Tag Archives: Childhood Memories

Childhood Memories – Chilly Chili

2 Jul

A few days ago, I overheard a conversation where one of the people said, “It’s chilly in here.” That statement sent my mind through a wormhole to my childhood, a time when I did not understand the concept of that phrase.

When I was a kid, I never understood why people used the word chilly to describe it being cold. Why would they say that when my mom’s chili was never cold? In fact, it was hot to the point where I had to crumble a bunch of crackers into it and blow on it before I could taste it. If my mom’s chili was hot, then why did people say it was chilly when they were cold?

My brain could not wrap itself around this idea.

Obviously I, as a college professor, have grown to understand the different meanings between two words that sound the same. However, it still freaks me out a little when someone says, “It’s chilly.”

A few weeks ago, we were in Waffle House, which is often known for its powerful air conditioning. Although it was super hot outside, my wife was wearing a jacket inside. The guy in the booth next to us said, “It’s chilly in here isn’t it?”

I cringed inside. It was almost like nails on a chalkboard. He could have said all sorts of things like:

It’s cold.

It’s freezing in here.

It’s colder than kraut.

Brrrrr

I’m getting frostbite.

It’s cold enough to kill hogs.

I can see my breath.

All sorts of things could be said other than chilly.

Yes, I have learned that chilly and chili are not the same. I have also learned that there are things out there hotter than my mom’s chili. The green chili in New Mexico put your tastebuds in a place of fiery ecstasy.

I can promise you there is nothing cold about this stuff.

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The Outskirts of Town

13 Nov

We have a community magazine called Wilson Living, and the folks over there asked me to write an article about anything I wanted. A lot of topics went through my mind, and I settled on writing about growing up on the outskirts of town. If you would be interested in reading it, then you can get to it by clinking this link.

Let me know what you think.

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A Sad Day in Bedrock

7 Sep

It is interesting to hear people talk about how they love the beach. They talk about how it relaxes them and provides them with an escape from real life. As I listen, I find myself understanding because I feel the same way about the American West. The mountains. The desserts. The prairies. I love it all.

I love riding the back roads of Kansas and seeing the grain silos in the distance.

I love walking through the dunes of White Sands.

I love exploring old frontier forts.

The list could go on forever and include a variety of places. However, they all have one thing in common. They relax me and provide me with an escape from real life.

I have been thinking about this because one of my favorite places is in danger of going away. It is not a forest or a majestic mountain. It is not an endangered animal being protected in Yellowstone National Park. Instead, it is a cheesy tourist attraction that could be found in any part of the United States.Bedrock

A few days ago, the Associated Press reported that the Flintstones Bedrock City Theme Park and Camping Resort, which has operated in Custer, South Dakota since 1972, is closing. Apparently, the property has been sold to another party, but the future of the park is in doubt.

I cannot remember how old I was when I first saw the park. It was on a trip with my family and could not have been long after it opened. We were in the Black Hills to see Mount Rushmore and came upon Bedrock. The houses. The cars. Everything look just like the drawings in the cartoon.

Years later, I returned to Bedrock as an adult. I had already been to Mount Rushmore and the unfinished Crazy Horse Memorial and was on the way to Deadwood, South Dakota, the notorious mining camp where Wild Bill Hickok met his demise. However, there was one other stop to make.

No one else was in the park. I walked through the grounds and passed buildings that were meant to contain concession stands and magic shows. As I made my way through, I wondered if I arrived ahead of the summer crowds, but I felt that the park was on its last legs. A sadness came over me as I sat in a car that was supposed to be powered by feet. It was a place that I wanted to be open forever, but I doubted that would happen. Now, I read that this may be its last day.

I hope that it is a good day with a lot of kids. I hope the concession stands are open and the magic shows are, well, magical. As the theme song says, I hope everyone is having “a gay old time.”

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Breaking Writer’s Block With Magic Johnson and Larry Bird

23 Aug

Man, an oil slick like writer’s block has oozed its way over my brain. There is absolutely nothing in my mind that can be transferred onto the screen. It could be because school is about to start, and there is a lot to think about. It could be because I am operating three Twitter accounts. It could be because the blogging part of my brain has shut down.

How do I break out of it? Just throw some stuff out there and see what happens.

