You Can’t Unbite the Apple

The President will speak tonight
by Charlie Leck

The President will speak tonight. This morning, my wife suggested I not watch it. She doesn't want me to get too stirred up. I don't blame her and the TV would be in danger.

I am very gloomy about the projections of hundreds of thousands of deaths by massacre if our troops were to pull out of Iraq. Are you old enough to remember all of this from Vietnam? Why do we do these things? How do we keep getting ourselves involved in useless, wasteful wars?

One local radio personalityput it quite well the other day. He said: "You can't unbite the apple!"*

It expresses the problem we have now in Iraq. It is a warning that President Bush should have heeded several years ago. It's a warning future presidents should carefully heed.

We are now mired in horrendous problems in Iraq. Two years will not solve them. Neither will four years or 10 years. Recently some experts have talked about us staying for decades in the basic role of occupiers.

This is all on our plate now because we took a bite of the apple. Unfortunately the entire mess was based on dishonesty or certainly, to put it in the kindest possible way, because of misinformation.

We went to Afghanistan to get Osama bin Laden. We didn't get him. We went to Iraq to get Weapons of Mass Destruction that weren't there.

When we bit the apple we ruined Iraq's entire infrastructure and its economic engine. Under the present circumstances it is not possible to get them totally rebuilt.

When we bit the apple we gave international terrorism exactly what it was looking for; that is, a perfect excuse to use violence to keep American pinned down, exhausting its military forces and wasting its funds.

When we bit the apple we miscalculated the time and effort it would take to get in and out of Iraq.

Now the military experts have told us the utter and complete truth we were not told before we bit the apple; that is, that it may take another 10 years or more of military involvement in Iraq to solve the incredible problems we created there. To repeat, the military tells us that hundreds of thousands will die if we leave.

Not since that time in the Garden of Eden has such a Pandora's Box been opened by taking a simple bite of the apple.

*Don Shelby on WCCO Radio!

The Bookstore Experience

Long, tall girls in bookstore aisles
by Charlie Leck

When I do accountings of my favorite places to spend time, bookstores always finish way up on top of my lists. There is a lovely, little bookstore in a town very nearby. It sits in such an enviable location, looking out on the waters of Lake Minnetonka, that one can hardly think of any more wonderful place to browse through books. It's only weakness is that it doesn't have sprawling room and when wants to stretch out and stay a while, thumbing through book after book, it isn't the place to visit. Unfortunately, at times such as that, when a large inventory and big amounts of space are absolute requirements; one is forced to visit the big box bookstore further in toward town and just off the Interstate Highway.

I went to the big box store yesterday in search of some of the travel books of Bill Bryson. I've written about Bryson in this blog space. He's become one of my favorite contemporary authors; however, I've not yet read any of his travel accounts.

I strolled through the big front doors of the store and aimed myself in the general direction of travel and geography. I approached the aisle and was about to make a hard left turn into the travel section when, fortunately, something ahead distracted me (or attracted me in an intriguing kind of way) and I hesitated at my turn. I dread thinking of what might have happened if I had made the turn at full speed and encountered what I observed there when I hesitated.

Lounging before me, taking up the entire aisle, and then some, were two ladies of my acquaintance from a little spot we all call our country club. Mind you, they are not ordinary ladies. They are two of the tallest ladies I know and when they decide to lie about in a bookstore aisle they are sending a message with certainty: "This aisle-way is closed! Please use detour!" Around them were scattered a dozen or more books that they had examined, or were intending to examine. It would be safe for me to add here, if they don't happen to stumble upon my blog, that they were in what one might call their Saturday morning mode. In other words, they did not have that usual country club look with which I am most familiar. They had not on themselves even a mite of make-up and their heads of hair were not coiffed one tiny bit. They wore jeans (denim) of the most faded and comfortable sort – something totally banned at our little club and so, naturally, something I had never seen them wear before. Each also wore some kind of dull, gray, tattered sweatshirts that one would normally only be allowed to wear when bathing the Saint Bernard.

