat for a living and whose earnings are figured by the hour, have to accept a major hit to see $15 billion in assistance for their companies. That's less than four months of Iraq war money, compared to right at 13 1/2 years of Iraq war money for the financial boys. (I apologize for the math error previously posted. I errantly figured the time at $1 billion per day, when the correct figure is $1 billion per week spent in Iraq. I should never do math in public.) Which also points out that much of this financial/economic crisis/credit crunch has its roots in that godawful war. But I digress.
The Bushies are taking one last run at rewarding the Pioneers, and one last slap at people who have to work. They want to use the "Right to Work" states as the standard. What a fabulous bit of doublespeak that one is! "Right to Work" laws have nothing to do with anyone working. They have only to do with protecting employers from lawsuits when they dismiss people for whatever excuse strikes the Boss' fancy. "Right to Work" laws are political payoffs from people who took sums of money (in campaign contributions) that would make the Illinois Governor blush, directly to the people who made those payoffs. Quid pro quo? You bet your ass!
George W. Bush believes that the United Auto Workers' leadership should sell out their membership, and tie them to the wages of the south's working poor. Hey, they might pull it off. These are the same people who have convinced us rebels that those nasty unions would be an awful thing to get involved with, way down here in Dixie. Yeah, I can see the reasoning. Those terrible unions might get some folks some better wages, overtime pay for overtime worked, better health care, better pensions, safer working conditions...I can see why we'd want to keep them unions out of here!
I saw Phil Silvers on an old What's My Line rerun the other night. They were talking about his old show Sgt. Bilko. We're now watching the last stand of the Commander-in-Chief-Bilker. And we're all the bilkees.
And he didn't even buy us dinner first.

Sensible Sox

2008-12-19T00:47:00.006-06:00

Boston Red Sox owner John Henry distributed an email tonight, notifying members of the Boston media that the Sox' pursuit of Mark Teixeira has ended. The message made it plain that when agent Scott Boras, the son of Satan, told Red Sox ownership and management that he had in hand multiple better offers than the 8 years at $184 million that Mr. Henry had put on the table, the Red Sox solons walked.
Bravo!
Hurrah!
Three Cheers!
It looks to me like Mr. Henry brought a whole pile of big old Iraqi-type shoes to throw at the head of Scott Boras, the son of Satan. And I couldn't be prouder!
The claim by Boras, the son of Satan, indicates that someone/s are proposing more years, or more than $23 million per season for the switch-hitting first baseman, late of the Angels. Go ahead, big boy: take it. God bless. And don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out!
Either Boras, the son of Satan, is lying again (which is my bet, as his lips were surely moving), or other Major League teams have lost their minds.
The Sox know how risky an eight year deal is. Look up Ramirez, Manny. The Sox know how risky those kinds of dollars are. Look up Drew, J.D. They found their line, stuck to it, and I now have more respect for Theo Epstein, John Henry, Tom Werner and, yes, even Larry Lucchino, than I have ever had before.
We told Scott Boras, the son of Satan, to stick it.
All of baseball needs to tell Scott Boras, the son of Satan, to stick it, permanently.
He, the son of Satan, is feeling his oats after watching Greg Genske get Sabathia's contract, and Darek Braunecker get AJ Burnett's, from the Steinbrenner boys, and figured the Red Sox would be easy prey to manipulate in the ever more expensive game of keeping up with the pinstripes. Not so much. Not this time.
No one except the Yankees can afford to be wrong at those years for those dollars. Even the Red Sox, Mets, Dodgers and Angels would be crippled for years by a contract of that value that didn't produce for the length of the deal.
Scotty, the son of Satan, thought he could play us. If he was bluffing, and calls back, I would reduce the offer by one year and $40 million. And if he doesn't immediately accept, I'd cut it again in 15 minutes.
It is high time that baseball makes it clear to this megalomaniac that he doesn't own the game, he is not bigger than the game, and he will not run the game.
And if, indeed, the Yankees have offered 10 years at $300 million, I hope they sign Tex, and then give Manny an identical deal, and, heck, give Derek Lowe 10 years while you're at it. And then, as your team continues to age and pay people who are broken down for not playing, we'll keep winning World Series with players we draft and develop.
Sorry, Tex. You'd have enjoyed getting a ring next year.
And I'm perfectly delighted to go to war with Mike Lowell and Kevin Youkilis.

Thanks, Yankees!

2008-12-12T16:45:00.003-06:00

The Bronx Money Machine has saved the next few years, five specifically, for the Atlanta Braves. Save the "It's not about the money" crap for another day, please: after the Braves offered AJ Burnett $80 million for 5 years, the Yankees bought him for a mere $2.5 million more. Not, mind you, $2.5 million more per season. $2.5 million more over 5 seasons.
Anybody want to try to make the case that $500,000 at that level covers the difference in the cost, and quality, of living between NYC and Hotlanta?
Didn't think so.
But this isn't a loss for the Braves. It is a chance to spend their money reasonably and responsibly on players who can, again, reasonably be expected to perform for the length of the deal. Five years of Mr. Burnett is six DL trips, minimum. And he's aging.
Five years for Burnett makes sense only for the Yankees, for they are the only team in Major League Baseball who can erase that expensive a mistake and never miss a beat.
Count your blessings, Braves' GM Frank Wren! The Steinbrenner boys saved your hide.

