Nerd Time
Because the whole world was playing it I rented Call of Duty: Black Ops from the Red Box at my local Harris Teeter. After a couple of days of playing the multiplayer I was hooked and went ahead and bought the game. One of my favorite features, and one of things I loved about Halo 3, is the theater mode. You can view the last 100 games you played and you can create short video clips and share them online. I uploaded this video Wednesday evening and it finally showed up today in my Youtube account. The feature that allows you to post your video clips on the web is still in beta testing to I'm no complaining. I do hope they speed this up soon because uploading videos from your 360 is a pretty cool feature. This is a video of a long distance shot with a grenade launcher in the Gun Game. What you will see is the same shot from a few different angles. Fun times.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Gettin' Gangled
Not many people can say the were chewed out by someone who would eventually appear on NewsHour with Jim Lehrer. I was. This would have happened in 1989.
After my two years in Okinawa I spent a year and half with the First Marine Division on a small infantry base called Camp Margarita. Camp Margarita was part of the large base called Camp Pendleton. Margarita was wedged between some hills at the base of a mountain. It was small base and afforded you some good views of the area. I was in the battalion known as 2/9. Which is supposed to mean 2nd battalion of the 9th Marine Regiment. For some reason we were in the 5th Marine Regiment of the 1st Marine Division. None of us ever knew why 2/9 was in the 5th Marines and not the 9th Marines. A regiment usually has three battalions and each battalion has three infantry companies and a headquarters company and a platoon of lunatics known as STA (scouts and snipers). I think I'm right about those numbers. If I'm off it's not by much. There was a rumor that the 9th Marines was disbanded due to improper behavior during Vietnam. That appears to be as true as most rumors. We did feel like the bastard battalion of the regiment and liked to complain that we got the shit duties. It’s nice to have a good reason to complain. I mean, Marines are going to bitch and moan anyway but some extra incentive never hurt. I was in the Communications platoon of the Headquarters and Support Company for the battalion. I remember initially being nervous about serving with an infantry unit but I found out if you are going to be a radioman the best way not to be bored out of your skull is to work with the grunts. At least with them you’ll be doing your job rather than sitting in a warehouse cleaning radios over and over which is what I mainly did in Okinawa.
At some point Colonel Randy Gangle became our regimental commander and immediately developed a reputation in the ranks as being...well...a little crazy. He was known to keep an eye out for any little slip in proper military courtesy towards his rank and would chew anyone out in front of anyone. I think most of the offenses were such terrible infractions as forgetting to address the colonel as “sir” or neglecting to salute him when you passed him while he was walking or driving. Yes, we had to salute officers as they drove by if you were walking along the road. An officer has a blue border at the bottom of the windshield decal each car has if you want to park that vehicle on the base. When the colonel was driven around in his official car the front license plate had his insignia on it. If you saw a white car coming at you with an eagle on the front plate you better salute it.
Gangle was a full bird colonel and he could dress down anyone anywhere if he wished. He did it so much that getting caught and getting yelled at by the Colonel was known as “Getting Gangled.” It was getting so bad that our First Sergeant, during a morning formation, told us if we ever got caught by Colonel Gangle we should notify him immediately because he didn’t like surprises. What would happen if someone pissed the colonel off is that first he would get publicly reamed by the Colonel and then Colonel would go back to his office and yell at the regimental Sergeant Major (the regimental Sergeant Major would be the senior enlisted man in the regiment. He’s the Ed McMahon to the Colonel’s Johnny Carson). The Sergeant Major would then call the First Sergeant of whichever company the recently reamed Marine belonged to and yell at him. Our First Sergeant didn’t like getting yelled at by the Sergeant Major. He told us if we got in trouble to call him immediately so he could warn the Sergeant Major and the Sergeant Major could then tell the Colonel everything was taken care of before the Colonel could work over the Sergeant Major. He made it very clear that if one of us pissed off the Colonel and the first he heard of it was from an angry phone call from the Sergeant Major then "your ass is grass and I'm a lawnmower." The old saying that “shit rolls down hill” was never more true than in the USMC.
So, one day I’m walking from the communications shop down to the motor pool. I don’t remember why. As I’m walking I’m deep in thought or just looking around at the beautiful California day and not really paying attention to what is going on around me. A car is approaching me and I look up right as it is going by. The car has an eagle on the front plate. I don’t see the car in time to salute. A car going the other way stops I see a sergeant I don’t know roll down his window and say, “Looks like he got you.” I look behind me and see that the white car has stopped also and a figure is scrambling out the back seat. Once he gets out I see Colonel Gangle and he yells, “C’mere, Marine!!” The sergeant who stopped chuckled and drove off. I’m still annoyed with the bastard sergeant that stopped just to watch the show. What a dick.
I trot down and place myself at attention right in front of the frothing Colonel. I really don’t remember anything he said. I was too terrified. Colonels and Privates never interact and to be screamed at by one on the side of the road is too much for a young enlisted man’s brain to process. I wish I could remember what he said because I remember thinking at one point that he was really good at it. He just yelled at me for a couple of minutes and I said, “Yes sir!” several times. He asked what company I was from, I told him and he got back into his staff car and moved on. I stood there stunned for a few a seconds and continued walking to the motor pool.
When I arrived at the motor pool I saw the Gunnery Sergeant who was in charge and I knew him pretty well and he was a good guy so I told him right away that the Colonel had got me.
He said, “Have you called the First Sergeant yet?”
I said, “No.”
He said, “Go in my office and call him right now.”
I went in his office and dialed the First Sergeant. When he answered I said, “First Sergeant, this is PFC McDonald from Communications.”
“What’d you do?” he asked. Because, why else would I call the First Sergeant other than to tell him how I had screwed up in some way?
“The Colonel went by me in his car and I didn’t salute him.”
“You got any ass left?”
He caught me off guard, “Huh?” I said.
“I’m sure you ain’t no ass left after the Colonel got through with you.”
“Oh, yes, First Sergeant.”
“OK then. Bye.”
“Bye, First Sergeant.”
After I hung up I thanked the Gunny and went on with my day. I never heard anything back from the First Sergeant about the incident. That Gunny from the motor pool really saved my hide.
Not many people can say the were chewed out by someone who would eventually appear on NewsHour with Jim Lehrer. I was. This would have happened in 1989.
After my two years in Okinawa I spent a year and half with the First Marine Division on a small infantry base called Camp Margarita. Camp Margarita was part of the large base called Camp Pendleton. Margarita was wedged between some hills at the base of a mountain. It was small base and afforded you some good views of the area. I was in the battalion known as 2/9. Which is supposed to mean 2nd battalion of the 9th Marine Regiment. For some reason we were in the 5th Marine Regiment of the 1st Marine Division. None of us ever knew why 2/9 was in the 5th Marines and not the 9th Marines. A regiment usually has three battalions and each battalion has three infantry companies and a headquarters company and a platoon of lunatics known as STA (scouts and snipers). I think I'm right about those numbers. If I'm off it's not by much. There was a rumor that the 9th Marines was disbanded due to improper behavior during Vietnam. That appears to be as true as most rumors. We did feel like the bastard battalion of the regiment and liked to complain that we got the shit duties. It’s nice to have a good reason to complain. I mean, Marines are going to bitch and moan anyway but some extra incentive never hurt. I was in the Communications platoon of the Headquarters and Support Company for the battalion. I remember initially being nervous about serving with an infantry unit but I found out if you are going to be a radioman the best way not to be bored out of your skull is to work with the grunts. At least with them you’ll be doing your job rather than sitting in a warehouse cleaning radios over and over which is what I mainly did in Okinawa.
