Some of you might know that while I like good music, I was never a real connoisseur like many of my peers were. I grew up listening to local AM stations like 1450 WPAR, whose studios were next to the Smoot Theater. You could get the WPAR weekly “Top 40” list at the studio or places like the Record Department in the basement of Dils Department Store in downtown Parkersburg. This sort of practice was fairly common for most radio stations in the '60s and into the '70s. However, I was always too cheap to spend much money buying records (my personal vice was model cars and rockets). Plus, it was easier and cheaper to just listen to the radio (or my sister's record). When I had some money to spend on magazines, I preferred buying Popular Science or Hot Rod rather than Tiger Beat or Rolling Stone.
Speaking of local radio, it wasn't until high school that the first pop music FM radio station came to town (the earliest FM stations in our area were classical music). WXIL opened a studio inside Grand Central Mall during the mid-70s with a window where you could look in on the deejays at work. I remember that a guy named “Uncle Dougger” was one of their popular deejays. They also hired a girl from my high school class (Marsa Myers) who could be heard on the air from time to time. Just about everybody's car—including the 1970 VW Beetle we had—sported a WXIL Sunspot sticker in the window, in hopes of winning one of their contests. However, at that time, most cars (or at least the older cars most high schoolers had—if we even had a car) only had an AM radio. If you were lucky, you might have an add-on FM radio attached under the dash (and none of them were digital).
The Charleston Civic Center was the closest destination for concerts by big name artists as I came of age. Some Parkersburg High School students would make the trip down there to see concerts, but I never went. I remember my cousin Brent Jarvis went to see his favorite band KISS perform. My only concert prior to college was when Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons played at the Parkersburg High School Fieldhouse shortly after graduation in 1976 (a 95WXIL promotion, as I recall). However, a concert in a high school gym was not that memorable and hardly counts as a big-time concert.
I arrived at the University of Charleston in the fall of 1976, and figured that I might join the “cool kids” by finally going to concerts at the Charleston venues. For example, many of the UC students were much more into music than I was, and had already been to many concerts. There were lots of New Jersey kids who talked about seeing Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band before they made it big (some of them said they saw Bruce at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park). I was impressed!
The very first chance I got during the fall of my freshman year was when one of my personal favorites, Harry Chapin, came to play at the Charleston Municipal Auditorium. I really wanted to go see him perform! However, there were three strikes against me: I didn't have a car, I didn't really know anybody well yet (especially as to whether any girls would enjoy hearing the story-song ballads of a singer/songwriter like Harry), and I didn't have much money. I decided to take the easy way out and not try to attend. I figured surely I would get another chance sometime in the future—I’d just catch him the next time he came through.
As it turns out, I didn't attend a big concert until near the end of my college career. In part as a reaction to disco (especially since I was not a talented dancer like Mike Gibbs or John Oplinger, to name a few), I took a shine to southern rock/outlaw country music. I used to crank stuff like the Marshall Tucker Band, the Charlie Daniels Band, and Willie & Waylon. When Rob Corrie asked me if I wanted to go to the new Huntington Civic Arena as a double date with his girlfriend Nadine and her roommate Skeeter (Melinda was her real name, but everyone knew her by this nickname), I jumped on the opportunity. We had a great time traveling to Huntington in Nadine's 1977 Datsun 200SX and saw Willie and Family put on a great show in the new and largest venue in the area at that time.
While at WVU, I only attended one concert—I went with Sylvia Parker to see Chicago play at the Coliseum for my only big-time concert experience there. I probably should have went to see other acts who played there, such as Duran Duran, the Go-Go's, and the Grateful Dead (especially since so many people think I look like Jerry Garcia). However, I just was never able to justify the high ticket cost with the transitory nature of a concert. With most acts, I might have liked a couple of their songs, but I was not an expert on their entire repertoire.
I did learn a heckuva lot about good music while in Morgantown, thanks to the tutelage of the Doctor of Rock, Steve Goff. I met Steve in grad school, and his apartment in Westover became a major source of my music education. He had thousands and thousands of albums on shelves all over the apartment, and loved playing deejay for his visitors. When I began teaching political science classes for WVU-P and wanted to include music connected to politics with my classes, he made a great mix tape for me. I think some of my students came to class just to hear the songs each night.
