What Is Wrong with Us?

Last Tuesday afternoon while driving  to Champaign, Illinois, I heard the 1968 song sung by Dion, 'Abraham, Martin and John.' You recall the song's haunting lyrics of the four lives cut short by assassins' bullets.

Abraham Lincoln is held in highest regard by presidential historians; perhaps our nation's greatest leader. The Southern states bitterness towards Lincoln culminated in John Wilkes Booth's act of vengeance. John Kennedy, our first Catholic President had to overcome pre-election claims that should he be elected, the Vatican would 'call the shots.' Kennedy's administration pushed for civil rights and reigning-in organized crime activities. Kennedy would die at the hands of Lee Harvey Oswald, if you accept the 'lone gunman theory.' The Reverend Martin Luther King epitomized non-violent protesting as he sought equality for people of color. One could not be surprised to learn of King's assassination. Then there was Bobby Kennedy, the privileged guy from great wealth and comfort who followed the calling of Christ at his mother's urging, to 'do for the least' for Christ's people. Bobby was murdered for that commitment.

Each of the aforementioned murdering tragedies occurred in ugly cultural conditions. That American climate has not improved and if anything, our society's ugliness and hate-rhetoric has escalated. This hate-filled environment created by prejudicial attitudes and greedy-groups' desires for power is our most profound sickness eroding the foundation of America's supposed Judea-Christian principles.

I pray each day for the safety of our leaders. I cannot understand why it is that in this great country there is more stringent laws governing the 'sale' of Sudafed than the purchase of GUNS...as my Father would say, "That's bassackwards!"

..."anybody here seen my old friend John, he freed a lot of people but it seems the good die young; I looked around and he was gone."

Thanks; But No Thanks

I am 'well-known' by folks I have never met; let me explain. One needs only to examine my daily mail to realize my consumer-profile  has always been most obvious.

Once upon-a-time,  my mail suggested an exciting life style; I was offered endless credit card deals, vacation packages, college loan applications, automobile deals and endless career program pursuits. These days, the mailings I open tell a much different story. Sellers have a bead on me. These folks know that I don't work and 'parts' of my body do not work. Hear me out. I receive weekly discount offers on Flomax and Viagra and the hearing aid hustlers send me birthday card greetings. Marketers at every assisted-living senior citizens' facility within 100 miles of Decatur mail weekly brochures to my residence. One diabetic supply company telephones me weekly to inquire of my blood sugar numbers. Happy Hollow Cemetery & Cremations, Inc. frequently sends me planning options-brochures.

Just this week, I received my third offer to purchase a 'Scooter.' I am told the scooter will cost me nothing. The "Store' will arrange the purchase free through my insurance; they obviously have a better understanding and working relationship with my insurer than do I.

My identity may not have been stolen but shall we agree that my identity is well-documented.

Visit and Recall While Ye May

The Rock & Roll Hall-of-Fame is located in Cleveland, Ohio; the first inductee was Charles Edward Anderson, aka Chuck Berry. Berry was born in 1926 and still performs occasionally at the 'Duck Room' on Blueberry Hill near the Washington University campus (St. Louis). At age 87, Chuck will sometimes 'drop' a chord or forget lyrics. Since most of his followers are old senior farts who forget where we park our auto at Wal Mart, we give Chuck a 'PASS."

Once in awhile, I 'burn' new CD's of various artists and send them to friends.  (Note: This 'burn' process consists of transferring song-recordings from wax records and cassette tapes onto a CD). My current dilemma is this: I came across some vintage Chuck Berry classic 45 wax records and I 'burned' several CD's but I cannot remember if I sent these same  recordings to my same friend and if so, which friends. My wife is constantly telling me that I should 'write things down.' I did write a list of names in a booklet and for the life of me, I cannot find the book! Searching for the booklet, I came across some speech notes, which I had planned on using in a Topeka, Kansas presentation about eight years ago. I think there is some good stuff in those notes so I filed them in a category entitled: 'Speaking notes Never Used.'