At some point Colonel Randy Gangle became our regimental commander and immediately developed a reputation in the ranks as being...well...a little crazy. He was known to keep an eye out for any little slip in proper military courtesy towards his rank and would chew anyone out in front of anyone. I think most of the offenses were such terrible infractions as forgetting to address the colonel as “sir” or neglecting to salute him when you passed him while he was walking or driving. Yes, we had to salute officers as they drove by if you were walking along the road. An officer has a blue border at the bottom of the windshield decal each car has if you want to park that vehicle on the base. When the colonel was driven around in his official car the front license plate had his insignia on it. If you saw a white car coming at you with an eagle on the front plate you better salute it.
Gangle was a full bird colonel and he could dress down anyone anywhere if he wished. He did it so much that getting caught and getting yelled at by the Colonel was known as “Getting Gangled.” It was getting so bad that our First Sergeant, during a morning formation, told us if we ever got caught by Colonel Gangle we should notify him immediately because he didn’t like surprises. What would happen if someone pissed the colonel off is that first he would get publicly reamed by the Colonel and then Colonel would go back to his office and yell at the regimental Sergeant Major (the regimental Sergeant Major would be the senior enlisted man in the regiment. He’s the Ed McMahon to the Colonel’s Johnny Carson). The Sergeant Major would then call the First Sergeant of whichever company the recently reamed Marine belonged to and yell at him. Our First Sergeant didn’t like getting yelled at by the Sergeant Major. He told us if we got in trouble to call him immediately so he could warn the Sergeant Major and the Sergeant Major could then tell the Colonel everything was taken care of before the Colonel could work over the Sergeant Major. He made it very clear that if one of us pissed off the Colonel and the first he heard of it was from an angry phone call from the Sergeant Major then "your ass is grass and I'm a lawnmower." The old saying that “shit rolls down hill” was never more true than in the USMC.
So, one day I’m walking from the communications shop down to the motor pool. I don’t remember why. As I’m walking I’m deep in thought or just looking around at the beautiful California day and not really paying attention to what is going on around me. A car is approaching me and I look up right as it is going by. The car has an eagle on the front plate. I don’t see the car in time to salute. A car going the other way stops I see a sergeant I don’t know roll down his window and say, “Looks like he got you.” I look behind me and see that the white car has stopped also and a figure is scrambling out the back seat. Once he gets out I see Colonel Gangle and he yells, “C’mere, Marine!!” The sergeant who stopped chuckled and drove off. I’m still annoyed with the bastard sergeant that stopped just to watch the show. What a dick.
I trot down and place myself at attention right in front of the frothing Colonel. I really don’t remember anything he said. I was too terrified. Colonels and Privates never interact and to be screamed at by one on the side of the road is too much for a young enlisted man’s brain to process. I wish I could remember what he said because I remember thinking at one point that he was really good at it. He just yelled at me for a couple of minutes and I said, “Yes sir!” several times. He asked what company I was from, I told him and he got back into his staff car and moved on. I stood there stunned for a few a seconds and continued walking to the motor pool.
When I arrived at the motor pool I saw the Gunnery Sergeant who was in charge and I knew him pretty well and he was a good guy so I told him right away that the Colonel had got me.
He said, “Have you called the First Sergeant yet?”
I said, “No.”
He said, “Go in my office and call him right now.”
I went in his office and dialed the First Sergeant. When he answered I said, “First Sergeant, this is PFC McDonald from Communications.”
“What’d you do?” he asked. Because, why else would I call the First Sergeant other than to tell him how I had screwed up in some way?
“The Colonel went by me in his car and I didn’t salute him.”
“You got any ass left?”
He caught me off guard, “Huh?” I said.
“I’m sure you ain’t no ass left after the Colonel got through with you.”
“Oh, yes, First Sergeant.”
“OK then. Bye.”
“Bye, First Sergeant.”
After I hung up I thanked the Gunny and went on with my day. I never heard anything back from the First Sergeant about the incident. That Gunny from the motor pool really saved my hide.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
The Bigot Downtown
I don’t like the fact that one of the county commissioners of Mecklenburgy County is an unabashed bigot who hides his bigotry behind bible quotations (as he did in a recent posting to the comments on a story about him on the Charlotte Observer’s website). He ran unopposed and was elected by his district and whatever bigotry he posts on his personal website is his choice. Freedom of Speech means I have to sit back while a lot of things that are wrong and misleading are portrayed as truth (Fox News). Fine and dandy. This is America and bigoted assholes are part of the deal. But! But! When one of my representatives publishes bigoted and false claims while attaching the great and historic seal of Mecklenburg County to it then we have a problem. You don’t do that. I don’t use my work email to further my political agenda. I don’t use my position as a librarian to force my political beliefs on anyone else. If you come into the library and want to waste your time reading Sarah Palin’s fake autobiography I’ll do everything I can to get a copy into your hands. Shoot, I don’t even try to steer people towards books I think they should read unless they tell me specifically to recommend something I liked. If you like detective romances with half elf vampires I won’t try to force you to read Isaac Asimov.
Bill James is going to be on the agenda for tonight’s county board of commissioners meeting. They should censure him but nothing of any substance will happen. He’ll continue spreading his hate until the people of his district finally decide to vote him out or when the Democratic Party actually tries to defeat him. One thing I do take hope from is a belief I have had for a while which was reiterated by John Grooms in his current column in the local magazine Creative Loafing. Attitudes like James’ are on the way out. He’s already a minority and hopefully in my lifetime folks like him will no longer be considered viable candidates for public office.
I don’t like the fact that one of the county commissioners of Mecklenburgy County is an unabashed bigot who hides his bigotry behind bible quotations (as he did in a recent posting to the comments on a story about him on the Charlotte Observer’s website). He ran unopposed and was elected by his district and whatever bigotry he posts on his personal website is his choice. Freedom of Speech means I have to sit back while a lot of things that are wrong and misleading are portrayed as truth (Fox News). Fine and dandy. This is America and bigoted assholes are part of the deal. But! But! When one of my representatives publishes bigoted and false claims while attaching the great and historic seal of Mecklenburg County to it then we have a problem. You don’t do that. I don’t use my work email to further my political agenda. I don’t use my position as a librarian to force my political beliefs on anyone else. If you come into the library and want to waste your time reading Sarah Palin’s fake autobiography I’ll do everything I can to get a copy into your hands. Shoot, I don’t even try to steer people towards books I think they should read unless they tell me specifically to recommend something I liked. If you like detective romances with half elf vampires I won’t try to force you to read Isaac Asimov.
Bill James is going to be on the agenda for tonight’s county board of commissioners meeting. They should censure him but nothing of any substance will happen. He’ll continue spreading his hate until the people of his district finally decide to vote him out or when the Democratic Party actually tries to defeat him. One thing I do take hope from is a belief I have had for a while which was reiterated by John Grooms in his current column in the local magazine Creative Loafing. Attitudes like James’ are on the way out. He’s already a minority and hopefully in my lifetime folks like him will no longer be considered viable candidates for public office.