Magic and Bird: A Courtship of Rivals, a documentary about the careers of Magic Johnson and Larry Bird, is on television. I have seen it a bunch of times, but it never gets old. In those days, I was a fan of the Boston Celtics and lived and died with their games.Celtics

We did not have professional teams in Tennessee, and, like a lot of other people without a home team, I had to pick a favorite from somewhere else. In the NBA, people chose between the Lakers and the Celtics. A friend of mine wanted to be different and picked the Philadelphia 76er’s.

The same thing happened with the NFL. Those of us in the hinterland without teams had to choose. This time, it was between the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Dallas Cowboys. Although, that same friend went with the Miami Dolphins. The Dallas Cowboys were my choice, and, like with the Celtics, I lived and died with their games.Cowboys

One year, my dad took me to see the Cowboys play the Chicago Bears. I can still remember walking into Texas Stadium and seeing the cheerleaders dance onto the field. There was Roger Staubach, Tony Dorsett, Ed “Too Tall” Jones and Randy White. Walter Payton ran all over the place for the Bears, but the Cowboys came from behind to win.

I never saw Larry Bird and the Celtics, but, ironically, I got the chance to see Magic Johnson and the Lakers. It was the late 1980s, and they were playing against the Detroit Pistons. My dad did business with the owner of the Pistons, and we got to sit in his box. We also got to sit courtside for a while.

We stayed at the same hotel as the Lakers, which was also cool. We had breakfast at the table next to Pat Riley, the Lakers coach, and we were standing outside while the team boarded their bus. The players were huge.

Those were great experiences, but things change. I no longer watch the Celtics, but part of me still keeps up with them in the standings.

Nashville has an NFL team, and we have season tickets for the Tennessee Titans. I have watched them in the Super Bowl, and I have watched them through the depths of losing seasons. They are my team. However, I still keep an eye on the Cowboys in the standings.

Oh yeah, I still do not like the Lakers, and I still do not like the Steelers.

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Childhood Memories – The Walking Man

6 Aug

I grew up on a farm on the outskirts of town. It was not a farm with crops and stuff. It was more of a gentleman’s farm with some cows grazing in the fields. I write that to let you know that there was quite a bit of land.

There was a grove of trees a good distance behind the house, and, in that grove of trees, sat a pavilion where we had family gatherings.image-48

When I was a kid, we hosted a Halloween party in that building that has gone down in family lore. When Halloween arrives, I will need to tell you about that. However, that Halloween party is not what I remember most about the building.

We had just finished supper when someone appeared at our front door. I do not remember what he looked like, but I remember what he was doing. He was walking across the country and needed somewhere to stay for the night.

My parents invited him in and served leftovers to him from our meal. I distinctly remember my mom apologizing because all of the meat was gone. Only the vegetables were left. He was appreciative and talked about his journey while he ate.

He had met many nice people along the road. These people offered shelter and food. When his walk was done, he was going to write a book about his adventures. I do not remember if he was walking toward the east or toward the west. One way would have meant that his journey was just beginning, and the other would have meant that it was coming to an end.

My parents did not mind him eating in our house, but they were uncomfortable with him staying there. Instead, they offered him shelter in the pavilion behind the house. I remember being there when they showed it to him, and he acted like it would work.

I probably saw him the next morning, but that is another memory that has faded away. However, I think he said that he would send a copy of the book when it was finished. We never got that book.

I have often wondered what happened to him.

Did he make it across the country?

Did he run into someone who was not as friendly?

Did he write that book?

Does he remember stopping at our house?

I also think about how the world has changed in the past 40 years.

If the same thing happened today would we let him in?

Would he be taking as big a risk by going to the doors of strangers?

I cannot remember his name, but I remember the night that the Walking Man came along and spent the night in the pavilion in the grove of trees behind the house.

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The Boys of Summer

3 Apr

When people think of slow pitch softball, they probably envision a bunch of non-athletic people in a park drinking beer. However, there is a completely different type of slow pitch softball. It involves athletes who travel around the country playing in tournaments. They are sponsored by sporting goods companies that capitalize on their home run hitting abilities to sell bats.

It is not a game played in church leagues or on sandlots. It is played in baseball stadiums.

I write those words because my dad sponsored one of those teams, the Le-Al-Co Storms. In the 1970s and 1980s, it was one of the best teams in the country. The men on the team played for the love of competition and a bigger love of winning.

Like all kids, I knew that springtime brought the end of school, but it also brought a summer full of adventure. Every weekend, we drove or flew to a different city to bring together my second family – the softball team.

When I say second family, I really mean that. The players were my crazy uncles who taught me the ways of life. Of course, a lot of those things were probably not good for a kid to hear. They helped me grow up and become who I am.