Speaking of speaking, I just agreed to give a speaking-presentation one year from this month at the West Central Illinois Scholar-Athlete Banquet. While I was confirming this arrangement via a telephone conversation, the thought occurred to me, Holy crap, should I be so bold as to think at age 75, I will still be around. I immediately dismissed the depressing thought and now I face the probability of not being able to locate these Topeka, Kansas notes.

I hayda say, if it ain't one thing it's another.

Ps. I do recall, this morning where I was last night. I sat in the Illini baseball stadium and watched Eastern Illinois University win 8-4 over the Fighting Illini. Grandson Caleb Howell had two hits, scored a run and drove in a run. While at the game. I had a nice visit with Richard "Itchy" Jones, former 'everything." "Itchy and I played American Legion and college baseball against one another in the 1950's. Other ties to each other are documented when my Mason City basketball team played 'Itchy's Jacksonville team in 1964 at the JHS Bowl, a place I would later call my coaching home for twenty-one years. We spoke of many topics during our long visit and agreed that we were both truly blessed.

Play Ball !

Ah, winter is finally over; it's official, 'The boys of summer are back! The baseball season began anew this past week  and now the mesmerizing journey unfolds from the first spring bud-bloom until the autumn colored leaves fall. Recently, a grandchild inquired of me , why is the Cardinals' baseball season so important to me. I suppose the simple and direct answer is, Cardinals' baseball is one of few staples that endured from my youth into my senior years; an unimpeachable certainty.

I offer the following personal random recalls for consideration:

     A ten years old boy embraces endless summer days playing sandlot baseball
     Smells of dirt, freshly mowed grass and leather baseball gloves
     Awaiting the bread truck driver to show up at the local grocery store where he'd pass out baseball cards to excited kids
     Anticipating my father coming home from work so I could impress him with a 'new' pitch
     Dressed in my little league (all wool) baseball uniform on a St. Louis July day as I peddled my bike to the Park
     Leaning over home plate determined not to allow the 'older' pitcher's fast ball to intimidate me
     Shielding my eyes from a bright summer sun against a cloudless 'high-sky'
     Walking onto the pitcher's mound saddled with that incredible 'in-charge' moment
     Giving no thought to a 'pitch-count' as the game entered the eleventh inning
     Negotiating two bus transfers and a street car ride with friends as we headed to Sportsman Park with our 'Knothole Passes' to watch
     a St. Louis Cardinals or Browns game
    
Indeed, the Boys of Summer are back and it will stir the emotions of the little boy inside as I am awakened to a flood of precious memories. Baseball carries the sounds of my life's experiences. I watched the Cardinals' pre-game festivities yesterday. I saw a tribute to my childhood idol, Stan 'The Man' Musial.  I saw other St. Louis Hall-of-Fame greats whom I cheered throughout my life.

The faces in the game change but the game stays constant with it's slowly unfolding  meticulous nuances and cadence.




    

    
    

Where Art Thou Sanity?

It's NUTS out there! I am beginning to look at my backyard as perhaps the outer limits of my adventures. Please consider these recent events: Just this week, an Arkansas town, population 1300, passed a town ordinance requiring all citizens to own a gun.' Immediately, upon passage, they town council said that the ordinance would not be enforced. Huh?

A Colorado prison warden was murdered at the front door of his home when he opened the door. One week later a Texas District Attorney and his wife were slaughtered in their home; some six months after the DA's assistant district attorney was shot to death in his work place parking lot. Two nights ago, a Seattle night club closed at 2 AM and a confrontation erupted in the nearby parking lot amongst patrons. When the dust settle in Seattle, police reported three dead from guns shots and fourth in critical condition. All this crap is happening in upscale neighborhoods while Mexican drug cartels entrench their operations deeper in our American cities. Meanwhile, Congress and the Supreme Court debate the 'definition of legal marriage.'

If I dare look to my television for some escape and diversion from this societal madness, I must choose Fox News, which is singular in theme day-in and day-out; it's President Obama's fault or turn to MSNBC who plays the broken record, "The Republicans are obstructionists!"  I could look to 'other' TV programing , i.e., Reality TV or sports. If I select sports, I can work on ignoring over-paid, self-centered athletes butchering the "King's English' in post-game interviews.