Monday, January 03, 2011
The First Sergeant and the Shitbag
I hadn’t been on Okinawa for too long when the First Sergeant of our communications company dressed down a Marine in front of the whole company during morning formation. This was winter of 1987 and I was stationed at Camp Kinser. Many of the buildings shown on the base's official page were not there in 1987.
I guess you might need some background about Marine life. Everyday, after we woke up, we would go to the chow hall and eat breakfast or go for a morning run and then eat breakfast. After “morning chow” we would report to the company compound for our 8 hour day of work. The first part of that day would be the morning formation. We would gather in our platoons and the platoon sergeant would do a roll call. After than each platoon sergeant would, in turn, report aloud to the company First Sergeant that each member of their platoon was accounted for. Then the First Sergeant would relate any pertinent information to us and then release the platoons to their platoon sergeants who would then relate any information related to each platoon. The First Sergeant was the liaison between the enlisted Marines in a company and the officers in command. If you ever did something stupid that could possibly attract the attention of the company commanding officer it was nice to have a good First Sergeant. A capable First Sergeant could make life in the barracks endurable. this particular First Sergeant was a Gunnery Sergeant. Most of my First Sergeants over my time in the Marines were Gunnery Sergeants.
Our company was part of the 3rd FSSG. This unit is now called the 3rd Marine Logistics Group. From what I understood we provided support for the Marine combat division stationed on Okinawa. I never fully knew what that meant because I spent 90% of my work time in Okinawa cleaning and testing radios. The only time I ever really did my job, which was radio operator, was the few times I set up a safety radio link for weapon firings. Since no one ever blew themselves up while I was on duty that job consisted of hourly radio checks. Fun stuff. I did get to shoot a .50 caliber machine gun and an automatic grenade launcher on two separate shoots so it wasn’t a total loss.
This Marine was embarrassed in front of God and everybody because he had the expensive habit of writing bad checks. If I remember correctly he had written over $1500 in bad checks. This was a lot of money in 1987 when a Private First Class probably made around $700 a month. It’s odd to think it was a problem now but before ATM cards servicemen writing bad checks was a real problem, not just on Okinawa but at military stores everywhere. Before the ATM in order to get some cash for spending money you had to write a check at the PX. Every Friday I would go to the PX and write a check to cash for around $50 and that would get me through my weekend. I never bounced a check but I was a regular check floater. Since checks took a few days to hit if you had no money in your account on Thursday and payday was Friday then writing a check for that case of Budweiser was no problem. That check would clear on Tuesday with plenty of time to spare. If you were smart you could do this for years and never bounce a check.
Occasionally someone would get into trouble. There were several bases on Okinawa and if you were enterprising you could write check after check after check. In 1987 it could be several days before all of your checks hit your account. It was hard to keep track of who the trouble makers were so you could write checks for cash at $200 a pop at five bases in one day with little effort. Some guys got into a lot of trouble. This one particular Private was legendary. He had been reduced in rank, confined to the barracks and put in the brig. Each time he was given a little freedom he was back to writing bad checks, borrowing money with no intention of repaying and even borrowed someones bicycle and sold it. The First Sergeant had no idea what to do with the guy. He couldn’t really punish him anymore since he was on his way out of the Corps on a bad conduct discharge and he decided he needed to protect those in his company unfamiliar with the guy. So he called him out in front of the company during a morning formation.
The rest of us had no idea what was about to happen when he called Private “Jones” to come front and center. Neither did Jones.
“I want the rest of you Marines to take a good look at Private Jones.” He paused and at this point Jones is standing at attention to the left of the First Sergeant.. I remember him being a little paunchy with curly light brown hair.
“Private Jones,” the Gunny continued, “is a piece of shit.” Now Jones’ head drops and he’s staring at the ground and a hushed exclamations reverberated down the ranks. Rather than tell us to shut up he paused to let the shock set in. He continued, “Private Jones has written $1500 in bad checks and he owes dozens of other Marines hundreds of dollars. Do not go out on the town with this Marine. Do not lend this Marine money.” Another pause, “Do not loan this Marine your bike. He will take your money and your bike and you’ll never see any of it again. This Marine is not your friend. He will offer to show you around and take you on to town and will write bad checks to show you a good time and he will help you do the same. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes, Gunny,” we chanted back.
“Excellent. You’re dismissed, Jones.”
I had never seen anything like it and never would again. I’m glad I never saw something like that again because it was awful to witness someone, even if it was due to his own doing, humiliated like that. Jones was known to approach Marines who had just arrived on the island. He would take them out on the town, write bad checks, spend money like crazy and borrow money. He would convince others to write bad checks and show them how easy it was. He was a bad egg and he been busted several times and had spent time in the brig and he was waiting around to get his bad conduct discharge. The First Sergeant must have figured that the best way to protect the Marines under his command was to reveal Jones for what he was so he couldn't corrupt anyone else while he was still with the company. So he did.
I hadn’t been on Okinawa for too long when the First Sergeant of our communications company dressed down a Marine in front of the whole company during morning formation. This was winter of 1987 and I was stationed at Camp Kinser. Many of the buildings shown on the base's official page were not there in 1987.
I guess you might need some background about Marine life. Everyday, after we woke up, we would go to the chow hall and eat breakfast or go for a morning run and then eat breakfast. After “morning chow” we would report to the company compound for our 8 hour day of work. The first part of that day would be the morning formation. We would gather in our platoons and the platoon sergeant would do a roll call. After than each platoon sergeant would, in turn, report aloud to the company First Sergeant that each member of their platoon was accounted for. Then the First Sergeant would relate any pertinent information to us and then release the platoons to their platoon sergeants who would then relate any information related to each platoon. The First Sergeant was the liaison between the enlisted Marines in a company and the officers in command. If you ever did something stupid that could possibly attract the attention of the company commanding officer it was nice to have a good First Sergeant. A capable First Sergeant could make life in the barracks endurable. this particular First Sergeant was a Gunnery Sergeant. Most of my First Sergeants over my time in the Marines were Gunnery Sergeants.
Our company was part of the 3rd FSSG. This unit is now called the 3rd Marine Logistics Group. From what I understood we provided support for the Marine combat division stationed on Okinawa. I never fully knew what that meant because I spent 90% of my work time in Okinawa cleaning and testing radios. The only time I ever really did my job, which was radio operator, was the few times I set up a safety radio link for weapon firings. Since no one ever blew themselves up while I was on duty that job consisted of hourly radio checks. Fun stuff. I did get to shoot a .50 caliber machine gun and an automatic grenade launcher on two separate shoots so it wasn’t a total loss.
This Marine was embarrassed in front of God and everybody because he had the expensive habit of writing bad checks. If I remember correctly he had written over $1500 in bad checks. This was a lot of money in 1987 when a Private First Class probably made around $700 a month. It’s odd to think it was a problem now but before ATM cards servicemen writing bad checks was a real problem, not just on Okinawa but at military stores everywhere. Before the ATM in order to get some cash for spending money you had to write a check at the PX. Every Friday I would go to the PX and write a check to cash for around $50 and that would get me through my weekend. I never bounced a check but I was a regular check floater. Since checks took a few days to hit if you had no money in your account on Thursday and payday was Friday then writing a check for that case of Budweiser was no problem. That check would clear on Tuesday with plenty of time to spare. If you were smart you could do this for years and never bounce a check.
