Jo Hayes; Wonderful Woman, Great Friend

Jo was a dear friend of my parents. She was present for many of the important moments in my young life. I'll always remember her smile, her kind eyes, her unquestioned affection, and her great laugh. They were a wonderful generation. God bless them all.

Born in Lansing on Jan. 10, 1921, was the first generation of Sicilian Immigrants of Rose and Jim Noice. She died on Aug. 28, 2005, at Hospice House of Mid Michigan. Josie's life was filled with love for her family, friends and her church. She was a devoted mother who loved the sun, beach, her home and especially her screened in porch, walking, gardening, cooking, bridge and euchre, reading and golf. She embraced life and enjoyed gatherings with friends and family. She will be missed by all the lives she touched. She was preceded in death by her husband, Frank J. Hayes. She is survived by her loving and devoted seven children; Michael (Becky), Mary Jo (Tim) Bremer, Maureen (Rick) Shipley, Patrick (Terry), Margie (Bob) Miller, Amy (Mike) Hansen, Ann (Michael) Shields, 17 grandchildren, 1 great grandson, a very special friend Pete Lilla and many beloved nieces and nephews. A Memorial Mass will be celebrated Saturday at 10:00am at St. Gerard Catholic Church with Rev. Fr. John Klein as celebrant. A gathering of family and friends will begin at 9:15am at the church. In lieu of flowers memorials can be made to Hospice House of Mid-Michigan or the Alzheimer's Assoc.

 

Find Huckleberry Finn Offensive?

Find HF a little unsettling? Does Twain's language cause your postmodern, politically correct feathers to ruffle? Do you pine for the never-were glory days of the morally superior socialist economies that murdered millions and oppresssed and brutalized millions more and ruined cultures and invented histories and reinforced elitism? Is the earth flat?

Do you think that liberal democracies are capable of recognizing and correcting artificial barriers, such as a segregation? Was the Civil Rights Act of 1964 a piece of legal legerdermain that just reinforced the oppression of inherent in liberal democracy? Is Mark Twain reinforcing wrongs or tempting people to admit weakness? What's more important, telling the story correctly or correctly telling the story?

Here's a cool passage from HF in which Huck speaks:

Well, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter, now. I had been to school most of the time and could spell, and read, and write just a little, and could say the multipication tables up to six times seven equals thirty-five, and I don't reckon I could ever get any further than that if I was to live forever. I don't take no stock in mathematics, anyway.

Save the humanities. Read Twain and enjoy Twain. I am. 

Teammates By David Halbertsam--An Essential Read

A friend sent me this book with the note "our dads would have fit right in with these guys." These guys, Ted Williams, Johnny Pesky, Bobby Doerr, and Dom DiMaggio are wonderful men whose friendship is warmly told in the book Teammates by the redoubtable David Halberstam.

Everyone knows Teddy Ballgame, a man chosen by the Gods to be the best hitter of the 20th century and equally cursed with a hyperkinetic personality that drove away all but his most steadfast and patient and loving friends. The others, Doerr, DiMaggio, and Pesky were quintessentially of their time. DiMaggio and Pesky rising from immigrant roots to scrap their way into professional baseball. Yes, Dom is Joe D's brother but don't be fooled, Dom made his own way on his own talent. Doerr's family life was supportive, nurturing, and true to form, Bobby Doerr grew from those roots to become a solid, balanced man.

Each man served in WWII. Williams served in WWII and Korea. Each knew sacrifice and sadness. Perhaps, the penultimate lesson in the book comes from this story. The boys were playing for the Red Sox versus the Cardinals in Game 7 of the World Series. The score was tied 2-2 in the bottom of the 8th. Enos Slaughter of the Cardinals scored the winning run from first on ball that was hit in the gap between center and left. Pesky, the shortstop, cut-off a weak throw from a replacement outfielder and turned to see Slaughter near the plate. Surprised to see Slaughter so close to home plate, he held the ball and extra instant and threw to the plate late. Slaughter had scored. The press seized upon the moment and charged Pesky with holding the ball too long thereby allowing Slaughter to score and the Red Sox to lose the World Series.