These long, tall ladies, so comfortably overwhelming the entire aisle of the travel section, had not the slightest idea that I stood there, looking down upon them in their quest for information. I was disappointedly wishing that I had my camera in hand because it would have made one of the finest candid photographs in the history of modern photography; and had it not gotten me world-wide fame it would certainly have won me many hearty back-slaps from folks around the club. I toyed with the idea of ignoring them and moving on without a word; however, I am not known for such graciousness and gracefulness, so I laughed robustly and pointed at them in their repose.

"Girls! You are about to travel somewhere!" I am also known as something of a creative and talented detective. My deductive powers are enormous.

They looked up and their cheeks immediately flushed. The first thing I noticed was their sense of relief that I was not carrying with me the camera for which I am so well known at our little club.

I must interrupt my ramblings here to point out, in case you haven't already sensed it, that this whole picture is something to which I give hearty and unreserved approval. I know of nothing more comfortable and enjoyable to do. Lounging in bookstores is extremely acceptable. One just does not want to be discovered doing it or interrupted while in such a state of relaxed concentration. It is a very private and personal moment. I can make my point by relating to you that the girls disappeared shortly after I learned from them that they planned to roam around in the rural, small villages of Spain, southern France and Italy.

I went off to chat with a lady at the information desk. I had only time to tell her she looked terribly familiar and to learn from her that we went to the same church in downtown Minneapolis. I then circled around to the other entrance into the travel aisle to explore some of Bryson's offerings and noted that the long, tall ladies had tidied up their formerly staked out territory and had disappeared completely. It was no doubt due to my discovery of them in such intimacy. My poor and boorish behavior embarrassed me to no end and I immediately sat down in the middle of the aisle and mournfully pulled out 5 or 6 different volumes of the travel writings of Bill Bryson. I was able to begin chuckling immediately and my feelings of guilt were assuaged. The little hideout was now mine.

A Seemingly Infinite Mess

I have avoided this film for long enough!
by Charlie Leck

Okay! I confess forthwith! I swiped the title from Wesley Morris and the Boston Globe. I couldn't resist because it says it so perfectly. It being the incredible mess in which the United States of America is now involved in the nation of Iraq. Morris used the phrase in his review of the documentary film, No End in Sight.

My wife has been bugging me to see the film for over a month now. Here's the problem: she's always busy! Don't blame it on me. I don't have a host of horses comin' after me. Nor do I have all those sheep and little lambs begging to be fed and looked after 7 days each week. I don't have a boss who insists I work on a Sunday morning at 6 o'clock and keeps me impressed in servitude until the sun has gone down. Yet, I am bright enough to know that the romance of all her work is going to keep you, my faithful readers, much more sympathetic to the plight of my betrothed than to me, the starving writer.

So, I shall go see the film on my own, some afternoon during the coming week. After all, how long can one put off seeing a film that has an average rating of 4.9 stars out of a possible 5 stars on Google's movie web site [ http://www.google.com/movies ]. That's based on reviews in the Chicago Sun-Times (Roger Ebert), the Boston Globe, Entertainment Weekly, GuideLive, and the Chicago Tribune. Only GuideLive gave it less than the maximum 5 stars (4.6).

The NY Times said of it: "This essential, infuriating documentary calmly and thoroughly chronicles the incompetence and arrogance in the early days of the American occupation of Iraq, which set the stage for what was to follow." A.O. Scott, who reviewed the film for the NY Times, wrote: "It's a sober, revelatory and absolutely vital film."