Braves New World?

2008-12-10T23:53:00.004-06:00

The Atlanta Braves had a couple of cups of coffee with success between their mid-60's move from Milwaukee and the 1986 change that made them the best franchise in Major League Baseball, but for most of that time they were terrible.
After the 1985 season, former manager Bobby Cox left the Toronto Blue Jays to return as the Braves' General Manager. He drafted or traded for Tom Glavine, John Smoltz, Chipper Jones, Jeff Blauser, David Justice, Mark Lemke, Mark Wohlers, Steve Avery and Ron Gant, among others. These players were the foundation for the tremendous run that began in 1991, with General Manager Cox having hired himself to take over as field Manager, clearing the way for Ted Turner to recruit John Schuerholz to follow Cox as GM. Their partnership produced an unprecedented run of success in all of professional sport.
The Braves seemed, at times, ruthless in their decision making. Cox had traded the beloved two-time MVP Dale Murphy to clear the way for David Justice to play. The Cox-Schuerholz team allowed future Hall of Famers Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux to leave when they were adjudged too old and/or too expensive to continue with the team. Ron Gant was banished in, seemingly, the prime of his career. He never had another season to match his Braves success. They dealt quickly and harshly with those who disrupted the clubhouse. They acted swiftly to make trades that made the difference (Fred McGriff) and spent what was necessary to succeed (Glavine, Maddux, Smoltz, the Jones Boys, Andres Galarraga). But their trades were rarely reckless, and their spending was almost always on sure things.
Cox remains in the dugout, but John Schuerholz moved from General Manager to Team President before the 2008 season. Frank Wren was promoted to GM.
The tale may soon be told on Mr. Wren's administration.
The Braves have offered A.J. Burnett a five year, $80 million contract to take over as their ace.
In the 2008-2009 hot stove period, no one in their right mind would ever consider giving Kerry Wood a five year starter's deal for that kind of money. The reports are that Wood is on the verge of a contract with the Cleveland Indians that would pay him $20 million for two years to close. That seems reasonable, as Wood had a good year closing for the Cubs in 2008. His innings were limited as a closer. His career-long injury problems were kept to a minimum. The longest he was down was due to a reported blister problem.
Burnett is six months older than Kerry Wood. And if you compare their career statistics, leaving out 2008, as Wood closed, and Burnett had what, in all likelihood, will prove to be his career year, you find some very interesting comparisons:

Burnett: 69-66, 176 starts, 1155 IP, 988 h, 483 ER, 482 bb, 1047 k, 3.76 ERA
Wood: 72-57, 178 starts, 1128.2 IP, 875 h, 461 ER, 546 bb, 1299 k, 3.68 ERA

Wood has been, marginally at most points, the better pitcher. The tragedy of Kerry Wood, as most fans know, has been the 12 trips to the disabled list. But A.J. Burnett has been on the DL 10 times. Each has had a lost season: 2006 for Wood, 2003 for Burnett. They so closely mirror one another that they each had 4 starts in their lost campaign.
Frank Wren thinks he knows something that no one else, other than the money-means-nothing-to-us New York Yankees, knows.
He better be right, because if he's not, he's going to be saddled with a contract that will cripple the Braves for the next half-decade.

Time Heals All Wounds...But This One: 28

2008-12-09T00:19:00.003-06:00

I usually turn on the Monday Night Football game. Not tonight.
I usually look at the poster on my wall. Not today.
I often turn the radio up when a certain artist's songs come on. Not right now.
John Lennon died 28 years ago today. Howard Cosell informed the nation during Monday Night Football. Stations go out of their way to play John's music on this date. Yoko issues statements about John's legacy. People hold candlelight vigils.
I don't need it.
I can't take it.
I missed the Beatles. The Kennedys and King were dead by the time I knew the world. But John was The Guy.
John mattered. His opinions and following scared Nixon. There was no more honorable position in my early political awareness than "Nixon Enemy." He scared them so badly they tried to throw him out of the country. The Supreme Court, back when they used to make good decisions, wouldn't let them. It was cool to look up to John. He wasn't embarassing. Ever. Not even on the "Lost Weekend." He spent it with Harry Nilsson, for crying out loud. Don't get cooler than that.
What would John have written about Iraq? How would he have lent his voice to the protest over Bush's destruction of our civil liberties? How might he have shared the move to grandparenting, the new millenium, Obama's election or his ever-growing love for Yoko?
It's too hard, still too painful to think about.
I don't understand, and don't intend to understand, how any person, even a crazy one, can take another life. It just doesn't make sense. But why did it have to be John? Of all the people just taking up space, why the most creative, most powerful, most vibrant figure of his generation, or any since?
28...38...108...I don't need it. I'd like to take December 8 off the calendar. Just eradicate it.
If only that could give him back to us.

Alma Mater, What's the Matter?