For more than 50 years Pesky accepted the blame rather than pass the blame off to a teammate. The game isn’t fair; sometimes it’s good to you and sometimes it isn’t. Pesky’s friends explain the play. Pesky did all he could they say. Pesky refuses to comment. This loyalty, this code of honor, this devotion to an ideal that is larger than the person exemplifies the love and passion with which these men played ball and led their lives. Halberstam’s prose is equally devoted and affectionate throughout.

My friend is right about our dads. They lived by the same qualities. They shared experiences and hardships and matured in circumstances much more difficult than their baby boomer children. Perhaps viewing times past from a distance helps me understand what wasn’t recognizable when I was standing next to it.

When I listen to the relativist, hateful, spiteful vitriol spewed by the post moderns I think to myself how could I have thought that some drunken lout, half-assed poet in Los Angeles had more to offer to me than men who lived through the Depression, fought in a War, found careers, and raised families? Guys who knew first hand that life was difficult and unfair and disappointing yet labored and loved and laughed and learned. Guys who looked disappointmet in the eye and didn't blink. As their generation passes from this time on the planet let's hope books such as Teammates can help us reconnect. 

A pot full of zinnias are the latest gift of color to grace the backyard. I have two pots of zinnias in, purples, yellows, oranges, and red. I potted them during the hottest, brightest, driest time of the year and they have flourished during our very moist monsoon season. Yes, monsoon in the desert. 

Russ Maples, Good Man

Everything you'll read about Russ Maples is true. My best friend, ages 5-10, is his son Denny Maples. We moved and my relationship with the Maples family became distant. Russ treated us fairly, and as kids we all knew we'd get a square deal whether we were caught red-handed doing what we shouldn't be or if we deserved congratulations for an act of good citizenship or athletic feat. Rest in Peace Good Russ.

Maples, Russell Dale Lansing, MI Russell Dale Maples died peacefully at his home on Wednesday, August 10, 2005 after a brief and courageous battle with kidney cancer. Russ was born on February 27, 1925 in Imlay City, Michigan and in the midst of a stellar high school athletic career, enlisted in the Army Air Corps in 1942, at the age of seventeen. He piloted a B-24, "Unfinished Business", flying 52 missions in the European Theatre. He then attended Bowling Green State University, where he was a standout quarterback in the late 1940's. His career as coach, teacher, and central administrator for the Lansing School District lasted nearly forty years. His beloved Sexton "Big Reds" were Class A state football champions in 1961 and 1963. Russ was inducted into the Greater Lansing Area Sports Hall of Fame in 2004. He served in many civic organizations, including as president of the Lansing Boys Club. Russ was preceded in death by his parents, Andrew and Mae. Surviving are his wife of 56 years, Marilyn Maples; his children, Dennis (Jenny), Dayle (David Kampfschulte), and Mike (Lori); his grandchildren, Kris, Kory, and Gage Maples, Kevin and Annie Kampfschulte, and Kinzel Maples were the light of his life; and sisters, Beverly (Ed) Thomas, Barbara Crankshaw, Sandra Teetzel, and Mary Jo Maples, along with many nieces and nephews. He is also survived by hundreds of former students and athletes, whom he greatly influenced. Russ was greatly comforted and cheered by the many dear friends who visited and helped care for him in his final days. He was an avid downhill skier and golfer and spent the winter of his 80th birthday skiing in Michigan and in the West. He cherished deeply the countless hours spent with his friends and family on the ski slopes and golf courses over the years. He was a skilled builder and carpenter and enjoyed helping friends with many projects. The family would like to thank the medical staff at Dr. Larry Pawl's office, the staff at Spectrum Health, Butterworth Hospital, the staff at Ingham Visiting Nurse and Home Hospice Services, and the staff of Home Instead Senior Care, for their excellent and compassionate care given over the past three months. A service to celebrate Russ's life will be held at 3:00 p.m. on Sunday, September 4, 2005 at Delta Presbyterian Church, 6100 W. Michigan Ave., Lansing, with the Rev. Dr. Alfred D. Deutsch officiating. The family will receive friends one hour prior to the service on Sunday at the church. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to Ingham Hospice Services of Michigan or the Boys & Girls Club of Lansing.