The documentary is the brain-child of Charles Ferguson, a former Brookings Institution scholar. Ferguson has a doctorate in political science. The thesis of the film, which every review I've encountered says he proves, is that there are no correct choices left in shaking ourselves of the disaster we alone created in Iraq. Very poor planning led to very poor results. The invasion was superbly planned and run. Running the nation following the invasion was another question all together and there was no real plan. We made two essential and devastating mistakes that cost us the war. First, we dismantled the Iraqi military and that left, as Ferguson points out, "nearly a half million armed men with no one to serve." Then, Paul Bremer's de-Baathification program made the intelligentsia of Iraqi society – the teachers, librarians, curators and engineers – jobless.

No matter what the public relations program of George W. Bush says, the chaos of Iraq has not subsided. Now, we are in an absolute no-win situation – a situation with which no nation on the globe has any interested in assisting us.

All the reviews show, and all my friends who have seen the film agree, that the arrogance, incompetence and stupidity of George W. Bush and his team is remarkable. History will not forgive this administration. It is astonishing that such a large cadre of loyalists remains committed to him and his desperate hope for victory in an unwinnable situation.

The common theme in all the reviews of No End in Sight is that it is a depressing and devastating look at Iraq and the mistakes we made there; yet, it is a vitally important film for each of us to see. I have avoided it long enough.

Lutein

Lutein, the wonder supplement
by Charlie Leck

Do you know what Lutein is? Hmm. Very interesting. Neither do I. Or, at least, I didn't until very recently. Now, I feel it is one of my callings to introduce you to Lutein and all the benefits it might provide you. However, allow me to do this in a quite round-about way.

My story begins sometime over five years ago at a very formal ball in a very formal ballroom. I was all packed up in an outfit called "white tie and tails." I happened to own such an outfit because I was at one time in my relative youth elected into a fairly distinguished gentlemen's association called The Coaching Club. One of our silly traditions was to own a common suit of daytime clothing and a common set of white tie and tails (handsomely tailored in New York). The fact that this is one of the most ghastly ensembles of men's clothing that the mind could devise is quite beside the point. As a matter of fact, it is not at all the point and has nothing to do with what I am getting at here.

It was a committee of The Fifties Club that put this particular ball together and anyone invited to it was to feel overwhelmed with gratitude. Properly, I was. We were! Said committee, however, had several very zany ideas for this ball; one of which was to assign you to a dinner partner of the opposite sex and seat you far away from the woman with whom you actually came to the ball (my wife). Another of the committee's ideas was a dance card filled with the names of ladies one needed to seek out at particular times and with whom one was expected to dance. Quite fortunately, most of mine were with ladies in excess of 80 years of age who found it difficult to rise from their chairs let alone waltz around the room with me, and so they declined.

Back, however, to my dinner partner and to the matter of Lutein. I sat with a very charming lady of approximately my age who was the wife of the CEO of one of the world's wonder companies in medical device invention and manufacture. During the evening she explained to me the wonders of Lutein, especially its benefit in preventing macular degeneration. Her salesmanship impressed me totally.

The following day I was in the health store buying an enormous supply of Lutein and I have, without fail, taken my prescribed dose every single day since the morning after the spectacular ball. I do not have macular degeneration or any symptoms of it.

Fast forward! In recent weeks I had the occasion to meet up with said lady again. This time it was at a lovely, rather formal picnic with lots of the kinds of people with whom one occasionally enjoys hob-knobbing. When I saw her out on a terrace and confronted her in mid-conversation with some other ladies, I profusely thanked her for her now years old recommendation to take Lutein. She looked at me oddly and asked me very seriously: "What is Lutein?"

I was aghast! I wanted to pursue the matter further, but the lady returned with haste to her previous conversation.

Excuse me!

I returned to the corner of the yard where my wife was discussing with some gentleman the physics and physiques of various breeds of jumping horses and I waited patiently to interrupt her.

"She doesn't remember a damn thing about Lutein," I said. "I've been taking this expensive stuff for over five years and she doesn't even remember recommending it to me. As a matter of fact, she doesn't even know what the shit is! Excuse me very much, Mr. Ramblestonstein!"