2008-12-08T21:16:00.007-06:00

Our college is in trouble.
They need the churches of our little conference to pony up on the plus-side of $500,000 to meet December payroll and get them to the first of the year. Or else.
Let's look back.
In 1982, the Board of Trustees ended a 20-year presidency at the college. It was probably time, but was difficult anyway. Those things always are. (Full disclosure: the man who left the presidency in 1982 became my father-in-law in 2002.) At that point, the college had an 8-figure endowment. They brought in a very, very fine man, who had been a very, very fine Dean at one of our sister institutions. As President of our school, he had been a very fine dean. Decent man, but bland doesn't begin to cover it.
When that term ended, early, the Board wanted someone dynamic and visionary. So they allowed themselves to be played like so many Stradivari, and hired one of the nation's great con men. He spent his time and the College's money chartering planes to China, making donations to Asian institutions which would bestow honorary doctorates upon him, and attempting to remove faculty and staff who asked questions about his shenanigans. Which the Board of Trustees allowed him to continue.
Finally, sobriety returned, and the con man was sent on his way.
Next, another good Dean, the best of the post-1982 group, but a Dean nonetheless.
Finally, Fred Zuker arrived. Fred beautified the campus. He developed a neighborhood association. He got the city to close some streets bounding the campus, so everybody felt safer. Fred's a friendly guy. So he brought some friends with him. And one of them, assigned to the Financial Aid office, handed out bushel baskets full of financial aid that the college did not have. The President fiddled while Rome burned. Now, he's gone too.
And so is the endowment.
The college received just short of $400,000 from the Conference in 2007. It was scheduled to receive a like amount in 2008, and is approved for the same number in 2009. At a time when only 82% of the total apportionment is being paid across the Conference. And, while I haven't seen this year's figures, I'd bet the farm I don't have that it will be lower this year. Bad economy, anyone?
This is a tough time to be in the charitable giving business.
With a few members having lost jobs, others being concerned about possible layoffs, and everyone anxious about where this economic mess will end up, my church's accounts are down for the year. But we still paid our apportionments in full. Yes, that's paid, because my people are such stewards of their United Methodist identity that they make payments monthly, January through October, to satisfy their apportionment in 10 months. No credit to me; that's the way they've done it for years.
Few of our churches perform like mine. Most of those that will pay 100% by the end of the year are scrambling right now to raise the necessary funds. And an ever-increasing number of them will not pay 100%. Some only dream, nostalgically, of reaching that mark.
We are also working right now to support some of our institutions that care for the needy. UM Neighborhood Centers is scrambling to keep the wolf from the door, as is Reelfoot Rural Ministry. The elderly housing agency has jettisoned the poorest of their residences; cost too much to do ministry there, don't you know.
And in the middle of all of this, our college wants help.
It costs $25,000 for one year for one student to attend our college. Let that soak in for a moment.
What percentage of the families that are about to be asked to give to the college can afford to send their children to school there? (More disclosure: I have a step-son in school there. Through a lot of Aid, and by the skin of our teeth, financially. My daughter attends the University of Memphis.) How many underprivileged kids is this church-related college educating? Who, exactly, are they serving in 2008?
I do not relish the idea of losing the college. (Final disclosure: I am an alum, as is my wife, her brother and my parents. My grandfather chaired the Board of Trustees in the late 50' and early 60's. I am grateful for what the college has done for our families.) But I also do not like being told that we, across the Conference, have to produce for the college north of a half-million dollars, on top of a $400,000 apportionment, at a time when most of us are being badgered to pay every nickel in apportionments possible, we're scraping everywhere we can for donations of food, toys and winter clothing for the needy, and, I suspect, most of us in the clergy are foregoing even the cost of living adjustment that would merely keep us even with last year.
The US Constitution does not guarantee CITI Group, AIG or Lehman Brothers the right to run their businesses into the ground with the expectation that the American public would bail them out of holes of their own making afterward. Nor are GM, Ford and Chrysler guaranteed the right to make terrible automobiles, treat their workers as expensive nuisances, and fight every environment-friendly proposal that ever came down the pike, and, again, be bailed out of holes of their own making afterward.
In a like manner, the United Methodist Book of Discipline does not guarantee the Lambuth College Board of Trustees the right to mismanage the school for more than a generation, and expect the churches to then fix their self-inflicted problems for them.
Like the decisions being made in Washington right now, our leaders may choose to obligate us for those bad decisions. But there is one difference that should be noted: the folk in Washington can tell the country how they are going to spend our money, and at least until the next election, there's not one thing we can do about it. On the other hand, there is absolutely no way whatsoever to dictate to those people in the pews that they should bail out the college for 26 years of bad decisions.

Why the Happiness?

2008-12-03T11:11:00.003-06:00

Dustin Pedroia and Tito Francona are overjoyed because of:

A) Pedroia's 2007 AL Rookie of the Year Award

B) Winning the 2007 World Series

C) Pedroia's 2008 Gold Glove Award

D) Pedroia's 2008 Silver Slugger Award

E) Pedroia's 2008 AL MVP Award

F) The 6 year (with an option for 2015) contract that the Sox and their Mighty Mite have agreed to today

Answer: All of the above, but especially F!