Since my college days, I've had the opportunity to see a lot of interesting live performances, including more than a dozen Mountain Stage shows (with acts ranging from Regina Spektor to John Hartford and Nickel Creek to Nancy Griffith). During my parenting phase, I saw Riders in the Sky as well as Ray Stevens at the Capitol Music Hall in Wheeling. A few years back, I enjoyed listening to Felix Cavaliere and the Rascals at the Italian Festival in Clarksburg with Anna (as well as Steve Goff and his wife). Anna and I also ventured to the Pittsburgh Post Pavilion with a couple of her friends to hear Rusted Root, the Clarks, and Donnie Iris. Of course, the best outdoor musical experience for us has been the recreations of the Woodstock concert by the incredibly talented folks at Shadowbox in Columbus. Their house band (known as Bill Who?) is phenomenal! However, none of these qualify as prototypical big time music extravaganzas.
The biggest real concert for me was two years ago, when Anna and I traveled to Dayton, Ohio, for a weekend visit. We got to hear not one—but three of my favorite performers at a single concert. First up was Willie Nelson (30 years older than the first time I saw him—and I thought he was old then!), followed by John (don't call him Cougar) Mellencamp, and capped off with the legendary Bob Dylan. It was under the stars on a blanket in the minor league ballpark of the Dayton Dragons, and it was a wonderful night!
The good news is that I got to see Dylan while he is still performing. I didn't want to miss the opportunity to see him, because I had missed the chance to ever see some of my other favorites. It wasn't but a few years after I skipped seeing Harry Chapin perform in Charleston that he was killed in an automobile accident on Long Island, never to be heard again. Now that the great Clarence Clemmons has left us, I'll never get to have a true Springsteen and the E Street Band experience (because Clarence's sax—not to mention his cool personality—was so crucial to that sound!).
There is a quaint saying to discourage procrastination: “Don't put off 'til tomorrow what you can do today!” It serves as a reminder to me of the lesson I learned my freshman year at the University of Charleston with Harry Chapin. I hope everyone keeps it in mind and makes the most of every opportunity afforded to them in life. I’ll close with a quote from one of my favorite movies, Dead Poets Society, where Robin Williams proclaims "Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary."
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Dating my big sister
Before anyone starts with some sort of Appalachian incest joke, let me state up front that I don't even have a big sister—except the Big Sister assigned to me when I joined a fraternity. This is another essay in my series of stories about college life.
Normally, first semester freshmen were not allowed to join a fraternity or sorority at the University of Charleston, in order to allow them to get better adjusted to college life (i.e., let them get a semester under their belt prior to Greek life). However, because I had taken the CLEP tests and already achieved college credits, I was technically not a first semester freshman. This allowed me bend the rules and join Tau Kappa Epsilon (TKE) during my first semester at college in the fall of 1976.
There is plenty to write about my fraternity days, but this essay focuses on just one aspect—my big sister. During the initiation phase, prospective members (pledges) were each given a secret “big sister” from the group of girls who had agreed to be members of our affiliated TKE Little Sisters organization. Girls became little sisters either through blood lines, or as girlfriends of a fraternity brother, or just because the brothers (or the other little sisters) wanted them. They had to be voted in by the fraternity.
One of their primary duties was to provide encouragement and support to the pledge they had been assigned—which might even include small gifts. This was done through secret notes back and forth that were tacked onto the Greek bulletin board in the Coffee Tavern (CT) on the first floor of the student union. [By the way, sororities had similar programs of big brothers for their pledges as well, and I was honored to have had this experience from “the other side of the fence.”]
This bulletin board at that time was divided up and decorated into eight segments. The fraternities (TKE, Alpha Sig, Theta Xi, and Sig Ep) were across the top, while the sororities (DZ, Alpha Xi, Gamma Delt, and AOPi) were across the bottom. In the ancient days prior to e-mail or instant messaging, anyone could write a message, fold it over and address the note to a specific Greek member (or to the entire group), and tack it on the board. [It seems so archaic in today's high-tech world!]