My wife giggled.

"But I've paid a fortune for the stuff over the years on her recommendation alone."

"You do not have macular degeneration," my wife said, smiling coyly.

"I've already mentioned that to my readers," said I.

The next morning – the one following the lovely picnic – I took my vitamins and included with them my daily dose of Lutein. I ambled off to my computer and went on-line in search of some information about Lutein. Low and behold, I found the Lutein Information Bureau and I recommend it to you.
http://www.luteininfo.com/eye

Sunday with the New York Times

The Roll of the News Media in America
by Charlie Leck

I had a bachelor's weekend this labor day. On Friday, my wife flew to New York City. She'll return on Monday evening. That means I could do whatever I wanted over the weekend.

Saturday was my 67^th birthday. I can't believe I have already spent 67 years upon this earth. It doesn't seem at all possible, but every person in his or her late 60s or older is saying the same thing and young people are extremely bored by us continually saying it. But, this is not the point of this blog, so I'll move on.

The great thing about the weekend was a lovely, lazy round of golf on a perfect day on Saturday. I played with a friend and his wife at their private club. Great fun! I didn't have to rush home and we had a quiet, casual drink or two after the round and some hors d'oeuvre galore. I had arranged for a ride and didn't drive. I'm pretty adamant about the dangers of drinking and driving.

I slept late for me on Sunday morning and didn't rise until a few minutes after six. I made a fresh pot of coffee and headed for the Sunday New York Times. Nothing is more fun for me. Normally I have to rush through it – taking about two hours. On this particular day I had no reason to rush. It was three mugs of coffee and four hours later when I finally came up for air and decided it was time to turn to the Minneapolis paper. The question was: Should I take a walk first? I did. I have a long, winding driveway that's about a quarter mile long. I love walking down it. One can count dozens of birds and will probably encounter a deer as well – or a rabbit or two at the very least. When I walk alone I can stop as I will, rest and think. Then, when I'm prepared, I walk on.

When I returned from my walk, I turned first to Garrison Keillor's column in the Opinion Section of our local paper. I don't think his columns ever disappoint me and this occasion was no exception. On this particular Sunday he wrote in tribute of one of his journalism professors, Robert Lindsay, who was one of the contributors to the skills Keillor developed as a writer. It was an easy going, gentle, respectful column about his late teacher. Those of you who don't read Keillor every week are missing something very special.

There seemed words on every page about the U.S. Senator from Idaho and his escapades in a Minneapolis Airport restroom. I couldn't read a word of it. There are more important things to move on to. If there is any point to be made about Craig and why his resignation was required, it is the hypocrisy of the man. That is what brought him down and not the action itself. The American public is quite forgiving of dalliances. We saw that in the Bill Clinton case. We hate hypocrisy, however, and we didn't appreciate the hateful howling from Craig about homosexuality in America nor his strong stance against gay rights. Sara Whitman wrote on the Huffington Report [huffingtonpost.com]: "This is a man, who for his entire political career has worked in fervor against any LGBT issues on the table." As King Henry VIII might have said: "Off with his head!" Or, so to speak! The conservative blogger, Michelle Malkin, [michellemalkin.com] wrote about the double-standard of the Democrats. She brought up the sex-life of Barney Frank. She missed this point about hypocrisy and its importance here. Ed Morrissey, in his Captain's Quarters blog [captainsquartersblog.com], asked a popular question that's been repeated in many places: "How long before Craig checks himself into rehab or finds Jesus?"

E. J. Dionne compared the coverage that has been given to Leona Helmsley and the will she left behind, establishing a 12 million dollar trust for her dog, and Michael Vick's guilty plea in a criminal dog fighting case, to the lack of attention that has been given to a Census Bureau report that the number of Americans uncovered by health insurance continues to rise dramatically. Sicko indeed! He writes about the shameful veiling of the poor from sight. He makes a powerful case that the media could play a central role in casting light upon problems in our nation, motivating state and national leaders to solve these predicaments.