OK, Now the Truth

2008-12-01T22:19:00.005-06:00

I really, really tried to think happy thoughts (see previous post). Like it would help tonight. I may be fooling everybody else. But I'm not fooling me.
Or, at least, not my migraine.
I don't know where these things came from. Neither of my parents are headache sufferers. But as long as I can remember, they come. Changes in the weather. Too much caffeine. Too little. Certain foods, some known to me that I strenuously avoid; others, most certainly, still a mystery. Too little sleep. That last one is murder for a notorious insomniac. The triggers are many, and scattered around through life like little land mines, just waiting for the weight of a footstep.
I stepped on one today.
I'm not even sure which one(s).
That prescription does me no good. Sometimes, when I am awake and recognize the onset, the Excedrin Migraine Strength can mute them a bit. But I have to take it right at the beginning; if the thing gets hold of me, nothing stops it but sleep, and lots of it.
Sleep didn't work today.
If you care about me and get scared over this next part, don't worry. I'm not contemplating. But I do understand why some of the miserable wretches I've read about who have these things go on for a month or longer kill themselves. My worst have lasted about a week. I've had a kidney stone. Didn't hurt like this. I've cut off the end of a finger. No comparison. I've been through a divorce. Not even close, although I don't seem to get as many of them since the end of that marriage.
I can't make the childbirth comparison, obviously, but that's the only thing I can even imagine outpacing this little joy.
The incapacitating nature of the migraine reveals human character to us sufferers. There are, actually, two kinds of people after all: those who get migraines, and those who don't. Those who get them are always, always, always sympathetic to others who know the plight. And those who don't are just as uniformly indifferent to a person in the throes of one.
Our kitchen sink is 50 feet from our bed, through two walls and a door. The drip in that sink sounds like a bass drum surrounding my head when a migraine is in process. The tick of my wife's batter operated clock-on the far wall of our bathroom-sounds like the Sixty Minutes watch amplified by Led Zeppelin's old speaker arrangement. Light-the slightest light, like the clock on the cable box, the "on" light on The Roommate's breathing machine, the alarm clock on the dimmest setting-are spears jammed repeatedly into the eyeball that fronts that particular version of the migraine. Sometimes they are accompanied by violent nausea and flashes of light that are visible only to the one with the headache.
Such has been today.
But tomorrow's another day...

A Bragging Moment

2008-12-01T20:32:00.006-06:00

We kicked off Advent yesterday by incorporating the Hanging of the Green order into each of the Morning Worship services. In case anyone wants to correct me, that it's supposed to be "Hanging of the Greens" rather than my way, I claim no purity. I simply own my southern upbringing, and images of turnip or collard greens being strewn about the sanctuary don't do anything for me.
Our youth led the order. Our kids have led worship several times since I've been here. They are outstanding! They listen. They practice. They seem to like being involved, down to a one. It is a privilege and a joy to work with them, and to put them in charge.
I have, previously, sat in the preacher chair, right in the middle of the action, when they've led things. I have wanted to be there, close, in case anyone got lost, stuck or anything else. Yesterday, I sat in the congregation until it was my turn, about half-way through the service. I wanted them to know that I believe in them, trust them, and knew that they could handle things. I do, I do, and they did.
With all of the challenges out there in the big, scary world, it is a great encouragement to see teenagers who are choosing (yeah, sure, some with the parental foot applied to the point of motivation) to be at church, involved, leading and active, growing their faith. This is not to say that they never make mistakes. They are kids. There are usually issues from school, home and otherwise to work through. But so far, this has also proved to be a place where kids rally around kids when the problems arise, and, more remarkably, the parents have done the same. It is so tempting for us parent-types to want to insulate our own from any others that make bad choices; innoculation by distance, don't you know? But it is truly not an issue of "bad kids"--just kids. And they need love and encouragement even more when they hit a bump.
But they will hit fewer of those bumps if they are busy with matters of the faith and the church, rather than being turned loose to find their own involvements.
It was a very good day, the fruit of hard work by parents and youth leaders, and a significant level of commitment by a group of young people who are all too frequently written off as immature and indifferent. Well done, all!

A Few of My Thankfulness Things (Don't Read Anything Into the Order, Please)

2008-11-26T23:57:00.003-06:00

1. The whole extended family continues to be upright and taking nourishment
2. The lousy economy has so far had a limited impact on my family and parishoners, although we're all thankful we're not retiring right now. Our prayers go out to those who haven't sailed as smoothly.
3. Daughter has passed the 32 week mark in the Grandchild Production Department. That's a significant mile-marker, and I'm grateful.
4. While two of my parishoners are on deployment, one will be home with his family for Thanksgiving. The other has had some remarkable experiences in southern Iraq, like visiting Ur and the traditional site of Abraham's home. And he should be with his family next Thanksgiving.
5. The Red Sox haven't done anything stupid yet in the free agent market.
6. There has been an absolutely wonderful run of books published this fall. Titles include: John Meacham's American Lion; Andrew Bacevich's The Limits of Power; Artie Lange's Too Fat to Fish (not a biography of me, and most certainly R-rated), Kathleen Norris' Acedia and Me; Carlo D'Este's Warlord (a study of Churchill's career in warfare); Detlev Claussen's bio of T.W. Adorno, One Last Genius; Richard Cook's Alfred Kazin; and Ingrid Rowland's Giordano Bruno: Philosopher and Heretic. There are others; those should hold you.
7. Sudoku, Sudoku, Sudoku! (Thanks to the older niece for explaining the darned things to me)
8. New music from John Hiatt, Jackson Browne, Lindsay Buckingham and B.B. King that proved that the old guys have a little something left. And from Jakob Dylan, that reminds this old guy that younger guys have something to say, too.
9. And speaking of old guys and young Dylan, The Return of the Theme Time Radio Hour with your host, Bob Dylan! Season Three seems even better than the first two.
10. The Eagles' latest tour. I'm in good with The Roommate for, probably, two or three months. Thanks, guys!
Since Dave limits himself to a Top 10 every night, I'll stop there. But there could surely be a great deal more. And it's very appropriate to have a little gratitude about life. So, Thanks, Boss!