Occasionally someone would get into trouble. There were several bases on Okinawa and if you were enterprising you could write check after check after check. In 1987 it could be several days before all of your checks hit your account. It was hard to keep track of who the trouble makers were so you could write checks for cash at $200 a pop at five bases in one day with little effort. Some guys got into a lot of trouble. This one particular Private was legendary. He had been reduced in rank, confined to the barracks and put in the brig. Each time he was given a little freedom he was back to writing bad checks, borrowing money with no intention of repaying and even borrowed someones bicycle and sold it. The First Sergeant had no idea what to do with the guy. He couldn’t really punish him anymore since he was on his way out of the Corps on a bad conduct discharge and he decided he needed to protect those in his company unfamiliar with the guy. So he called him out in front of the company during a morning formation.
The rest of us had no idea what was about to happen when he called Private “Jones” to come front and center. Neither did Jones.
“I want the rest of you Marines to take a good look at Private Jones.” He paused and at this point Jones is standing at attention to the left of the First Sergeant.. I remember him being a little paunchy with curly light brown hair.
“Private Jones,” the Gunny continued, “is a piece of shit.” Now Jones’ head drops and he’s staring at the ground and a hushed exclamations reverberated down the ranks. Rather than tell us to shut up he paused to let the shock set in. He continued, “Private Jones has written $1500 in bad checks and he owes dozens of other Marines hundreds of dollars. Do not go out on the town with this Marine. Do not lend this Marine money.” Another pause, “Do not loan this Marine your bike. He will take your money and your bike and you’ll never see any of it again. This Marine is not your friend. He will offer to show you around and take you on to town and will write bad checks to show you a good time and he will help you do the same. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes, Gunny,” we chanted back.
“Excellent. You’re dismissed, Jones.”
I had never seen anything like it and never would again. I’m glad I never saw something like that again because it was awful to witness someone, even if it was due to his own doing, humiliated like that. Jones was known to approach Marines who had just arrived on the island. He would take them out on the town, write bad checks, spend money like crazy and borrow money. He would convince others to write bad checks and show them how easy it was. He was a bad egg and he been busted several times and had spent time in the brig and he was waiting around to get his bad conduct discharge. The First Sergeant must have figured that the best way to protect the Marines under his command was to reveal Jones for what he was so he couldn't corrupt anyone else while he was still with the company. So he did.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Game Seven of the 1960 World Series
The MLB Network showed game 7 of the 1960 World Series last week. Game 7 is the famous game in which Bill Mazeroski hit his famous bottom of the 9th walk off home run that gave Pittsburgh its first World Series victory since 1925. The game hadn’t been broadcast in its entirety since it was originally broadcast. The story about how the film of the game was discovered hidden among Bing Crosby’s possessions is worth reading. I’ve been dying to watch this since I first heard about the rediscovering of the film and I finally got to see it.
The first thing that jumped out at me was the complete lack of graphics other than the occasional name of the batter. No position, just name. Also, as Bob Costas pointed out before the game started, there are no instant replays. This fact created an interesting scapegoat who gets exonerated after viewing this game.
As with any baseball game from the 1950s and 1960s you will notice a considerable increase in the pace of the game play. The pitchers barely pause long enough to take signs between pitches and the batters do not step out of the batters box after every pitch. In fact, batters step out so infrequently that Mel Allen actually commented on one batter’s action when he stepped out of the box in order to slow down one Pittsburgh pitcher who was damn near throwing the ball back to the catcher as soon as he got it in his pitching hand. This was a 9 inning 10-9 game with seven total pitching changes and it only last 2 hours and 36 minutes. A similar Major League Baseball game 7 today would take four hours.
There was also very little of the attention getting antics you see from today’s athletes. No one was making the sign of the cross before each heroic at bat (although I swear I did see one player make a quick sign of the cross before an at bat but it was very subtle and definitely not done so the world could see he was a man of faith) and no one pointed to the sky when he got a hit. The players were very serious and businesslike. The only flash I saw out of any player was from Roberto Clemente. He had a very unique sidearm toss to the infield on routine fly balls and once when his catch ended an inning he flipped the ball to an umpire in a cool backhanded motion where the ball seemed to jump from his hip.
This was also an opportunity for me to watch for the first time a baseball game at the famous Forbes Field. It’s a classic old ballpark where the Pittsburgh Pirates player for a little over sixty years. What I like about old parks ike this is that they evolved and that is what made them all unique. I even got to see the legendary light tower shadow between first and second base. Each time a foul ball or a high fly ball was hit I got to see a bit more of the park. As the game went on I got better picture of it. I noticed how down the right field line the seats curled around into beyond right field into a traditional bleacher but down the left field the seating ended abruptly and all there was beyond left field was a brick wall covered in ivy with trees beyond. It provided a nice contrast.
I noticed a couple of trivial things about a couple of players that stood out to me. Yogi Berra, who I had forgotten batted left handed, took two bats with him to the batters box. He would take a few swings while the bat boy stood on the other side of home plate. Once he was ready to begin his at bat he would hand the bat off to the bat boy. I don’t recall seeing anyone else ever do that or get away with doing that. He also hit the shit out of a baseball when he hit his home run in the sixth inning. Lots of people can hit the ball hard bur his swing was vicious and that home run was a Kong shot.
It was odd to see someone with Yogi Berra’s body out there playing baseball. When you see Yogi on the screen there is no doubt as to who you are viewing. He looks like a Lego block but when you see him take a nasty cut at a pitch or watch him gracefully move under a fly ball you can tell he’s a talented athlete. He must have been all muscle.
Tony Kubek, the Yankees shortstop, batted with his baseball cap in his back pocket and when he got on base he would ditch his batting helmet and put his cap on. Mickey Mantle, on the other hand, wore his cap under his helmet. In case you are wondering, according to Wikipedia batting helmets weren’t mandatory until 1971*. I remember having to wear my cap under my batting helmet a couple of times during my sophomore year of high school because there was only one helmet that actually fit me, the rest were too big.
*Interesting tidbit about the batting helmet: “In 1952, the Pittsburgh Pirates became the first major league team to permanently adopt batting helmets. And Rickey was serious about it. The Pirates were ordered to wear the helmets both at bat and in the field, though thankfully that idea only lasted a couple of seasons before the fielders could leave them in the dugout.
At first, the Bucs weren't too crazy about them, and the fans got a hoot out of them too, bouncing marbles off the players' helmeted heads. But one play that year turned many players' attitudes around.
A helmeted Paul Pettit, pinch-running for the Pirates against the Cubs, was speeding toward second base to break up a DP when the shortstop's bullet relay hit him squarely in the head. "All it did was dent the helmet, and he stayed in the game," recalled Joe Garagiola, talking to SI. "Made believers out of everybody."