They also made me part of the gang. At school, I was a nerdy kid who did not fit in with everyone. On summer weekends, I was cool because I hung around these guys. When they walked into a park, everyone knew who they were. As a result, they knew me, too.

The games were fun, but I mostly remember the other parts. The long drives. Hanging out in the hotels. Eating at a restaurant and cleaning out the buffet.

I cannot imagine growing up any other way.

Last week, Tommy Everette, one of those players, passed away. We went to the funeral and heard a lot of people say a lot of great things about him. It was interesting to listen to people who knew him from his life outside of softball. He was a principal and a valued member of the educational community. In my world, he was one of the greatest home run hitters who ever picked up a bat. He hit balls that no one ever saw come down.

There were several team members at the service, and we all gathered to take a picture.image-28

From left to right:

Allan – manager, general manager, recruiter, uniform designer. He did it all.

My dad – sponsor of the team and the softball version of George Steinbrenner.

Me – batboy, bookkeeper and a kid who learned more than he should have.

Sam – great hitter who was the only local guy to make the move to the big time.

Jimmy – suffered a gruesome injury at the state tournament in Cleveland, Tennessee.

Eddie – played with us in the summer and with the Los Angeles Rams in the fall.

Kenny – could hit a ball a country mile.

Brian – another kid who grew up in the world of softball. Tommy Everette was his dad.

Mac – the only player to be on all of our championship teams.

It was great to have some of them together again. Old stories were told, and there were handshakes and hugs all around. However, I realized something. I am older now than they were in those days. That is a strange feeling because I looked up to them, and it is hard for me to realize where I am in my life.

When we were together, I still felt like that kid in the dugout watching them beat some team. We are all getting older, but, in my heart, they will always be the boys of summer. And, I will always be part of that team.

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Childhood Memories – Snowing in Memphis

4 Nov

In my younger days, I attended McClain Elementary school, the oldest and best school in town. Its faculty educated three generations of my family, and it closed after my final year. Obviously, they realized that they could have no better student than me and decided to shut the doors.

McClain was an old building with no air conditioning and plenty of asbestos. I can remember the staircases, the coat rooms, the cafeteria that doubled as the theater and the playground. There was also a huge field behind the school that was used for field day and other outdoor activities.McClain

It makes me feel old to say that it was a simpler time, but, when it came to elementary education, that is the truth. We had no computers, no iPhones, no Internet. Heck, we did not even have televisions in the rooms. We had teachers who took pieces of chalk and wrote on blackboards. We even had those old-timey desks that had holes for ink bottles. That is the definition of simple.

That is also the definition of being cut off from the rest of the world. We did not have information at our fingertips, and McClain felt like its own world. While the teachers may have known what was going on out there, we students had to make educated guesses. This was really difficult during that time of year when it was cold enough to snow and everyone wanted to be out of school.

That is when the rumors would begin. It would start simply enough. Some kid would say that he heard the teachers talking about the weather. According to them, it was snowing in Memphis. As every little kid knew, weather always hit Memphis before it hit here.

Before you knew it, the word was spreading, and everyone was hearing that it was snowing in Memphis. It was only a matter of time. It would start snowing, and we would be getting out of school. However, there was a fundamental problem. When word got out that it was snowing in Memphis, we never got out of school.

Obviously, skullduggery was afoot. Something was wrong. It took many years for me to figure out exactly what happened. First, it was probably not snowing in Memphis. Second, if it was snowing in Memphis, then it would never get here fast enough to get us out of school.

We got plenty of snow days, but the old “snowing in Memphis” rumor never did work out.

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Childhood Memories – French Fries and Jukeboxes

28 Oct

It is interesting to watch our surroundings change. As time passes, places come and go. Looking back at my town, I can think of places that used to be. There were stores, restaurants and other popular places. They were locations where you could find people who you knew. They were places that helped define the community. It is sad to think that younger folks and newcomers do not know where and what those places were.

For me, the places from my childhood pop into my mind on occasion. I might be riding by where they used to be and remember being there. I could be listening to a song and have the memory of a place come to my mind. In fact, there is one song that always brings a certain place into focus.

When I was a kid, one of my favorite songs was “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver. I have no idea why I liked it, but it still brings a smile to my face when I hear it. The tune is great. The words are great. When I was a kid, I could sing the entire thing.

As an adult, I realize that the song is all mixed up. It is about West Virginia, but the words describe Virginia. It does not matter because I can look past all of that. Instead, this song makes me look back at a restaurant that is long gone.