What Most Valuable is All About

2008-11-18T23:11:00.007-06:00

The Baseball Writers' Association of America did great work that was announced in the last two days: they voted the two leagues' Most Valuable Player Awards to Albert Pujols (NL) and Dustin Pedroia (AL).
Albert Pujols is the guy that kids look up to from coast to coast. He's a great player and a better person. No player in the history of Major League Baseball-not Ted Williams, not Joe DiMaggio, not Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Babe Ruth, Jimmie Foxx or Al Simmons-has ever, ever, ever started his career with the performance that Albert has put on the board in his first eight seasons. He is 28 as the 2008 season ended. He has 319 Home Runs, 977 RBIs and over 1,500 hits. And now, his second National League MVP award. The only thing that has prevented him from having four MVPs is Barry Bonds' drug dealer.
Pujols was also named this year's Roberto Clemente Man of the Year in Major League Baseball. That award is given to the player who most personifies the community and charitable spirit of the great Clemente, who gave his life doing relief work after a Nicaraguan earthquake in 1972. A native Dominican, Pujols was in tears when he was named the Clemente winner. Clemente is widely seen as the Jackie Robinson of the Latino community. If I were a betting man, I would wager that Albert holds the Clemente Award dearer than the MVP.
In eight seasons for the Cardinals, Pujols has never been lower than ninth in MVP voting. That is consistency. His placement describes his stardom: 9th in 2007; 4th in 2001; 3rd in 2004; 2nd in 2002, 2003 and 2006; and his wins in 2005 and this year. Yep, that's 5 first or seconds in eight seasons!
Dustin Pedroia isn't big enough. He's listed at 5'9" and that's generous. Try a much more realistic 5'6" and you're a whole lot closer. But much like his second sacker ancestor of 30 years back, Joe Morgan, Dusty doesn't know he's the smallest guy on the field. Or at least, he doesn't care. Pedroia is why baseball is still the greatest game, and always will be. A guy like Petey can still be the MVP in baseball. You don't have to be a beast like in the NFL, or stretched out to freakish proportions like in the NBA. A slightly less than averaged sized man can make it just fine in baseball.
He was Rookie of the Year in the American League last year. This year, he already won the Golden Glove and Silver Slugger. More importantly, he batted all up and down the Red Sox order this year, wherever Tito Francona needed or wanted him. Including the cleanup slot after Manny was traded and Mikey was injured. That's right: all 5'6" of Dustin Pedroia provided the protection for Big Papi in the Red Sox lineup. And while there, he hit like a cleanup hitter! That's because Pedroia has never, ever listened to any of those "experts" who have told him that he wasn't big enough or good enough to be a Major Leaguer. He knew better than they did!
And one of these days (which may come very shortly) he very likely could follow Jason Varitek as the Captain of the Boston Red Sox. Petey is made of the very same stuff as Tek. He is strong. He is a leader. He inspires his teammates. And he doesn't put up with any nonsense.
My congratulations, and gratitude, to the BBWAA for seeing past the power totals to recognize that value is measured by far more than how many homers are hit!
Albert Pujols and Dustin Pedroia constitute an awful lot of what is good and right about baseball, and both of them deeply deserve the recognition that they have been extended!

Hard to Get Behind This One

2008-11-15T00:59:00.003-06:00

"On behalf of Manny Ramirez, we will, for the first time, begin accepting serious financial offers on Friday." Agent Scott Boras, Nov. 13, 2008

I have been with the players in every single labor negotiation and work stoppage in my baseball watching life. Even as a kid, the Reserve Clause always seemed downright un-American to me. (If that term is not familiar to you, every Major League baseball player's contract-until the mid-1970's-contained a clause that said, in essence, that if you signed this year's contract, you were granting your team the right to retain your services next year, in perpetuity. You were "Reserved" by the team that signed you. Forever. And with no recourse, you ultimately had no bargaining power, whatsoever. Curt Flood gave up his career to fight this monstrosity, God Bless him!)
I was with the players in the 1973 when they struck over the pension program. The lockouts in 1973 and 1976 were inconsequential to fans, as they occurred during Spring Training. I understood in 1980, when the season's start was delayed a week over free agent pay, and again in 1981, when the same issue took out the middle third of the season. 1985 was almost like a long weekend in August over salary arbitration, and the 1990 lockout was, again, early in Spring Training. 1994 was about the attempt to put in a salary cap and revenue sharing. Der Kommissar ultimately cancelled the World Series, which not even Hitler could manage, but I was still right there with the workers. Yes, by then, many of the players were millionaires, but it was now a choice between millionaires and billionaires, where it had been working men vs. billionaires in earlier instances. I am always for the guy with the smaller bank balance.
But now? Thank God it's not about a strike. If my buddy Bud gets credit for anything, it is moving through the last negotiation of the Collective Bargaining Agreement without strike or lockout. But it's getting harder-much, much harder-to hang with the players.
The Los Angeles Dodgers had offered Manny Ramirez a two year contract for $22.5 million per year, with a club option for a third that would have brought the total value to $60 million. To quote Lewis Black, I'm going to pause for a moment to let that sink in............
Manny took the Dodgers to the NLCS this year, for sure. But Manny will be 37 years old a third of the way into the 2009 season. He is unreliable at best, and a real problem at worst. In his prime, his focus could disappear for weeks at a time. And the Dodgers are in the National League, which means, of course, that he will have to play the outfield. Need I mention, that isn't Manny's best thing?
Scott Boras, spawn of Satan, didn't just turn down the Dodgers offer. He declared, per the quote above, that $60 million for a 37 year old, tantrum pitching, clubhouse killing, spoiled brat isn't even a serious offer. He presumably issued the press release with a straight face.
I love Manny. I still believe that a determined Ramirez in the middle of the Red Sox lineup would have meant a third World Series title in five years. But there is no defense for this demand.
I hope Frank McCourt doesn't raise his offer. I hope Artie Moreno says that he can't go higher than his cross-town rivals offered. I hope for some semblance of sanity to break upon Hal Steinbrenner just long enough to opt out of any higher bidding for Manny. They certainly shouldn't discuss things amongst themselves (can you say "collusion?"), but these men-well, McCourt and Moreno-didn't have things handed to them in life. They had to perform and demonstrate responsible judgement to acquire the fortunes that enabled them to buy the Dodgers and Angels, respectively. Use your judgement, boys. He's old. He's difficult. He's unreliable.
And he's not worth $60 million. He for darned sure ain't worth a dollar more!