I was surprised by that the Pittsburg crowd booed Casey Stengel when he visited the mound to talk to his pitcher. How do you boo Stengel? He played 128 games for Pittsburgh in 1918-19. His numbers were OK, he had a pretty respectable on base percentage. Were they booing him just because he was the opposing manager? Was it because he said something to the press earlier in the series? It was game 7 of the World Series so it could have been for a lot of reasons. But, dang, boo Casey Stengel? What do you have to say for yourselves, Pitssburgh?
In the 8th inning Stengel made a strange decision. Late in the inning the Yankees have runners on second and third and they have just scored two runs to go up 7-4. A hit at this point in the game could really have sealed the victory for them. Stengel chooses to let his pitcher Bobby Shantz bat. Shantz ended with a career batting average of .195 and in 1960 he batted .100 Shantz flies out to end the inning and pitched to all of two batters in the Pittsburgh half of the 8th inning. I was sitting there and watching this and just really perplexed by what I was watching. Shantz had been pitching really well. He had lasted 5 innings already. Maybe Stengel had no confidence in who he had left in the bullpen but the bullpen was fresh except for Bob Stafford, the man he relieved. No one else other than Whitey Ford and game 7 starter, Bob Hurley, had pitched since game 5 which had taken place three days before. While going over this in my head I was grateful I didn’t have to listen to Joe Morgan or Tim McCarver tell me what a strange decision this was.
In the top of the 9th Mickey Mantle made one of the most athletic plays I have ever seen. He is on first base and Gil McDougald is on third and Yogi Berra is batting. The Yankees are down by one run. Yogi scorches a ground ball to the Pirates first baseman, Rocky Nelson. Nelson is right next to the bag so he steps on it forcing out Yogi Berra. Mickey Mantle is stuck about six feet off first base and there are now two outs. He faces Nelson and when Nelson makes a move toward mantle to tag him Mantle dives toward the home plate side of first base. As he dives he twists the bottom half of his body toward home plate. Nelson dives to where Mantle was a split second before and ends up tagging the infield dirt. While Mantle is floating six inches above the ground like Michael Vick diving in for a score against the Panthers, McDougald scores from third and the game is tied. Mantle, through athelticism and an unwillingness to lose has extended the Yankees’ season. Watching that you can see why, as David Halberstam put it, many athletes are heroes to their fans but Mickey Mantle was that rare athlete that was a hero to his teammates.
That Mantle play is one of three plays I watched over and over with my handy dandy DVR. The other two were the ball Tony Kubek took to the throat and the play that has caused Jim Coates to become a minor goat in Yankee lore. With two outs in the bottom of the 8th the Pirates have runners on second and third. They are down by two runs and Robert Clemente is at the plate. He hits dribbler down toward first base. The pitcher Coates appears to get to first base late and Clemente hustles down for an infield single. The next batter hits a three run homer and the Pirates go up 9-7 and Mantle has to play Superman a few minutes later to keep the Yankees in the game. I played this play back a few times in slow motion on the DVR and Coats did not neglect to cover first. He initially went for the ball and then went toward first base when he realized he couldn’t get to the ball. Even if he had gone straight to the bag Clemente still may have beaten any throw that could have been made. I had heard that it was a bonehead move. This wasn’t some spoiled pitcher forgetting to cover first. He was hustling the whole time. Maybe making a play for ball was not the best choice but this was hardly a bonehead play. The Yankee second baseman Bobby Ricardson who was at a special screening of this game in Pittsburgh said as much. Seeing what Coates did on this play was something Richardson was waiting to see and he exonerated Coates with his comments.
I was curious to observe the behavior of the Pittsburgh crowd during the game. One thing that I noticed right away was it was hard to gauge the feel of the crowd due to the lack of crowd shots. Not once during the game did the camera focus on a few individuals in the grandstands. That’s a standard shot for modern sports broadcasts. Now people dress up and carry signs in order to garner the attention of the television cameras. This crowd remained anonymous. One big difference I did notice was an overall subdued atmosphere. The crowd did go crazy when a big play occurred and the place exploded when Mazeroski hit his famous series-ending home run but during the lulls you didn’t get the sense of the forced and artificial constant enthusiasm that the professional sports leagues try to create today.
The post game interview with the victorious Pirates in their locker room was an unexpected joy. What you saw was a bunch of athletes so filled with joy that they can barely form sentences. It’s very revealing to see athletes this unguarded. It’s almost like watching an interview with a softball team that just won a local tournament they’ve been trying to win for twenty years. To see professional athletes speak before professional marketers and ego inflating agents moved into the game shows you what we are missing now. Pirates outfielder Gino Cimoli summed it up perfectly when he said, "They broke all the records but we won the game."
The MLB Network will probably show this game a few more times. You can visit their website to view the schedule. If you get a chance take a look at the game. It really is a good baseball game, not just a piece of history for the baseball nerds. The teams exchange the lead three times in the last two innings. It’s very exciting and you’ll forget you are watching a baseball game that is fifty years old and will find yourself just watching a great baseball game.
The MLB Network showed game 7 of the 1960 World Series last week. Game 7 is the famous game in which Bill Mazeroski hit his famous bottom of the 9th walk off home run that gave Pittsburgh its first World Series victory since 1925. The game hadn’t been broadcast in its entirety since it was originally broadcast. The story about how the film of the game was discovered hidden among Bing Crosby’s possessions is worth reading. I’ve been dying to watch this since I first heard about the rediscovering of the film and I finally got to see it.
The first thing that jumped out at me was the complete lack of graphics other than the occasional name of the batter. No position, just name. Also, as Bob Costas pointed out before the game started, there are no instant replays. This fact created an interesting scapegoat who gets exonerated after viewing this game.
As with any baseball game from the 1950s and 1960s you will notice a considerable increase in the pace of the game play. The pitchers barely pause long enough to take signs between pitches and the batters do not step out of the batters box after every pitch. In fact, batters step out so infrequently that Mel Allen actually commented on one batter’s action when he stepped out of the box in order to slow down one Pittsburgh pitcher who was damn near throwing the ball back to the catcher as soon as he got it in his pitching hand. This was a 9 inning 10-9 game with seven total pitching changes and it only last 2 hours and 36 minutes. A similar Major League Baseball game 7 today would take four hours.
There was also very little of the attention getting antics you see from today’s athletes. No one was making the sign of the cross before each heroic at bat (although I swear I did see one player make a quick sign of the cross before an at bat but it was very subtle and definitely not done so the world could see he was a man of faith) and no one pointed to the sky when he got a hit. The players were very serious and businesslike. The only flash I saw out of any player was from Roberto Clemente. He had a very unique sidearm toss to the infield on routine fly balls and once when his catch ended an inning he flipped the ball to an umpire in a cool backhanded motion where the ball seemed to jump from his hip.
This was also an opportunity for me to watch for the first time a baseball game at the famous Forbes Field. It’s a classic old ballpark where the Pittsburgh Pirates player for a little over sixty years. What I like about old parks ike this is that they evolved and that is what made them all unique. I even got to see the legendary light tower shadow between first and second base. Each time a foul ball or a high fly ball was hit I got to see a bit more of the park. As the game went on I got better picture of it. I noticed how down the right field line the seats curled around into beyond right field into a traditional bleacher but down the left field the seating ended abruptly and all there was beyond left field was a brick wall covered in ivy with trees beyond. It provided a nice contrast.