El Rancho sat on the outskirts of town and specialized in barbecue. For me, it was always an adventure to eat at El Rancho. through the eyes of a child, it was like going on a long journey to a far away place. In fact, it was only a few miles away. I think that it being on the other side of town made it seem further.

There was also the food. I cannot tell you if the barbecue was good, but they always made the best french fries. What kid does not like french fries? On top of that, these were the best french fries ever cooked. I can still see them, smell them and taste them. They were awesome.Jukebox

You are probably asking yourself a question. What does a song about one of the Virginia’s have to do with a barbecue restaurant in Tennessee? the answer brings me to the other adventurous part of the restaurant. The booths had tabletop jukeboxes, and they were the coolest things I had ever seen. I could pick the music in the restaurant by dropping a nickel in the slot and flipping through the pages. Just push a letter and a number and the song would play.

I always picked “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” I would have played it over and over if my parents had let me. After all, who does not want to hear the same song multiple times?

I do not remember when El Rancho closed, and I do not remember the last time we ate there. However, I still remember the french fries, and I still remember playing that song on the jukebox.

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“Too Tall” Tree – The Story of My Eccentricities

27 Jun

When I was a kid, my mom always tried to get me to have other kids over to play. She talked about calling the kid down the road. She hosted birthday parties. She threw a Halloween party that became a famous event in our family’s history. All the time, she tried to figure out ways to get kids to the house. She even told me that she was shy as a child and never had other kids over. It was a regret that she did not want me to have.

Yep, my mom tried to guilt me into having kids over to play.

Sometimes, I agreed to it. However, most times I was comfortable playing alone and using my imagination. There were Hot Wheels that could be crashed or turned into a miniature NASCAR race. There was this awesome football game where you put a disc into the player, and the radio announcer told you what happened on the play. There was also a basketball goal where imaginary last second shots could be hoisted.

One of my favorite games was “Too Tall” Tree.image-2

I got a football and pretended that the trees were defenders. I had to get through them to score a touchdown. I did the play-by-play at the same time. Being a Cowboys fan, I named one of the trees after Ed “Too Tall” Jones. It was years later that I learned that Jones played college ball at Tennessee State University in Nashville.

Anyway, I took the ball from center, and, when “Too Tall” Tree blocked my ability to pass, I took off down the field. It sounds weird, but it was a lot of fun when I was little.

I think my parents and other people thought it was weird way back then. I overheard people saying that I was selfish and did not want other kids playing with my toys. I guess that was the only reason they could think of why a kid did not want other kids around. Well, there was another reason. I was not comfortable around people.

All of this came to mind during a conversation with my wife. At some point, she asked, “You don’t like people do you?”

That is absolutely not true. I like all kinds of people, but, at times, I am still not comfortable around them. This is really true when it comes to strangers. I have never been good at starting a conversation with a complete stranger. I cannot think of anything to say. No witty comments come from the back of my mind. Simply, it is something that brings a lot of discomfort.

I do not start conversations with people sitting next to me on a plane. I do not start conversations with somebody at a bar.

Certainly, this has caused me to miss out on meeting some great and interesting people. I know that more than anyone.

During that same conversation, my wife asked how I have met people. That is a good question. I have met a lot of great people, and many of them have become my friends. Mostly, I have met new people through people who I have already known. That way they are not a complete stranger. In the modern business vernacular, that is called networking.

Of course, some people who have no problems approaching a stranger have started conversations with me. I met one of my best friends that way.

This is an issue that I have fought through all of my life. It was discussed in therapy, and it is something that I try to overcome. It is something that has hindered me through the years.

During my teenage years, I felt sorry for myself because I was not part of the cool kid groups. I did not get the messages that there were parties going on. There was this feeling of being left out. Another reason this post came to mind is because that feeling came back several days ago. There was an event that took place which I was not invited to. Internally, I acted like a child for a few hours, but it helped me put this post together.

I realize now, and knew deep down back then, that I was at fault for not opening myself up to people. If I had been more outgoing toward people who I did not know, then those people would have been more welcoming to me.

I have no idea if this post makes sense, and I have no idea how to end it. I know that I have missed out on some great people and some great opportunities. However, I know that there are a lot of great people in my life who would do anything for me just as I would do anything for them.

Am I still uncomfortable talking to strangers? Yes. I can barely do it, and I admire those who can. However, I have met a lot of people, and I like most of them. Like everyone else, there are some people who I can do without.