Time For this Semi-Old Man to Dream a Dream

2008-11-13T00:48:00.006-06:00

"Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions." Joel 2:28

I have dreamed all my life (well, at least since 1984, when the event started) of going to the Chicago Blues Festival. I'm one of those southern white boys who needed Eric Clapton and Robert Plant to share the gospel about our own music. And when Clapton talked in Rolling Stone about the legendary Robert Johnson's The Complete Recordings as the Holy Grail of sound, I was immediately off to Sounds of Music (Later, Sounza Musik) in Jackson to get my hands on a copy. They didn't have it. But Peaches in Memphis sure did. From the first notes of Kindhearted Woman Blues, I was hooked. By Sweet Home Chicago, Cross Road Blues and Love in Vain, it was over. I already knew disco sucked, but there was something in this music that made the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac and Elton John seem like first-year music students.
Later came John Lee Hooker, Son House, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf (Sam Phillips felt that the Wolf's music was the most important work ever to come out of Sun Records), Charlie Patton, Honeyboy Edwards, Sleepy John Estes, Mississippi John Hurt and all the rest. Those records had something going on that the stuff on the radio just couldn't deliver. The Blues are real, raw and powerful. They shame every other music in my ear, heart and head. They gave birth to all American music that came after them.
The roommate and I have calculated, thought and even prayed a little. We've still got two in college, a granddaughter coming in January, a future son-in-law we're trying to help, and a teacher's salary and a church that's still not close to doing what was promised four years ago. Still, we've decided: we're going to Chicago next summer. There's no place I'd rather vacation anyway. But next summer, we're going early. Right after Annual Conference. And the Cubs' and White Sox' schedules aren't the primary ingredient for this trip.
We're going to the Chicago Blues Festival.
Roomy will be a certified antique in a month. I got my AARP membership card today, courtesy of her upcoming birthday. This, and a grandchild on the way, adds up to a great big "let's get on with it!" And I absolutely cannot wait. Everybody who's anybody on the stages. More people in Grant Park than showed up for Barack Obama's victory speech. In my favorite city in the world. With my companion of choice. It just doesn't get any better than that!
And I'll be listening and looking for the ghosts. Robert Johnson will be there, and Hooker and Muddy and the Wolf; Son and Leadbelly and Luther Allison will be hanging around, too. I miss you guys, but I'll see you in Chicago come June!

"Back to that land of California; Sweet home Chicago." Robert Johnson (Hey, he was a Bluesman, not a geographer!)

Vote Santo Into the Hall...Now! Redux

2008-11-08T00:46:00.007-06:00

This post is a repeat from 2007. This year's Veterans' Committee vote will be announced in one month (Dec. 8). Attention, Hall of Famers: Correct this injustice NOW! You will regret this error if you fool around and let Ron die before you vote him into his rightful place in the Hall.