I noticed a couple of trivial things about a couple of players that stood out to me. Yogi Berra, who I had forgotten batted left handed, took two bats with him to the batters box. He would take a few swings while the bat boy stood on the other side of home plate. Once he was ready to begin his at bat he would hand the bat off to the bat boy. I don’t recall seeing anyone else ever do that or get away with doing that. He also hit the shit out of a baseball when he hit his home run in the sixth inning. Lots of people can hit the ball hard bur his swing was vicious and that home run was a Kong shot.
It was odd to see someone with Yogi Berra’s body out there playing baseball. When you see Yogi on the screen there is no doubt as to who you are viewing. He looks like a Lego block but when you see him take a nasty cut at a pitch or watch him gracefully move under a fly ball you can tell he’s a talented athlete. He must have been all muscle.
Tony Kubek, the Yankees shortstop, batted with his baseball cap in his back pocket and when he got on base he would ditch his batting helmet and put his cap on. Mickey Mantle, on the other hand, wore his cap under his helmet. In case you are wondering, according to Wikipedia batting helmets weren’t mandatory until 1971*. I remember having to wear my cap under my batting helmet a couple of times during my sophomore year of high school because there was only one helmet that actually fit me, the rest were too big.
*Interesting tidbit about the batting helmet: “In 1952, the Pittsburgh Pirates became the first major league team to permanently adopt batting helmets. And Rickey was serious about it. The Pirates were ordered to wear the helmets both at bat and in the field, though thankfully that idea only lasted a couple of seasons before the fielders could leave them in the dugout.
At first, the Bucs weren't too crazy about them, and the fans got a hoot out of them too, bouncing marbles off the players' helmeted heads. But one play that year turned many players' attitudes around.
A helmeted Paul Pettit, pinch-running for the Pirates against the Cubs, was speeding toward second base to break up a DP when the shortstop's bullet relay hit him squarely in the head. "All it did was dent the helmet, and he stayed in the game," recalled Joe Garagiola, talking to SI. "Made believers out of everybody."
I was surprised by that the Pittsburg crowd booed Casey Stengel when he visited the mound to talk to his pitcher. How do you boo Stengel? He played 128 games for Pittsburgh in 1918-19. His numbers were OK, he had a pretty respectable on base percentage. Were they booing him just because he was the opposing manager? Was it because he said something to the press earlier in the series? It was game 7 of the World Series so it could have been for a lot of reasons. But, dang, boo Casey Stengel? What do you have to say for yourselves, Pitssburgh?
In the 8th inning Stengel made a strange decision. Late in the inning the Yankees have runners on second and third and they have just scored two runs to go up 7-4. A hit at this point in the game could really have sealed the victory for them. Stengel chooses to let his pitcher Bobby Shantz bat. Shantz ended with a career batting average of .195 and in 1960 he batted .100 Shantz flies out to end the inning and pitched to all of two batters in the Pittsburgh half of the 8th inning. I was sitting there and watching this and just really perplexed by what I was watching. Shantz had been pitching really well. He had lasted 5 innings already. Maybe Stengel had no confidence in who he had left in the bullpen but the bullpen was fresh except for Bob Stafford, the man he relieved. No one else other than Whitey Ford and game 7 starter, Bob Hurley, had pitched since game 5 which had taken place three days before. While going over this in my head I was grateful I didn’t have to listen to Joe Morgan or Tim McCarver tell me what a strange decision this was.
In the top of the 9th Mickey Mantle made one of the most athletic plays I have ever seen. He is on first base and Gil McDougald is on third and Yogi Berra is batting. The Yankees are down by one run. Yogi scorches a ground ball to the Pirates first baseman, Rocky Nelson. Nelson is right next to the bag so he steps on it forcing out Yogi Berra. Mickey Mantle is stuck about six feet off first base and there are now two outs. He faces Nelson and when Nelson makes a move toward mantle to tag him Mantle dives toward the home plate side of first base. As he dives he twists the bottom half of his body toward home plate. Nelson dives to where Mantle was a split second before and ends up tagging the infield dirt. While Mantle is floating six inches above the ground like Michael Vick diving in for a score against the Panthers, McDougald scores from third and the game is tied. Mantle, through athelticism and an unwillingness to lose has extended the Yankees’ season. Watching that you can see why, as David Halberstam put it, many athletes are heroes to their fans but Mickey Mantle was that rare athlete that was a hero to his teammates.
That Mantle play is one of three plays I watched over and over with my handy dandy DVR. The other two were the ball Tony Kubek took to the throat and the play that has caused Jim Coates to become a minor goat in Yankee lore. With two outs in the bottom of the 8th the Pirates have runners on second and third. They are down by two runs and Robert Clemente is at the plate. He hits dribbler down toward first base. The pitcher Coates appears to get to first base late and Clemente hustles down for an infield single. The next batter hits a three run homer and the Pirates go up 9-7 and Mantle has to play Superman a few minutes later to keep the Yankees in the game. I played this play back a few times in slow motion on the DVR and Coats did not neglect to cover first. He initially went for the ball and then went toward first base when he realized he couldn’t get to the ball. Even if he had gone straight to the bag Clemente still may have beaten any throw that could have been made. I had heard that it was a bonehead move. This wasn’t some spoiled pitcher forgetting to cover first. He was hustling the whole time. Maybe making a play for ball was not the best choice but this was hardly a bonehead play. The Yankee second baseman Bobby Ricardson who was at a special screening of this game in Pittsburgh said as much. Seeing what Coates did on this play was something Richardson was waiting to see and he exonerated Coates with his comments.
I was curious to observe the behavior of the Pittsburgh crowd during the game. One thing that I noticed right away was it was hard to gauge the feel of the crowd due to the lack of crowd shots. Not once during the game did the camera focus on a few individuals in the grandstands. That’s a standard shot for modern sports broadcasts. Now people dress up and carry signs in order to garner the attention of the television cameras. This crowd remained anonymous. One big difference I did notice was an overall subdued atmosphere. The crowd did go crazy when a big play occurred and the place exploded when Mazeroski hit his famous series-ending home run but during the lulls you didn’t get the sense of the forced and artificial constant enthusiasm that the professional sports leagues try to create today.
The post game interview with the victorious Pirates in their locker room was an unexpected joy. What you saw was a bunch of athletes so filled with joy that they can barely form sentences. It’s very revealing to see athletes this unguarded. It’s almost like watching an interview with a softball team that just won a local tournament they’ve been trying to win for twenty years. To see professional athletes speak before professional marketers and ego inflating agents moved into the game shows you what we are missing now. Pirates outfielder Gino Cimoli summed it up perfectly when he said, "They broke all the records but we won the game."
The MLB Network will probably show this game a few more times. You can visit their website to view the schedule. If you get a chance take a look at the game. It really is a good baseball game, not just a piece of history for the baseball nerds. The teams exchange the lead three times in the last two innings. It’s very exciting and you’ll forget you are watching a baseball game that is fifty years old and will find yourself just watching a great baseball game.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Why?