 

Fugue for Tinhorns, Lyrics by Frank Loesser

NICELY
I got the horse right here
The name is Paul Revere
And here's a guy that says that the weather's clear
Can do, can do, this guy says the horse can do
If he says the horse can do, can do, can do.

(Benny starts singing his part at this time, while Nicely continues:)
Can do - can do - this guy says the horse can do
If he says the horse can do - can do, can do.

(Rusty starts singing his part as the time, while Nicely and Benny continue:)
For Paul Revere I'll bite
I hear his foot's all right
Of course it all depends if it rained last night

Likes mud, likes mud, this X means the horse likes mud
If that means the horse likes mud, likes mud
Likes mud.

I tell you Paul Revere
Now this is no bum steer
It's from a handicapper that's real sincere
Can do, can do, this guy says the horse can do.
If he says the horse can do - can do - can do.
Paul Revere. I got the horse right here.

BENNY
I'm pickin' Valentine, 'cause on the morning line
A guy has got him figured at five to nine
Has chance, has chance, this guy says the horse has chance
if he says the horse has chance, has chance, has chance

I know it's Valentine, the morning work looks fine
Besides the jockey's brother's a friend of mine
Needs race, needs race, this guy says the horse needs race
If he says the horse needs race, needs race, needs race.
I go for Valentine, 'Cause on the morning line,
The guy has got him figured at five to nine
Has chance, has chance, this guy says the horse has chance
Valentine! I got the horse right here.

RUSTY CHARLIE
But look at Epitaph. he wins it by a half
According to this here in the Telegraph
"Big Threat" - "Big Threat"
This guy calls the horse "Big Threat"
If he calls the horse "Big Threat",
Big Threat, Big Threat.

And just a minute, boys.
I've got the feed box noise
It says the great-grandfather was Equipoise
Shows class, shows class.
This guy says the horse shows class
If he says the horse shows class
Shows class, show's class.

So make it Epitaph, he wins it by a half
According to this here in the Telegraph.
Epitaph! I got the hore right here

Giant waterfall discovered in California national park

This is a cool discovery. Click on the title for more.

Quick Fantasy Baseball Update

De Bacle has hung tough with the Diamondhacks and they’ve risen from a miserable 9th place in the standing to their present position of third. They’ve won 6 of the last 7 weekly match-ups; two of those victories came by perfect 9-0 scores. They are a shoe-in to make the end of season championship playoff.

The turning point in the season was grabbing Cleveland catcher Victor Martinez off waivers when he returned from injury. Then a fortuitous trade netted the D-Hacks Mr, Reyes of the Mets for rookie sensation Cliff Barmes of Colorado. Barmes fractured his clavicle just days after the trade when he was lifting some freshly shot venison from something to something. Oops!

The Choppers have been in first place since May. De Bacle’s in cruise control making sure players with hot hands are in the line-up. The Chopper pitchers have a combined ERA of 3.15. When asked if having Roger Clemens in the line-up contributed to his team’s domination, De Bacle looked skyward and rubbed his eyes, then he turned away from the questioner, spit, and said “Expletive,” grinned, shook his head, then grabbed a fungo and hit some mile high pop-ups to his catchers. He shouted, "home run in a phone booth," when his last pop-up soared straight above him, cleared the the third deck roof line, and landed in catcher Molina's glove not ten yards from where De Bacle stood holding his fungo.

Peter Gammons Hall of Fame Acceptance Speech

Click on the heading. Then click on the link for the speech. Following is an article that has a story that Peter references during his speech.

'Can you smell the bat burning?'

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Peter Gammons
Special to ESPN.com
July 5, 2002


July 5

Ted Williams got what he always wanted. When he walked towards a San Diego playground before the 1991 All-Star Game in his hometown, a man stopped his car, turned to his son and said, "There goes the best hitter who ever lived." It was Williams' mantra, and it was repeated at Fenway Park in 1999, when, surrounded by Henry Aaron and Mark McGwire and Willie Mays and the rest of the All-Century team, Tony Gwynn spoke those very words.