Tomorrow the ballot of the Veterans' Committee of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum will be announced. The odds are overwhelming that if anyone is elected it will be Ron Santo and/or Gil Hodges. I'm not a Dodger guy, but honesty compels me to say that Hodges doesn't cut it among first basemen in the Hall. There are 18 players identified as first basemen in the Hall's accounting-leaving out those such as Aaron, Banks and Musial who spent time there, but are pricipally identified with other positions. There are three others who played in the Negro Leagues, which, tragically, means that their statistical records are incomplete, and therefore cannot be used in a comparison like this. Hodges doesn't stack up. Sorry. Good man, great leader, pretty good manager. Not a Hall of Famer.
But then there is Ron Santo.
Santo is said to fail the Hall test due to his .277 lifetime batting average. Let's take a look at the numbers. There are 10 players in the Hall identified as Major League third basemen. It's a pretty darned impressive group: (in no particular order) Brooks Robinson, George Brett, Wade Boggs, Mike Schmidt, Eddie Mathews, Pie Traynor, George Kell, Jimmy Collins, Frank "Home Run" Baker, and Freddie Lindstrom. (For the sake of brevity, I will speak as though Ron is in.)
Games Played: Ron comes in sixth of the eleven;
At Bats: again, sixth of eleven;
Runs Scored: Ron lands seventh;
Hits: sixth;
Doubles: seventh;
Triples: eighth;
Home Runs: Ron is third-and most of his were hit during the best pitching years of the modern era;
RBI: fifth-see the previous comment about the 1960's;
Batting Average: eighth;
Slugging Percentage: fourth;
OPS: fifth;
Ron, not surprisingly, trails Mike Schmidt, Eddie Mathews, George Brett and Wade Boggs in most offensive categories, although Ron leaves Boggs in the dust in the power categories. Santo is comparable, offensively, to Brooks Robinson, and bests Robinson by ten batting average points. In fact, Ron's BA is better than Brooks', Schmidt's and Mathews'. And, again, batting average is the primary issue cited against voting him in. Once more, Santo was batting against Bob Gibson's 1.12 ERA, Sandy Koufax' no-hitters, Don Drysdale's brushbacks, Juan Marichal's kick and toughness, and all of them and more throwing from the higher mound. None of the third basemen in the Hall had to take most of their career ABs between 1960 and 1968, and Santo STILL put up those numbers! Remember, Yaz won the AL batting title in 1968 with a .301 average.
Santo beats Kell, Traynor, Collins, Baker and Lindstrom in most all of the categories.
Oh yeah, there's one more measure: defense.
The Gold Glove award isn't perfect, but it certainly is one standard. Only four of these eleven men won multiple Gold Gloves. Brooks Robinson, of course, is the gold standard with 16. Michael Jack Schmidt claimed 10. But then it's Ron Santo next, with 5. (Wade Boggs won 2).
Ron says that he doesn't want to be elected to the Hall of Fame because he's a great guy and a legitimate inspiration, having played his entire career as an insulin dependent diabetic, who has now lost the lower portions of both legs to this vicious disease. My wife has been an insulin dependent diabetic from about the same age as Ron. It is a challenge for diabetics to make it through each day with the balancing of food, exercise and insulin, much less perform as a top-flight professional athlete while doing all of that. And this isn't even to mention that Santo is one of the genuinely tremendous human beings on the planet. He routinely, without cameras and microphones, make calls and visits to children who are newly diagnosed with diabetes, and hosts them and their families in the WGN radio booth at Wrigley. Because he wants those strangers to know they are not alone in their fight, and that they can persevere and realize their dreams, because he did.
Ron Santo doesn't need a sympathy vote to get into the Hall. He doesn't need a hero's respect to get in. Ron DESERVES, on the merits of his career, to be voted into the Hall of Fame. The problem with the new Veterans' Committee procedure is that giving the vote to the living HOFers encourages them to see themselves above anyone not elected by the BBWAA. They want Cooperstown to be exclusive, because the more exclusive the club is, the better they must have been to have gotten in. To quote the legendary Col. Sherman Potter, "Horse Hockey!" It doesn't demean George Kell or Frank Baker or even Mike Schmidt to give Ron Santo what he earned on the field.
And I have no doubt that Ron Santo will one day be elected. If his disease and personality play any role in this consideration, it is that it would be a crime to wait until Ron has passed from the scene to induct him. The Hall of Fame is poorer for Ron's absence. And that should be corrected when the vote is announced on Tuesday. Don't take the chance of leaving it to the next Veterans' ballot in 2009. Take care of this injustice now!

Another Apparent "Gotcha!"

2008-11-06T16:15:00.003-06:00

Another colleague has been bitten. I have a good deal of respect for him, and identify with him to a fair degree due to our similarity of family circumstance. So I sympathize with him over his latest blog post.
Seems he has become the object of rumor as pertains to appointments.
This is THE primary sport of preachers, at least in my conference in my denomination. I don't know about anyone or anything beyond that, and don't really care to. I feel sometimes that we are so limited in our interests as a group that we just don't know enough about anything else to talk about. So we play with people's lives and work.
It's not entertaining to me.
I had the great privilege to spend seven years in a previous appointment serving one of our conference's agencies. I was out of the loop for seven years. By the time I came out of that work (totally against my will), I didn't even know where everyone was serving, much less where they might be going next. And didn't care.
I have done everything I can to maintain that stance as I have served three appointments since coming back to regular work. I'm not proud of this particular one, but when an issue arose about my uncle's work, I had to ask what appointment it was that he was serving.
I don't like to hang out with preachers.
Yes, I typically exempt my family from that position. After all, I have a father, two uncles and two cousins of one degree of closeness or another who are all clergy in this conference. And one of the friends that I mentioned a few posts ago is a pastor in the conference, and my wife and I are absolutely much happier when he and his wife are appointed in closer proximity to where we are. But that's about it.
My world is a little bit bigger than who's making what salary and panting after what church. I just don't really care.
I'd much rather study up on the Red Sox' OPS, ERA and runs per game than the Memphis Conference Salary Sheet. I'd much rather inquire about where Preston Shannon or Eric Hughes will be playing the blues next week than where Pastor X, Y or Z will be preaching next year.
It isn't fun to me to speculate on people's lives in that way. I've been there. I know what it feels like to be the topic of such attention. I prefer to be left alone, so I don't play the game with others' lives.
Boys and girls, the world is a big, beautiful, exciting place! Every once in a while, think about something else, go somewhere else, learn about something you don't know. And shut the hell up when it comes to your colleagues' careers. It's just so small and petty and stupid when you consider what you could be spending your down time doing or thinking about.
My colleague said in his post that if he can find out where the crap about him started, he will bring proceedings against that source. Go get 'em, pal! That's the only way that garbage will ever be stopped.