"Why is it that the poor – and, for that matter, the struggling middle class too – disappear in the media, barricaded behind our fixation on celebrity, our titillation over personal sin and public shame, our fascination with every detail of every divorce and affair of every movie star, rock idol and sports phenom?

Sometimes I get angry with all the conservative criticism of the news media. Maybe they have a point. Highlighting America's problems can't be left only on the editorial pages either. Action comes when they are featured on the front page and in powerful video clips on television. I understand that the media cannot be expected to be America's overseer. Stop! Stop right there! Yes they can! That, historically, has been the roll of the media and it is one of the important parts of its mission. I wonder what the journalism professor, Robert Lindsay, would think of this bold concept.

George Will wrote a column contending that war sometimes is the answer. I agree, but, as I have written here before, it should be the very, very last option and an option seldom chosen. In one's life time one should expect not to see one's nation entangled in a war. In my lifetime, I have seen our great nation involved in five major wars and several other brief military skirmishes. That's nonsense! It's absolutely sick!

The cost of New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina is something a lot of writers have addressed in the past week. When the tally is done it will show the cost has been astronomical; yet, so many problems remain and so many people are still left on the outside. This is a case that will be studied for the next decade, looking at misspent funds, corruption and downright piss-poor planning.

The question has been raised by many: Who will be the next Attorney General? Some have speculated that it might be Senator Joe Lieberman. Let's dismiss that out of hand. Senator Lieberman has a six year run ahead of him. If he were to accept an appointment to the AG's office, he'd have only slightly more than a year to serve. I know Joe and he's no dummy. My money is on Michael Chertoff.

A number of editorialists are writing about New York City and its brilliant mayor. I just got off the phone. My wife and I chatted about her long weekend in NYC. She's moving our daughter into a brownstone in Harlem as she prepares to teach for two years at the Thurgood Marshall Baccalaureate High School. My wife was impressed with the city and the atmosphere and attitude of New Yorkers. I'm mighty impressed by Bloomberg. I think he tries to rise above politics in solving problems. Good luck to him! Politics doesn't work that way.

Paul Krugman wrote about a Snow Job in the Desert. Krugman has got it right. The President is trying to apply campaign politics to the situation in Iraq. He's thinking he can convince the American public that things are okay now and, by showing 10 second sound bites of the situation, he can convince the American public that this has been a worthy war. After Krugman sent his piece in for publication the news came that President Bush landed in Iraq to meet with servicemen everywhere and with Iraqi political leaders in Bagdad. The President's strategy will have a short-term benefit for him and his popularity will rise a few points and the polls will show we should stay the course. Give it two weeks and everyone – including conservatives – will be crying that we should bring the boys home. Campaign politics will not work in salvaging the terrible mistakes we made in Iraq.

I've told you this before, but I'll repeat myself. Stanley Fish is the most brilliant political observer and writer in the country today. His sense of logic is brilliant. His common sense is superb. Fish gets it and he gets it right. He is not a liberal. He is not a conservative. He is a thinker and scholar. This weekend's piece in the NY Times is worthy of your attention: "Liberalism and Secularism: One and the Same." My liberal friends are right now raising an eye brow or two, wondering if I've gone mad. No, Fish has some words of wisdom for us about critical thinking and open-mindedness.

"In saying this, I am not criticizing liberalism, just explaining what it is. It is a form of political organization that is militantly secular and incapable, by definition, of seeing the strong claim of religion – the claim to be in possession of a truth all should acknowledge – as anything but an expression of unreasonableness and irrationality." [http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/]

As much as I enjoy reading Fish, I must say he's correct here and I'm happy about it. Religion – especially Christianity – has lost its way and it has little to say in the political dialogue of the day to which we should listen. That's a tough statement, but I believe it.