Initial reports out of the tire testing going on at the recently repaved Daytona International Speedway are not encouraging. According to Jeff Burton it's Talladega style, for sure. One reason that racing at Daytona has been better than at Talladega is due to the older pavement. Cars couldn't bunch up there because they didn't have the grip to do so. Now, with new pavement, Daytona is going to be one big boring pack of cars rubbing and bumping at around 190 MPH until the big wreck happens sometime after the halfway point of the race. How can NASCAR possibly think this is a good idea? I was very disappointed when it seemed like they didn't even consider whether or not to redesign the track in order to bring speeds down without having to continue resorting to the ineffective band-aid of restrictor plates. As Burton just said accoring to Terry Blount "They didn't change the banking or the angles." We have been guaranteed years and years of more big ones. Burton just was quoted by his team's Twitter feed as saying, "There is going to be a constant pack, I don't know how you will get separated. Its going to be a big pack all the time. That is exactly what I am talking about. That's not racing, that's gambling at 190 MPH.
Every few months when I really think about restrictor plate racing I just get really depressed. I think of all the great racing we are missing at Daytona (Talladega is another story). For NASCAR to not even consider seriously finding some way to race at Daytona without plates tells me they like the restrictor plate and the "racing" and giant wrecks it creates. Plate racing is the NASCAR equivalent of a football or basketball game. In football and basketball all the action is focused on the ball and that translates perfectly to television, unlike baseball and most NASCAR races. In a race the "ball" is the first place car. With a plate race all of the 42 other cars can be in the picture with the "ball." Sure, it makes for exciting television. Especially when 10 to 20 cars start spinning, smashing, rolling and flying into the air when tempers run short late in the event. Which, of course, is another reason plate racing translates so well to television. By the time the network finishes showing you the forty-eleven angle of the crash they have recorded the debris is cleaned up and we are back to racing. It doesn't matter if 10 to 20 cars are no longer in the race because a 20 car pack isn't any less exciting that a 43 car pack.
And don't go telling me that you can't redesign Daytona because of 50 plus years of tradition. Tradition didn't help Rockingham. Tradition didn't help North Wilkesboro. Like the fiasco of the BCS in college football, it all comes down to money. Honestly, when did anything in this sport not come down to money? It's not coincidence that the Talladega race on October 31st this year had the highest cable rating of any race on cable in the last two months of the season. In fact, was on a couple hundred thousand viewers behind the October Charlotte race that was seen on ABC. We do love our flying race cars, don't we?
What is most frustrating is that NASCAR could fix Daytona if they really wanted to. You can't tell me that they couldn't hire a group of engineers and tell them, "We want you to find a track configuration similar to what we have now that will naturally create speeds of around 205 mph at the end of each straightaway." It could and should be done but it'll never happen because restrictor plate racing is now the norm and it's not going away. And, by the way, if you love restrictor plate racing, you are not watching your television for the competition. You are waiting for the big one. That's fine, because wrecks are part of the sport. Wrecks aren't everything and we are missing out some fine racing that an redesigned and unrestricted Daytona International Speedway could give. Shouldn't the biggest race of the year at least be a good race?
Initial reports out of the tire testing going on at the recently repaved Daytona International Speedway are not encouraging. According to Jeff Burton it's Talladega style, for sure. One reason that racing at Daytona has been better than at Talladega is due to the older pavement. Cars couldn't bunch up there because they didn't have the grip to do so. Now, with new pavement, Daytona is going to be one big boring pack of cars rubbing and bumping at around 190 MPH until the big wreck happens sometime after the halfway point of the race. How can NASCAR possibly think this is a good idea? I was very disappointed when it seemed like they didn't even consider whether or not to redesign the track in order to bring speeds down without having to continue resorting to the ineffective band-aid of restrictor plates. As Burton just said accoring to Terry Blount "They didn't change the banking or the angles." We have been guaranteed years and years of more big ones. Burton just was quoted by his team's Twitter feed as saying, "There is going to be a constant pack, I don't know how you will get separated. Its going to be a big pack all the time. That is exactly what I am talking about. That's not racing, that's gambling at 190 MPH.
Every few months when I really think about restrictor plate racing I just get really depressed. I think of all the great racing we are missing at Daytona (Talladega is another story). For NASCAR to not even consider seriously finding some way to race at Daytona without plates tells me they like the restrictor plate and the "racing" and giant wrecks it creates. Plate racing is the NASCAR equivalent of a football or basketball game. In football and basketball all the action is focused on the ball and that translates perfectly to television, unlike baseball and most NASCAR races. In a race the "ball" is the first place car. With a plate race all of the 42 other cars can be in the picture with the "ball." Sure, it makes for exciting television. Especially when 10 to 20 cars start spinning, smashing, rolling and flying into the air when tempers run short late in the event. Which, of course, is another reason plate racing translates so well to television. By the time the network finishes showing you the forty-eleven angle of the crash they have recorded the debris is cleaned up and we are back to racing. It doesn't matter if 10 to 20 cars are no longer in the race because a 20 car pack isn't any less exciting that a 43 car pack.
And don't go telling me that you can't redesign Daytona because of 50 plus years of tradition. Tradition didn't help Rockingham. Tradition didn't help North Wilkesboro. Like the fiasco of the BCS in college football, it all comes down to money. Honestly, when did anything in this sport not come down to money? It's not coincidence that the Talladega race on October 31st this year had the highest cable rating of any race on cable in the last two months of the season. In fact, was on a couple hundred thousand viewers behind the October Charlotte race that was seen on ABC. We do love our flying race cars, don't we?
What is most frustrating is that NASCAR could fix Daytona if they really wanted to. You can't tell me that they couldn't hire a group of engineers and tell them, "We want you to find a track configuration similar to what we have now that will naturally create speeds of around 205 mph at the end of each straightaway." It could and should be done but it'll never happen because restrictor plate racing is now the norm and it's not going away. And, by the way, if you love restrictor plate racing, you are not watching your television for the competition. You are waiting for the big one. That's fine, because wrecks are part of the sport. Wrecks aren't everything and we are missing out some fine racing that an redesigned and unrestricted Daytona International Speedway could give. Shouldn't the biggest race of the year at least be a good race?
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
"You don't go around grieving all the time, but the grief is still there and always will be." Nigella Lawson
Recently a friend of a friend, someone I have met all of two times but have interacted with over the years through email, joined a sad club. A club whose members are those who have had a parent die too soon. There are two levels to this club, those that lost their parents as a child and those that lost them as adults. If you’re lucky you lose you parents when you are an adult and they are old. There are those that lose them before they should when we’re adults. When your parents are past 75 you’re ready. You’re still all tore up but at that point it’s not a tragedy. You don’t mourn too long. At some point you’re ready to celebrate a life. That happened a couple of years ago at my Grandfather’s funeral. He was 90 when he died. He passed away pretty peacefully surrounded by his family. At the funeral we all cried, some sobbed. Afterwards, at the wake, we all got drunk and had a good laugh and warmed ourselves with shared memories.