Finally...

2008-11-04T22:02:00.005-06:00

IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776
The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America
When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.
He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.
In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.
Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.
We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

And tonight, November 4, 2008, these sacred words apply to all of us. Every last one!

I Really Like My Numbers Now!

2008-11-04T16:32:00.003-06:00

May I point out that my forecast was published at 9:28 on Monday night?
Nate Silver (a professional) at http://www.fivethirtyeight.com/ posted exactly the same electoral vote prediction at 12:16 pm today!
349-189. I like the sound of that!

At Long Last, Here's the Call

2008-11-03T21:28:00.011-06:00

My crystal ball says...Obama 52%, McCain 46% in the national popular vote.

In the Electoral College: Obama gets 27 states plus the District of Columbia for 349 electoral votes.
(CA-55, NY-31, FL-27, PA-21, IL-21, OH-20,MI-17, NJ-15, VA-13, MA-12, IN-11, WA-11, MD-10, WI-10, MN-10, CO-9, CT-7, IA-7, OR-7, NM-5, NV-5, HI-4, ME-4, NH-4, RI-4, VT-3,
DE-3, DC-3)

McCain gets 23 states for 189 electoral votes.
(TX-34, GA-15, NC-15, TN-11, MO-11, AZ-10, AL-9, LA-9, KY-8, SC-8, OK-7, AR-6, MS-6, KS-6, NE-5, UT-5, WV-5, ID-4, AK-3, MT-3, ND-3, SD-3, WY-3)

This is what is known in presidential politics as a mandate.

And, besides, the National League won the World Series, and the Washington Redskins' last home game before the election was a loss. Look it up; it matters, I kid you not!

Have fun watching, and, for goodness sake, whether you're casting your ballot correctly or not, go vote!

Studs Terkel, 1912-2008; We Are A Poorer Nation Today

2008-10-31T22:38:00.008-06:00

May 16, 1912 was a monumental day for America. Samuel and Anna Terkel of the Bronx had a baby boy. Louis arrived about a month after the Titanic sank. He died today. His was a life epic in scope, passion, activism, publishing, broadcasting and, eternally, advocacy for the "non-celebrated," the working people who have built America and made it go. He learned their value from his tailor father and seamstress mother who raised their four boys by working hard.

Studs Terkel was a working man. He earned a law degree from the University of Chicago (home to the family from 1922), but he never practiced law. He took up government work in Washington, briefly, before joining the WPA. Known to FDR's opponents as "We Pittle Around," the Works Progress Administration had a Writers' Project, with a radio branch. He acted on the radio (becoming Studs when he performed in a program with another actor named Louis, and was reading novels about Studs Lonigan at the time), read the news, and then took up his own show after the obligatory military stint. Studs couldn't be on the radio if he were starting out today. He didn't fit into a format. Hell, he didn't fit into any format. He played what he liked, and that meant opera next to blues next to jazz and traditional American folk music. The radio show generated enough interest that a television program was next. He talked to people, but he listened more, and that set the course for the work that made him famous world-wide. For the rest of his life he published oral histories, regular everyday people telling their stories to someone who wanted to hear them. And Studs really, really wanted to hear them.

He wanted to hear about Chicago, World War II, work, the Great Depression, race relations in America, death and hope. Somewhere in the midst of all that, he finally took a turn for himself, publishing the wondrous memoir, Talking to Myself. Studs' books have been some of my best friends throughout my life. Along with my grandparents and several of Dad's parishoners across the years, Studs' books taught me the value of older people and what they know. They taught me the wonder of listening. They taught me an awful lot of what matters in life. As did Studs, himself. I definitely wouldn't have sought my appointment to minister among the residents of our retirement homes-those known today as The Greatest Generation, although Studs wrote about them long before Brokaw, in The Good War. I'm not sure I would have even considered ordained ministry without Studs Terkel.

Studs didn't just write about working people. He fought for them. Enough that he was blacklisted by the McCarthyites in the 1950's. Studs was an unrepentant FDR liberal. He taught me about that, too. To push for what he believed in, he worked as a community organizer. Hmm, seems I've heard that term lately.

Studs was a fighter to the end. He had bypass surgery at 93 because he had more to do! In 2006 he led a lawsuit against AT&T to make them stop spying on their customers for Dubyer. He knew the evil that government can do through unwarranted intrusion into citizens' lives. He had suffered the effects himself.

Studs Terkel was a great man. He had a clear vision of, and commitment to, what America is supposed to be, and he would settle for nothing else. He inspired generations of Americans to follow in his footsteps in one way or another. He made a difference in his world, always for the good.

We are a poorer nation for having lost this physically small giant. No one can ever fill Studs' shoes in advocating for the average American woman or man. But we have been so enriched by his presence, and we will continue to be instructed by his books, the recordings of his interviews, and by his uniquely American spirit.

I know that you were a professed agnostic, Studs, but God bless you!