There was some trickery involved with the big “siblings” programs for the new pledges. Since anyone who might be sitting in the CT could see who was putting up the notes, so as a big brother or big sister you would often ask someone else to tack it to the board to maintain your secret identity. In fact, if you were a big sibling, you might even ask a friend to copy a note you wrote into their handwriting to prevent your little sibling from identifying you by your penmanship. It was all part of the ruse to keep your identity secret—and very quaint by today's standards!
In the TKE fraternity, we would not learn the identity of our big sister until we finished our pledge period, survived hell week, passed hell night, and then went to the fraternity formal that weekend (the TKE Red Carnation Ball near the end of the fall semester). During a break at the dance, the identities would finally be unveiled.
I enjoyed corresponding with my secret big sister. As a brand new college student, I was trying hard to find my place and establish my identity, so we exchanged notes frequently, sometimes with long letters. Having a secret friend was a good way for me to understand the college social scene better. My positive communications with this unknown girl led me to consider doing something novel—why not ask her to be my date for the formal? I didn't have a steady girlfriend on campus, and my first formal experience at Fall Festival (the pre-football era predecessor to UC's Homecoming weekend) had not gone all that well (on a whim, I had asked a commuter whom I really didn't know all that well), so why not ask this unknown girl who was being so nice in all her notes? She obviously knew me, but I wasn't sure which of the dozen or so little sisters she might be.
I decided to take a chance and ask her in writing. To my surprise, she said yes! So for a couple of weeks I knew I was going to the dance, but I had no idea of who might be accompanying me. It was an odd experience. I got a ride with someone to pick up a corsage at the florist shop down MacCorkle across from Krogers—a trip that probably included a stop at the “state store” for the requisite BYOB. Then I got all dressed up for the big event.
In those days, there was an office at the entrance to the girls dorm, and you had to tell the person working at the desk the name of the girl you were there to see. Well, I obviously didn't know the name of who I was supposed to pick up, but it had all been pre-arranged. I've forgotten who was working the desk that night, but they knew immediately about my situation, and “buzzed” the appropriate room (there was a buzzer system in the girls dorm to alert residents to come to the front desk).
I was anxious to finally see who my big sister was! It was a bit like the old “Dating Game” show, eagerly awaiting the date you selected to walk around the corner of the set. You really want to lay your eyes on the unseen person with whom you have been communicating. First, the hallway door opened up, and Jill B. called out to me “I'll be right out” before ducking back inside, probably to grab her purse, or put in her ear rings, or something women do like that. I quickly decided that I could obviously have a good time escorting Jill, who was a cheerleader. However, just when I thought I had finally found out the secret identity that had been hidden from me for months, another girl's head popped out the doorway and called to me. It was Fern S., telling me that she would be with me right away.
Now wait a minute—what's going on here? Is Jill my date, or is her room mate Fern my date? Had I misunderstood Jill's first announcement to me when she stuck her head out the door? Had she said something to the effect of “I'll be right out” or had she said “She'll be right out”? Was it just wishful thinking on my part that had caused me to misinterpret Jill's words? Who is my date for the night? Needless to say, I was confused! And they let me linger in that confusion for awhile.
Finally, yet another girl came out the door—this time it was sophomore Doreen R. It turns out that the third girl was my big sister all along, and Fern and Jill were part of the plan to mess with my head before I met my true date for the night. It was a memorable start to a wonderful evening with a great girl. Doreen had already made plans to transfer to a college back in her home state of New York, so she would be leaving campus soon. I only saw her one more time, when she came back to Charleston as my date again for the TKE formal in the spring semester. We only had those two “dates” but all the correspondence through notes tacked on the bulletin board had helped us to get to know each other on a deeper level than we would have otherwise.
I always admired Doreen, and thought of her often over the years, but in the pre-Internet days, it was hard to keep in touch with people. Fortunately, the modern technology of Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with Doreen (now living in California), as well as Jill and Fern. In fact, it was great getting to talk with (and even get hugs from) Jill and Fern at the Governor's Cup Regatta this past spring. I hope all the folks from my era will attend the Governor's Cup alumni events which will be held during the last weekend of April next year (contact UC Alumni Director Bridgette Borst for more details). See you on the riverbank!