I fear for my grandchildren who grow up believing "Real Housewives of New Jersey, Survivor and 'The Bachelor' are truly 'REAL.'
Actual 'realities of life' are found in stopped up toilets, infants with 103 temperatures at 3 AM, making the house and car payments on time and wondering if the boy your sixteen year-old daughter is dating respects women.

Oh, those television shows 'Fear Factor' and 'Survivor' are silly. If you wish to understand fear and surviving, ride the afternoon route with school bus drivers in inner city Chicago, Peoria and Philadelphia. Folks, I am putting together my new backyard swing this weekend and disconnecting the television..

Ps. I may be away from this typing machine for a   spell. I am headed to the doctors office this morning

Friendship History

This coming Friday offers an all too familiar scene for my wife and I. We must bid a final farewell to a dear friend. I suppose when folks arrive at our respective ages, 72 and 74, folks must acknowledge life's end-game realities, which by-passes nobody. Two days ago, I received an email from Mike Simon, son of Sam Simon. Mike asked me to be a pallbearer for his ninety-year father.

The year 1962, Gerry and I along with two-year old son, Steve moved to Assumption, Illinois where I began a thirty-nine year coaching career. Farm community, Assumption was a profound cultural-shock for the East St. Louis city-dwellers; it is a two-year experience that we cherish to this day. Sam Simon was a high school history teacher who was sixteen years my senior. He and his wife Marilyn took the young Roustio family under wing and became life time friends.

Sam was a World War II veteran who had a quick wit and an even quicker mind to recall every card played in a game of pinochle or Hearts; a desired card-game partner to understate the fact! Assumption had a population of 1300 or 1350 depending upon the direction you entered the community; Western traffic saw a sign reading 1300 and entering from the North stated 1350.

Since moving to Decatur nearly sixteen years ago, Gerry and I have re-kindled our socializing friendship with the Simons and Zubers (Vinnie and June) and other Assumption folks.  (Note: Assumption is a mere 23 miles South of Decatur). A couple of years ago, Sam and Marilyn sold their home and moved into an assisted living home in Vandalia, Illinois to be nearer daughter, Becky who lives and teaches there. Two months ago, the Roustios and Zubers  celebrated Sam's 90th birthday with a luncheon outing. Marilyn is fast moving towards the darkness of Alzheimer and now is left alone  with discombobulated understanding of events.

We shall continue to reach out to Marilyn and remember Sam with great fondness.

Can't adjust? Adapt to Swing!

As a young baseball player, my coach once told me that I needed to 'adjust' my bat-swing to hit the ball to the opposite field. I never did care for the word, 'adjust' but I do like the word 'adapt.' I have seen three-legged dogs that have adapted to their limitations as I have observed some blind people who have 'adapted' to their dark world. The difference between 'adapting' and 'adjusting' is one of intentional design.

My children have pointed out to their mother, who in turn inquires of me, why it is that my right-hand tends to tremble at times. Recently, I was in my doctors office for a six-months med-check and I ask the medicine-man why my hand does, at times, tremble. He examined the extremity and said, "You have a 'senile' tremor. Holy crap, I thought, explained in that context (senile-tremor) it ain't gonna-get-better!

My hand does not tremble all the time but I have noticed on occasion that while eating soup, I find myself wiping off my nose once-in-a-while. This carries extenuating circumstantial problems. I must conscientiously consider making some 'adjustments' soon. Perhaps eating soups and consuming drinks through a straw is an option and certainly, the clock is ticking away at those times standing at public urinals. Sitting down on the commode is an 'adjustment' I can make to avoid the embarrassment of wetting on the fellow's shoes standing next  to me.

I am headed to the backyard this morning. I purchased a $300.00 three-cushioned swing with a large curved overhead canopy. I must put the thing together. I am anticipating 'swing-weather' around the corner and I wish to be prepared. I notice that I do my best 'pondering 'while'  sitting on a swing and especially in a light drizzling-rain. If you are ever in Decatur anytime this summer, stop by and swing a spell with me; we will swap ponder-thoughts.