Dick Cavett wrote strong words about obesity in America. He's made me feel guilty enough that I went and worked out today and resolved to repeat it every day until I'm just too old to do it anymore. Fat people won't like want Cavett wrote, but he's right on. Many Americans do treat the human body "as if it were a Strausbourg goose."

My look at the time! My wife will be coming home soon and the sink is full of dirty dishes and pots and pans. Here comes the difficult part about being a bachelor for the weekend. I must clean up or she'll kill me.

I won't be writing for 3 or 4 days. I'm off to an uncivilized part of the state for a bit of a vacation.

Losing Readers Fast

You can’t please everyone so why even try?
by Charlie Leck

Dennis, a friend and regular reader from just outside of Cleveland, Ohio, writes with just a touch of temper:

Chas:
You must be losing readers fast.
I think your opinion essays are really good,
but for the last four blogs you’ve bored
most of us with silly remembrances of
your past. Get back to doing what you do
well, will you? What’s going on with the
bridge debacle? Write more about matters
we liberals want to read. On ethics and
morality, you’re top-notch. On lost love
you’re not so hot.

Know this about Dennis. I love him. He’s a great old grad-school-mate and passionate about America being fair to all its citizens; however, he cares nothing about literature and the arts. He reads only politics and community organization and lives them both.

Here’s my reply to Dennis:

Dennis, my friend:
I need a break once in a while. I love your
passion and I care deeply about the things
you stand for. Nevertheless, I need a break
occasionally from the tedium of only following
current events. I know you come to this blog
because you miss your home state so much.
Minnesota misses you and your activism too.
Just understand, please,that there are other
things in my life as well.
A few weeks ago, another friend and regular
reader, Jonathan, wrote and told me to write
less about politics and the issues he can read
about in the NY Times if he wishes. He wants
to read more cluttered memories and
mementos from my life.You can’t please
everyone, so why even try? Dennis, I’m
trying to write my memoirs for my
grandchildren, so they have something by
which they can remember me, even though
these events in my life aren’t all that
distinguished. As I write various sections,
I get the idea that they would make good
reading on my blog. You have to remember
that the largest percentage of my readers
are old friends, family and colleagues.
Only occasionally do perfect strangers stumble
in. Please keep reading, Dennis, but let my
mind wander once in awhile. If a piece bores
you move your mouse to the back arrow on
you navigation bar and click on it quickly.
Then come back in few days to see what’s new!
Chas

There is an Aesop Fable called The Man, the Boy and the Donkey. It makes a relevant point.

A man and his son were once going with their Donkey to market. As they were walking along by its side a countryman passed them and said: “You fools, what is a Donkey for but to ride upon?”

So the Man put the Boy on the Donkey and they went on their way. But soon they passed a group of men, one of whom said: “See that lazy youngster, he lets his father walk while he rides.”

So the Man ordered his Boy to get off, and got on himself. But they hadn't gone far when they passed two women, one of whom said to the other: “Shame on that lazy lout to let his poor little son trudge along.”

Well the Man didn't know what to do, but at last he took his Boy up before him on the Donkey. By this time they had come to the town, and the passersby began to jeer and point at them. The Man stopped and asked what they were scoffing at. The men said: “Aren't you ashamed of yourself for overloading that poor Donkey of yours—you and your hulking son?”

The man and Boy got off and tried to think what to do. They thought and they thought, till at last they cut down a pole, tied the Donkey's feet to it, and raised the
pole and the Donkey to their shoulders. They went along amid the laughter of all who met them till they came to Market Bridge, when the Donkey, getting one of his feet loose, kicked out and caused the Boy to drop his end of the pole. In the struggle the Donkey fell over the bridge, and his fore-feet being tied together, he was drowned.

“That will teach you,” said an old man who had followed them: “Please all, and you will please none.”