Normally, first semester freshmen were not allowed to join a fraternity or sorority at the University of Charleston, in order to allow them to get better adjusted to college life (i.e., let them get a semester under their belt prior to Greek life). However, because I had taken the CLEP tests and already achieved college credits, I was technically not a first semester freshman. This allowed me bend the rules and join Tau Kappa Epsilon (TKE) during my first semester at college in the fall of 1976.
There is plenty to write about my fraternity days, but this essay focuses on just one aspect—my big sister. During the initiation phase, prospective members (pledges) were each given a secret “big sister” from the group of girls who had agreed to be members of our affiliated TKE Little Sisters organization. Girls became little sisters either through blood lines, or as girlfriends of a fraternity brother, or just because the brothers (or the other little sisters) wanted them. They had to be voted in by the fraternity.
One of their primary duties was to provide encouragement and support to the pledge they had been assigned—which might even include small gifts. This was done through secret notes back and forth that were tacked onto the Greek bulletin board in the Coffee Tavern (CT) on the first floor of the student union. [By the way, sororities had similar programs of big brothers for their pledges as well, and I was honored to have had this experience from “the other side of the fence.”]
This bulletin board at that time was divided up and decorated into eight segments. The fraternities (TKE, Alpha Sig, Theta Xi, and Sig Ep) were across the top, while the sororities (DZ, Alpha Xi, Gamma Delt, and AOPi) were across the bottom. In the ancient days prior to e-mail or instant messaging, anyone could write a message, fold it over and address the note to a specific Greek member (or to the entire group), and tack it on the board. [It seems so archaic in today's high-tech world!]
There was some trickery involved with the big “siblings” programs for the new pledges. Since anyone who might be sitting in the CT could see who was putting up the notes, so as a big brother or big sister you would often ask someone else to tack it to the board to maintain your secret identity. In fact, if you were a big sibling, you might even ask a friend to copy a note you wrote into their handwriting to prevent your little sibling from identifying you by your penmanship. It was all part of the ruse to keep your identity secret—and very quaint by today's standards!
In the TKE fraternity, we would not learn the identity of our big sister until we finished our pledge period, survived hell week, passed hell night, and then went to the fraternity formal that weekend (the TKE Red Carnation Ball near the end of the fall semester). During a break at the dance, the identities would finally be unveiled.
I enjoyed corresponding with my secret big sister. As a brand new college student, I was trying hard to find my place and establish my identity, so we exchanged notes frequently, sometimes with long letters. Having a secret friend was a good way for me to understand the college social scene better. My positive communications with this unknown girl led me to consider doing something novel—why not ask her to be my date for the formal? I didn't have a steady girlfriend on campus, and my first formal experience at Fall Festival (the pre-football era predecessor to UC's Homecoming weekend) had not gone all that well (on a whim, I had asked a commuter whom I really didn't know all that well), so why not ask this unknown girl who was being so nice in all her notes? She obviously knew me, but I wasn't sure which of the dozen or so little sisters she might be.
I decided to take a chance and ask her in writing. To my surprise, she said yes! So for a couple of weeks I knew I was going to the dance, but I had no idea of who might be accompanying me. It was an odd experience. I got a ride with someone to pick up a corsage at the florist shop down MacCorkle across from Krogers—a trip that probably included a stop at the “state store” for the requisite BYOB. Then I got all dressed up for the big event.
In those days, there was an office at the entrance to the girls dorm, and you had to tell the person working at the desk the name of the girl you were there to see. Well, I obviously didn't know the name of who I was supposed to pick up, but it had all been pre-arranged. I've forgotten who was working the desk that night, but they knew immediately about my situation, and “buzzed” the appropriate room (there was a buzzer system in the girls dorm to alert residents to come to the front desk).
I was anxious to finally see who my big sister was! It was a bit like the old “Dating Game” show, eagerly awaiting the date you selected to walk around the corner of the set. You really want to lay your eyes on the unseen person with whom you have been communicating. First, the hallway door opened up, and Jill B. called out to me “I'll be right out” before ducking back inside, probably to grab her purse, or put in her ear rings, or something women do like that. I quickly decided that I could obviously have a good time escorting Jill, who was a cheerleader. However, just when I thought I had finally found out the secret identity that had been hidden from me for months, another girl's head popped out the doorway and called to me. It was Fern S., telling me that she would be with me right away.