He was a man whom John Wayne and Robert Ryan tried to emulate, was John Glenn's co-pilot in Korea, was the last man to hit .400. He also batted .388 at the age of 39 in 1957 -- without one infield hit. Was that his greatest hitting achievement? "Nah," he said, "that was the year my bat slowed down, but the league didn't adjust to me. I was late on a lot of balls and got hits to center and left-center. They were out of position a lot. No big deal."

No big deal? .388!


He was too stubborn to use the whole field, but his patience and simple creed -- "Get a good pitch to hit" -- defines the approach to plate discipline that marks the Yankees and A's of this era. He loved hitting, its science, and all its attributes. When I was driving Ted and Wade Boggs to Clearwater for a dinner of hitting talk with Don Mattingly in spring training of 1986, Ted asked Boggs, "Have you ever smelled the bat burning?"


"What are you talking about?" Boggs replied.


Ted didn't reply.


At dinner, Ted repeated the question to Mattingly.


"People think I'm crazy, but yes," replied Mattingly. "It takes a perfect rising, four-seam fastball, a perfect swing, a foul straight back ... and you can smell the burn of the seams and the bat."


"Only the guys who whip that lumber have smelled it," said Ted.


When all those great players surrounded Williams at Fenway at the '99 All-Star Game, he motioned for McGwire to come closer. He asked the same question.


After the game, McGwire repeated the story of how Ted called him over and asked if he'd ever smelled the bat burning. "I told him I had," said McGwire. "But can you believe that he knew who I am?"


"What are you talking about, smelling the bat burning?" asked an All-Star teammate.


That teammate didn't understand that Ted, McGwire and Mattingly speak a language of their own, the language of the gods.


In 1991, ESPN producer Debby Wrobleski and I were trying to do an interview with Williams concerning the 50th anniversary of .406 and other subjects. At 6 a.m. one day, the phone rang. "So," boomed the voice on the other end. "When the hell are you coming down here?"


He said he had no more than 30 minutes ... and finally had to get ready for a court date after the interview had run more than 100 minutes. He recounted why he wouldn't sit out the second game after passing .400, and that the best right-handed and left-handed pitchers he ever faced were Bob Lemon and Herb Score. With the interview over, he called me into the kitchen. There, he'd set up six glasses with ice, two plates of nachos and cheese and crackers for the six people in our crew. "They probably got tired and hungry and thirsty listening to my BS," he said.

In snapshots, he could be one of the warmest men on the planet, as he was the first time I met him doing a sidebar at a Senators-Red Sox game in 1970, when he was managing the Senators and I was a cub reporter; after an hour in his office, he said, "Kid, you're OK. You like this game."


He could have been bitter about all the time he missed in World War II and Korea and with injuries, but when he did a commercial for the Hall of Fame he so loved, he listed being a Marine as one of his two greatest accomplishments. Oh, he'd also have hit more than 521 homers had he used the screen above The Green Monster, but he never whined. In fact, he always stayed in tune with the game. One day he called Dan Duquette out of the blue and said, "Nomar Garciaparra is the best damn player who ever played for the Red Sox." He loved McGwire and Barry Bonds, and one time he told me, "Every time I watch Paul Molitor hit, I close my eyes and see Joe DiMaggio."


Molitor saw the interview on ESPN, and said he was floored. Soon thereafter, Molitor was at the B.A.T. Dinner in New York, and when he went into the room with the head table, Ted was sitting in a corner telling stories with several of his contemporaries. "Get over here," Williams hollered to Molitor. "I want these guys to meet you. You're one of the greatest damned hitters who ever lived, kid."


But it had to be his way. When the Sports Illustrated baseball preview issue came out with Boggs on the cover and featuring the three-way discussion on hitting, Ted charged me, waving a copy of the magazine. "See ... see ... look at Boggs' bat," he hollered. "Is it an uppercut? You're damned right it's an uppercut. See ... see ... Ted was right, Walt Hriniak was wrong. Period."


Unfortunately, Williams got only one chance at a World Series, in 1946, and in an exhibition before the first game, he was hit by a pitch, damaged his wrist and could barely swing the bat against the Cardinals. So he is left with the memorial that he was beloved by teammates, and when Fenway Park holds his memorial service on July 22, he will be remembered as the greatest damn hitter who ever lived.