 

 

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Sandy Springs Park – My Personal Field of Dreams

27 May

Maryville, Tennessee sits at the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, and, within its bounds, there is a park called Sandy Springs.image-27

It is a typical park with walking trails, playgrounds and ball fields. However, those are not just any ball fields. For me and a lot of other people, they are the softball version of the Field of Dreams.image-28

They know that they have hit the pinnacle of the slow pitch softball world when they step between the lines. (For those in the fast pitch game, a field in Oklahoma City is considered the mecca. I have been on that field, as well. Nothing there compares to the feeling of what happens at Sandy Springs.)

Before I explain why this place is important to me, I should explain something else. When most people think of slow pitch softball, they think of weekends of drinking beer and horsing around. They may also think of a local church league. I am not talking about that kind of slow pitch ball. I am talking about elite athletes who travel around the country playing for teams that are sponsored by businesses and bat companies. I am talking about professionals.

As I have written before, my dad used to sponsor one of these teams, the Le-Al-Co Storms. I grew up traveling with his players and learning the rules of the road. For that reason, Sandy Springs became a special place in my life.image-29

Traditionally, we played the first tournament of the year at Maryville’s Spring Open. For the players, it was a time to knock off the rust. For me, it was the beginning of a summer of adventure. However, the first big moment at Sandy Springs happened before I could remember.

In 1974, Le-Al-Co and its ten players from Lebanon, Tennessee defeated the top ranked team in the nation to win its first state championship. It took two diving catches in the last inning to clinch the game, and it created stories that I have heard all of my life. There would be more wins, but everyone involved says it was their greatest win.

A few years later, Le-Al-Co won another state championship by beating its arch-rival, Rochelle’s Market. By this time, my dad had expanded to players throughout the state to make up the roster. Many people considered it a Tennessee All-Star team. That did not make the win any less sweeter. In the last inning, Rochelle’s had the tying run on second with one out. A fly ball out near the fence led the runner to advance to third. We appealed the play and said the runner had left base early. The umpire called him out. Ballgame. State champions. The other team went nuts.

Those were great wins, but nothing compares to being at Sandy Springs in July. That is when it hosts the greatest tournament in the nation, the Smoky Mountain Classic. Some say it is bigger than any national championship, and I tend to agree. There is nothing like playing on Saturday night. Thousands of people sit on the hillsides to watch the best teams in the nation. The sounds of Ray Molphy, the Voice of Softball, would boom through the night air. It is electric.

When I was a kid, I refused to go to the room because I did not want to miss anything. They tell the story that we were playing late into the night, and I was worn out. I was standing next to my dad when he looked over to find me asleep. I fell asleep standing up.

We played a lot of games in the Smoky Mountain Classic. We won a bunch and lost a bunch. However, two stand out more than the others.

In 1991, my dad, along with Louisville Slugger, sponsored a team that consisted of players from throughout the country. It was ranked first or second all season. My brother, who did not make many games, showed up that weekend. My dad, my brother, and I watched as the team battled through the loser’s bracket to finish second. It was the highest finish we ever had in the tournament. Two days later, my dad suffered a massive stroke that took him to death’s door.

The next season, I was coaching another team with Larry, who has spent as many nights in Maryville as anyone. It was called Datom Argus and was one of the top ten teams in the country. We found ourselves playing past midnight in the loser’s bracket against the top ranked team, Ritch’s Superior. Despite the lateness, it was a huge game. The winner would get a spot in the national tournament.

I do not remember all of the details of the game, but a few things stick out. The thousands of spectators were gone. Their sponsors and the tournament officials were sitting on the hill watching. Everyone needed and expected the other team to win. One of their best hitters popped up at a crucial time, and Larry taunted him. We were getting under their skin, and they were pressing. Bucky, who put the team together and was one of our best hitters, hit a home run that barely made it over the fence. Their left fielder threw his glove over the fence in disgust.

It was a close game, but we pulled off the upset. We showed up a few hours later to play the next game. Getting to Sunday in the Smoky Mountain Classic is a huge accomplishment, but we were done. Our big game had already been played.

A few months ago, I went to Sandy Springs to take these pictures. The scene was tranquil. People were walking dogs, and children were playing on the fields. However, I could feel something in the air. I could feel the crowd. I could hear the games. I tried to explain it to my wife, but she did not understand. I do not expect those who read this to understand, but Sandy Springs is a special place.

 

 

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