Now wait a minute—what's going on here? Is Jill my date, or is her room mate Fern my date? Had I misunderstood Jill's first announcement to me when she stuck her head out the door? Had she said something to the effect of “I'll be right out” or had she said “She'll be right out”? Was it just wishful thinking on my part that had caused me to misinterpret Jill's words? Who is my date for the night? Needless to say, I was confused! And they let me linger in that confusion for awhile.
Finally, yet another girl came out the door—this time it was sophomore Doreen R. It turns out that the third girl was my big sister all along, and Fern and Jill were part of the plan to mess with my head before I met my true date for the night. It was a memorable start to a wonderful evening with a great girl. Doreen had already made plans to transfer to a college back in her home state of New York, so she would be leaving campus soon. I only saw her one more time, when she came back to Charleston as my date again for the TKE formal in the spring semester. We only had those two “dates” but all the correspondence through notes tacked on the bulletin board had helped us to get to know each other on a deeper level than we would have otherwise.
I always admired Doreen, and thought of her often over the years, but in the pre-Internet days, it was hard to keep in touch with people. Fortunately, the modern technology of Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with Doreen (now living in California), as well as Jill and Fern. In fact, it was great getting to talk with (and even get hugs from) Jill and Fern at the Governor's Cup Regatta this past spring. I hope all the folks from my era will attend the Governor's Cup alumni events which will be held during the last weekend of April next year (contact UC Alumni Director Bridgette Borst for more details). See you on the riverbank!
Rockefeller's Blizzard
As the heat of July cranks up, I am sharing some memories of the cold winter during my freshman year at the University of Charleston.
Early in 1977, Jay Rockefeller had just been sworn in as governor of West Virginia. It was in the middle of a cold spell that had seen the Kanawha and Ohio Rivers freeze over from bank to bank for the first time since the '50s. Political Science chairperson Dr. Evelyn Harris had prime tickets for the inaugural ceremony that she was giving away for any of us students to attend. I thought I had a ride with Christy Velasquez in her butterscotch colored Ford Maverick, but she decided it was too cold after all. I wasn't all that disappointed, because it was bitterly cold, plus I had already seen an inauguration four years earlier with Arch Moore.
While I didn't get to see the inauguration itself, I did get a last minute offer to attend the Inaugural Ball that night. Robin D.'s friend Terrie D. needed a date for the ball (I think she had a boyfriend at Marshall who wasn't able to get back to Charleston), and so I got drafted in the CT to go with her. We had a great time partying in the auditorium of the new office complex with the Charlie Daniels Band and in the Great Hall of the West Virginia Cultural Center with Les Brown and his Band of Renown. Going to college in the capital city definitely had its benefits!
Less than two weeks after being sworn in as governor, and still in the midst of a frigid winter, the National Weather Service was suddenly predicting a huge winter storm to hit West Virginia. Emergency announcements were being made on the radio stations. The new governor went on the air and warned everyone on that Friday afternoon that a blizzard was coming from the west. It was going to be worse than the infamous Thanksgiving 1950 storm that us kids had heard our parents tell such tall tales about.
My friends in Cox Hall at UC decided we had to prepare for the impending ordeal. Jay S. had a car on campus, and we would make a run to Krogers in Kanawha City. This was not just any car Jay had—it was a 1941 Chevy that we called “Black Beauty.” We gathered monetary contributions before hopping into Black Beauty and heading down MacCorkle Avenue to buy the essentials necessary for a guys' dorm—beer and snacks. However, former Boy Scouts Eric F. and Roger B. insisted that we also needed to get some survival food. Besides normal party essentials like bags of potato chips and pretzels, canned goods like Spam and pork & beans had to be added to our shopping list, since we didn't know just how many days (or possibly weeks) we would be snowed in. After all, the governor had declared a state of emergency!