Perhaps it’s a bit strong for the point here; yet, maybe not! Thanks to David W. Deley and his HomePage on the web for reminding me of this fable.
http://members.cox.net/deleyd/index.htm

Another old friend from Georgia writes:

You really write well – the Little League story was wonderful – should be a children’s book. Have you thought of that?

Leonard, from New Jersey writes:

Chas:
How’ya doin, man? I was just on the web, lookin’ for info ‘bout the upcomin’ reunion at Roxbury and Google led me to your blog.
Ah, man, you should come. It’ll be a gas! ‘Member the fun we had in those plays with dear old Mrs. Call? ‘Member that Norwegian chick you fell in love with during one of the plays, who wouldn’t give you the time of day? She was too grown up for you anyway, buddy, if you know what I mean.
I’ll come back to read more of your blogs. Keep writin’ them blogs ‘bout Roxbury.
Change your mind ‘bout comin’ to the reunion. I’m gonna bug you ‘bout it.
Lenny

You really can’t please everybody, so why even try? Bestselling novelist, Tess Gerritsen (author of Harvest; Life Support and The Surgeon)writes:

First, I’ll admit it. It hurts when someone criticizes one of my babies. I worked hard on every single one so of course I don’t like to hear that someone, somewhere,
thought the book stank. But the longer I’m in this business, the more I realize that reader opinions are all over the damn place. If you write to please one reader, inevitably you’ll disappoint a different one. Plus, some letter writers have their own agendas. They’re looking for reasons to be upset...

And, remember Ricky Nelson and his song, I Went to a Garden Party… I was a pretty big Ricky Nelson fan. I didn’t admit it too openly because he wasn’t all that popular among the people with whom I hung out. Yet, in the closet, I listened to all his songs and bought his albums. Ricky’s words are to point here and they say something about that coming 50th Class Reunion also.

I went to a Garden Party
To reminisce with my old friends
A chance to share old memories
and play our songs again.

When I got to the Garden Party
They all knew my name
But no one recognized me
I didn’t look the same.

But it’s all right now.
I learned my lesson well.
You see you can’t please everyone
So you got to please yourself.

Some Coaches Just Don’t Coach

The story of a really lousy coach
by Charlie Leck

This is the 4th and last blog in this series
about my 50th anniversary class reunion
coming up in 2008. These essays seek to
explain why I won’t attend the reunion.

There is a 50 year class reunion coming up. I graduated from dear old Roxbury High School in 1958. As I wrote in my last blog, I don’t have much desire to look old classmates in the eye, to tell them what I’ve been up to the last 50 years. How in an evening does one do that? And, who wants to relive one’s high school years, especially when they were as insignificant as mine were?

I think I would return only if there was a teacher or two who might be there, to whom I want to say a very special thing or two. I’d thank Mrs. Call for introducing me to literature and opening up the wondrous world of books to me. I’d thank Miss Dehaven, too. She was the finest teacher I had in public school – bar none! I love history to this day because of her. I don’t remember my typing teacher’s name, but I’d give her a big kiss if I met her again and thank her for giving me a skill I use continuously. She convinced me it would be one of my most important skills and I’d never regret working hard to learn it well. I made a lot of money in college, thanks to her. I typed papers for many, many fellow students; and for cold, hard cash. I also had a very patient, lovely algebra teacher. I remember her name as Miss Garrison. I’m probably wrong about that. She was so patient. I just couldn’t deal with advanced math and it stumps me even to this day. She worked so patiently and tirelessly with me, just to get me through her class. I’ve always been grateful.

I’d like, too, to have a chat with my baseball coach. I wouldn’t thank him. I’d like to tell him he was one of the biggest jerks to ever try to coach in high school sports. What a bean brain! I don’t think he ever said one kind thing to me. I played for him only in my senior year. I had not gone out for baseball before that, even though I’d had remarkably good careers in both Little League and Babe Ruth League. I had to forego sports because I had a very ill mother and only I and my father were home to take care of her. He worked round the clock in the general store he owned. I would rush home from high school so I could relieve him and either take over in the store or stay close to mother and meet her requests and needs.