Back in 1992 my step Dad died on St. Patrick’s Day. I experienced one of those nightmare scenarios. I got home from an evening spent with some friends and there was a firetruck in our driveway. They were packing up their equipment. That evening is a blur. The firetruck idling. Our neighbor from across the street, a former warrant officer in the Marine Corps, coming out of our house and telling me, “Eddie, your Dad had a heart attack and I don’t think he’s going to make it.” A drive to the hospital and my Mother insisting on seeing his body. We walk to the door of the room his body is laying, I stop at the entrance, I remember his face dark and discolored and a breathing tube still in his mouth. Going back home and thanking our neighbor for watching the two younger siblings and then waking them and telling them their Dad was dead. Then days of immobilizing sorrow. I don’t ever want to have to be present ever again when an 8 year old and a 12 year old are told their Dad has just died.
When I was eight my paternal Grandfather died. When I was 12 my maternal Grandmother died. Those were landmark events of my childhood but, since you’re a kid, you bounce back pretty quick from the death of a grandparent. After all, they are old and you’re young and going to live forever. I also remember attending the funerals of two great grandparents during my childhood. The funerals of the great grandparents were interesting because it’s hard to imagine your grandparents have parents. As far as your world is concerned time started with your grandparents.
But, my step Dad’s death was sudden and unexpected. He was the rock on which we built our home here in Charlotte and when that heart attack killed him I went through a real grieving process for the first time. I could not have been more unprepared for it. I was truly immobilized. I called in to work at the shitty convenience store I worked at for $5 an hour and told them I’d be out for a few days. I barely made it to Central Piedmont Community College for my classes and probably would have failed all of them if it wasn’t for the instructors giving me time to catch up. If his cousin hadn’t flown in immediately and taken over the funeral arrangements I don’t know what my Mother and I would have done.
The first few days were surreal. I’d hear his voice. I’d enter a room and expect him to be there. Once a coworker of his with a similar physique and wearing the official Rick Hendrick Lexus black pullover windbreaker that my Dad wore a lot walked into our living room and for a split second my Dad was there and then, of course, he wasn’t. Grieving is full of these tiny stabs that over a couple of weeks completely break you down. Today at the library I overheard two World War II veterans talking and one was just recently widowed. The other had lost his wife years before and when he heard the other lost his wife just days ago he said, “Oh, you’re still crying. I cried for weeks.”
You do get over it. After a while I could think about his death without losing it and then eventually I could talk about it. Which is necessary if you want to function in this world. If every wound was always fresh we’d either be living in Elantris or no one would ever go to football practice or eat three McDonald’s cheeseburgers in one sitting. It’s unfortunate because my memories of my step Dad get dimmer each year. All have are snippets: his waddling walk, his strong voice, his smile. First your loved ones are taken out of reach and then they slowly fade away.
I guess one good thing did come from his death. I got out of that dead end job at the convenience store. It was a Quik Shoppe owned by Spivey Enterprises and the way they handled the situation was disrespectful. They called me a couple of days after Dad’s death asking when I would be back. I remember saying something along the line, “I’ll be back when I get back” and hanging up. When I did finally decided I could handle a shift they scheduled me for a double shift. The day I was scheduled for the double was the same day my buddy Jeff decided he’d rather owe the Marine Corps a bunch of money for college rather than spend four years as an enlisted cook (he had failed to finish Officer’s Candidate School). I didn’t bother to report for my shift and we went to a baseball card show. It felt good.
Recently a friend of a friend, someone I have met all of two times but have interacted with over the years through email, joined a sad club. A club whose members are those who have had a parent die too soon. There are two levels to this club, those that lost their parents as a child and those that lost them as adults. If you’re lucky you lose you parents when you are an adult and they are old. There are those that lose them before they should when we’re adults. When your parents are past 75 you’re ready. You’re still all tore up but at that point it’s not a tragedy. You don’t mourn too long. At some point you’re ready to celebrate a life. That happened a couple of years ago at my Grandfather’s funeral. He was 90 when he died. He passed away pretty peacefully surrounded by his family. At the funeral we all cried, some sobbed. Afterwards, at the wake, we all got drunk and had a good laugh and warmed ourselves with shared memories.
Back in 1992 my step Dad died on St. Patrick’s Day. I experienced one of those nightmare scenarios. I got home from an evening spent with some friends and there was a firetruck in our driveway. They were packing up their equipment. That evening is a blur. The firetruck idling. Our neighbor from across the street, a former warrant officer in the Marine Corps, coming out of our house and telling me, “Eddie, your Dad had a heart attack and I don’t think he’s going to make it.” A drive to the hospital and my Mother insisting on seeing his body. We walk to the door of the room his body is laying, I stop at the entrance, I remember his face dark and discolored and a breathing tube still in his mouth. Going back home and thanking our neighbor for watching the two younger siblings and then waking them and telling them their Dad was dead. Then days of immobilizing sorrow. I don’t ever want to have to be present ever again when an 8 year old and a 12 year old are told their Dad has just died.
When I was eight my paternal Grandfather died. When I was 12 my maternal Grandmother died. Those were landmark events of my childhood but, since you’re a kid, you bounce back pretty quick from the death of a grandparent. After all, they are old and you’re young and going to live forever. I also remember attending the funerals of two great grandparents during my childhood. The funerals of the great grandparents were interesting because it’s hard to imagine your grandparents have parents. As far as your world is concerned time started with your grandparents.
But, my step Dad’s death was sudden and unexpected. He was the rock on which we built our home here in Charlotte and when that heart attack killed him I went through a real grieving process for the first time. I could not have been more unprepared for it. I was truly immobilized. I called in to work at the shitty convenience store I worked at for $5 an hour and told them I’d be out for a few days. I barely made it to Central Piedmont Community College for my classes and probably would have failed all of them if it wasn’t for the instructors giving me time to catch up. If his cousin hadn’t flown in immediately and taken over the funeral arrangements I don’t know what my Mother and I would have done.
The first few days were surreal. I’d hear his voice. I’d enter a room and expect him to be there. Once a coworker of his with a similar physique and wearing the official Rick Hendrick Lexus black pullover windbreaker that my Dad wore a lot walked into our living room and for a split second my Dad was there and then, of course, he wasn’t. Grieving is full of these tiny stabs that over a couple of weeks completely break you down. Today at the library I overheard two World War II veterans talking and one was just recently widowed. The other had lost his wife years before and when he heard the other lost his wife just days ago he said, “Oh, you’re still crying. I cried for weeks.”
You do get over it. After a while I could think about his death without losing it and then eventually I could talk about it. Which is necessary if you want to function in this world. If every wound was always fresh we’d either be living in Elantris or no one would ever go to football practice or eat three McDonald’s cheeseburgers in one sitting. It’s unfortunate because my memories of my step Dad get dimmer each year. All have are snippets: his waddling walk, his strong voice, his smile. First your loved ones are taken out of reach and then they slowly fade away.
I guess one good thing did come from his death. I got out of that dead end job at the convenience store. It was a Quik Shoppe owned by Spivey Enterprises and the way they handled the situation was disrespectful. They called me a couple of days after Dad’s death asking when I would be back. I remember saying something along the line, “I’ll be back when I get back” and hanging up. When I did finally decided I could handle a shift they scheduled me for a double shift. The day I was scheduled for the double was the same day my buddy Jeff decided he’d rather owe the Marine Corps a bunch of money for college rather than spend four years as an enlisted cook (he had failed to finish Officer’s Candidate School). I didn’t bother to report for my shift and we went to a baseball card show. It felt good.
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