The inside of Krogers that afternoon was crazy. Everyone had heard about the coming blizzard and were stocking up for the inevitable isolation. I have never seen such crisis shopping in my life, as entire shelving units were being depleted. The lines at the checkout were horrendous! It was quite an experience. I remember it any time the television news show similar episodes prior to hurricanes coming ashore.
As we hunkered down in the dorm for the night, we had plenty to party with as the snow started to fall (although we saved the cans of pork & beans and Spam for later when we would need them to survive). We were determined to have a good time as we rode out the storm. We were certain that the next morning would involve attempts just to dig our way out of the doors on the first floor—if that would even be possible.
However, by the time most of us awoke (which was by no means early that Saturday morning), it became apparent that the big blizzard had not lived up to its billing. For all the emergency proclamations by the governor, and for all the madhouse behavior at the grocery store, this supposedly gigantic blizzard was hardly worse than a typical winter snowstorm—it was measured in inches, not feet. The only thing huge about it was the party in Cox Hall the night before.
While we don't remember it for its epic amounts of snow, we will always remember the hype that went into Rockefeller's Blizzard.
Early in 1977, Jay Rockefeller had just been sworn in as governor of West Virginia. It was in the middle of a cold spell that had seen the Kanawha and Ohio Rivers freeze over from bank to bank for the first time since the '50s. Political Science chairperson Dr. Evelyn Harris had prime tickets for the inaugural ceremony that she was giving away for any of us students to attend. I thought I had a ride with Christy Velasquez in her butterscotch colored Ford Maverick, but she decided it was too cold after all. I wasn't all that disappointed, because it was bitterly cold, plus I had already seen an inauguration four years earlier with Arch Moore.
While I didn't get to see the inauguration itself, I did get a last minute offer to attend the Inaugural Ball that night. Robin D.'s friend Terrie D. needed a date for the ball (I think she had a boyfriend at Marshall who wasn't able to get back to Charleston), and so I got drafted in the CT to go with her. We had a great time partying in the auditorium of the new office complex with the Charlie Daniels Band and in the Great Hall of the West Virginia Cultural Center with Les Brown and his Band of Renown. Going to college in the capital city definitely had its benefits!
Less than two weeks after being sworn in as governor, and still in the midst of a frigid winter, the National Weather Service was suddenly predicting a huge winter storm to hit West Virginia. Emergency announcements were being made on the radio stations. The new governor went on the air and warned everyone on that Friday afternoon that a blizzard was coming from the west. It was going to be worse than the infamous Thanksgiving 1950 storm that us kids had heard our parents tell such tall tales about.
My friends in Cox Hall at UC decided we had to prepare for the impending ordeal. Jay S. had a car on campus, and we would make a run to Krogers in Kanawha City. This was not just any car Jay had—it was a 1941 Chevy that we called “Black Beauty.” We gathered monetary contributions before hopping into Black Beauty and heading down MacCorkle Avenue to buy the essentials necessary for a guys' dorm—beer and snacks. However, former Boy Scouts Eric F. and Roger B. insisted that we also needed to get some survival food. Besides normal party essentials like bags of potato chips and pretzels, canned goods like Spam and pork & beans had to be added to our shopping list, since we didn't know just how many days (or possibly weeks) we would be snowed in. After all, the governor had declared a state of emergency!
The inside of Krogers that afternoon was crazy. Everyone had heard about the coming blizzard and were stocking up for the inevitable isolation. I have never seen such crisis shopping in my life, as entire shelving units were being depleted. The lines at the checkout were horrendous! It was quite an experience. I remember it any time the television news show similar episodes prior to hurricanes coming ashore.
As we hunkered down in the dorm for the night, we had plenty to party with as the snow started to fall (although we saved the cans of pork & beans and Spam for later when we would need them to survive). We were determined to have a good time as we rode out the storm. We were certain that the next morning would involve attempts just to dig our way out of the doors on the first floor—if that would even be possible.
However, by the time most of us awoke (which was by no means early that Saturday morning), it became apparent that the big blizzard had not lived up to its billing. For all the emergency proclamations by the governor, and for all the madhouse behavior at the grocery store, this supposedly gigantic blizzard was hardly worse than a typical winter snowstorm—it was measured in inches, not feet. The only thing huge about it was the party in Cox Hall the night before.