In my senior year, my old man told me to forget the nursemaid stuff and stay at school and try out for the baseball team. He was a great baseball fan and it killed him that I had given up playing. So after a three year layoff, I went and gave it a try.

The coach was a big, giant sort of a guy. I want to remember him as Coach Schiffner, but I may have it wrong. He was also the assistant football coach. He had a really dumb look on his face all the time and he was not the brightest guy on the planet – by far! After my first batting practice, which went pretty well because one of my brothers helped me get some of the rust off my swing, he asked me where I’d been for the last few years. The question was loaded with sarcasm. It wasn’t the time or place to explain about mother, so I remained silent. He basically decided I hadn’t come out before because I was too lazy and didn’t have commitment. I remained silent. He would have cut me if I hadn’t kept hitting hard line drives to center and left-center. He threw to me himself during one practice and put a few up around my chin. It’s the kind of mentality he had. He didn’t realize that my brother did that to me all the time. I didn’t back down and drilled a couple of line drives right up the middle. He did some ducking himself.

Before the first game was ever played that season, my relationship with the big, goofy looking coach was an uncomfortable one.

I ended up in the starting line-up and I played there all year. In my first high school game ever, three years after I should have played in my first one, I went four for four. My first hit was a sharp line drive over the shortstop’s head. I must have been pretty excited. A day later the assistant coach – a great guy and a real baseball man under whom I would play some semi-pro ball – pulled me aside and told me that I should look like I’d been there before when I got on base. Evidently I was pretty excited when I reached base in those games and I was showing it too much.

It wasn’t all sweetness and cream that year, however. I ran into some real problems playing third base. I developed a case of the ‘yips’ as they’re called. I had no trouble fielding the ball. My range was good and I grabbed most anything hit my way. My throws to first were the problem. I never experienced it before in baseball, but I couldn’t deliver the throw anywhere close enough for the first baseman to catch it. I hit 421 that year. It was the second highest average in the state of New Jersey’s high school ball. However, thirteen throwing errors in an eighteen game season cost me an all-state position.

My heart ached terribly a number of years later, when Chuck Knoblauch, a second baseman for the Minnesota Twins, developed this same condition. One day he was a fine defensive player and then, all of a sudden, he could no longer get the ball to his big first baseman. Sometimes he’d throw the ball twenty feet off line. The condition never went away and his career quickly came to an end.

After the season, in my last year of high school, and a couple of days before commencement, I went to the coach’s office to request my bat that had been so hot all year long. I wanted to keep it as a memento. One of my best buddies, Leon Wojna, was with me. Coach Schiffner gave me the bat, but not before he dressed me down in a totally embarrassing and humiliating way right in front of my friend.

I had been taught to be polite to my elders and to never ‘talk back,’ so I didn’t. However, I have always wanted to ask the stupid, son-of-a-bitch of a coach, why he didn’t coach. He never once walked out to third base to spend time there with me. He never once initiated any kind of special practice drill for me. He never talked about throwing theory or form. I don’t believe he ever shared a single bit of instruction with me for the entire season. He never tried to build my confidence, but, rather, only tore it down. I got the feeling he didn’t know crap about baseball and I know he knew nothing about human motivation and inter-personal relations – or coaching!

If I went back to my high school reunion, and Coach Schiffner was there, I’d tell him that I think he was one lousy human being back then. I hope, at sometime over the years, he learned a thing or two.

I retreated from his office completely humiliated that day – with my beloved bat in hand. Andy, the assistant coach, caught up with me and patted me on the back and told me he wanted me to come over to Rockaway and play with his semi-pro team. He promised we’d solve my throwing problems together. I found out that Andy was a real coach. We worked hard and we did find some flaws and we solved them. If he was at my 50 year reunion, I’d give him a big hug and thank him for sticking with me.