While we don't remember it for its epic amounts of snow, we will always remember the hype that went into Rockefeller's Blizzard.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Me & Hockey
I find the news from Vancouver today to be very depressing. No, not the news about the final score of the last NHL hockey game this year—while I probably would have preferred to see the Canucks win, I really didn't have a strong affinity to either team (even a non-Bruins fan has to admit that the Boston goalie played a great series).
The news I hate to hear is about the rioting and looting in downtown Vancouver after the loss. What does it say about how civilization is evolving (or de-volving, which was the basis for the name of that '80s rock band Devo)? My previous travels to Windsor and Toronto left me very impressed with the people and cities of Canada. I would have been less surprised if Boston had lost the Stanley Cup and rioting broke out there than I am to find out it happened in Vancouver. What a sad statement about how societal norms are breaking down! At least some good citizens are volunteering to clean up the mess.
Rather than ruminate on the decline and fall of mankind, I'll instead talk about hockey. All this talk about the Bruins winning the Stanley Cup for the first time since the Bobby Orr era has brought back a good memory for me. The very first hockey game I ever attended was in the '72-'73 season, when Boston played a game at the igloo in Pittsburgh. I actually got to see Bobby Orr, Phil Esposito, Wayne Cashman, and other stars of that famous team play that day. After last night's big win, the sports experts are all talking like that was a long time ago, but it doesn't seem to be ancient history to me.
I got this rare chance because a friend of mine at Hamilton Junior High was Warren Montgomery. His dad worked at BorgWarner with my dad, and Warren's dad was originally from Boston and a big hockey fan. He wanted to take his son to see that game against the Penguins (who were a very weak team during those days) and allowed him to bring a friend. I was fortunate to be asked to go along.
This was my first trip to Pittsburgh, and my first time in a pro sports city (Columbus, OH and Norfolk, VA were probably the only big towns I had visited at that age). I'll never forget my amazement when we came out of the tunnel and unexpectedly the whole city of Pittsburgh filled the windshield. What a sight! It was just the start of a wonderful day. The Pittsburgh Civic Arena, also known as the Igloo, was a fascinating building whose roof could be opened up. Even if you weren't a hockey fan, the experience was very interesting.
Just getting to see a real hockey game was quite a treat for me, because I was one of the only kids in Parkersburg who really knew anything about hockey. NBC had begun televising some NHL games and they caught my interest. Also, in the days before FM radio, I was big on listening to AM radio stations from around the country, including some that carried hockey games or sports talk shows. [One reason why I'd listen to radio stations from St. Louis, Richmond, Chicago, Charlotte, Boston, Ft. Wayne, Cleveland, etc., was that they actually came in better than the three Parkersburg stations, whose broadcast powers were reduced after sundown.] Finally, I think I had a teenager's sense of wanting to be unique by specializing in a sport others did not follow. I read a lot of library books to learn about hockey.
When I started following hockey, I decided that the Chicago Blackhawks were my favorite team. I liked their jersey insignia (I learned all the jerseys from the Sears catalog), plus they had one of the biggest stars of the day—Bobby Hull. I can still recite most of their players names (Stan Mikita, Tony Esposito, Pit Martin, Jim Pappin, Denis Hull, Lou Angotti, Keith Magnuson, Pat Stapleton, etc.). I'll never forget when Ken Dryden and the Montreal Canadiens beat Chicago for the Stanley Cup.
Another memorable hockey game for me was also a Penguins game at the Igloo. While attending law school at WVU in the early '80s, there was a student activities trip to see Pittsburgh take on the Edmonton Oilers, with their young star Wayne Gretzky. I remember being very impressed with #99, as he was quite easy to pick out from the rest of the players because of his skating talents. Fortunately, Anna and I got to see one Penguins game together a year or two ago before they tore down the Igloo (it has been replaced with the new Consol Energy Center).
While working for NASA Headquarters in Washington, DC, I was able to do a semi-season ticket package for the Washington Capitals with my friend from the University of Charleston, Chuck Crum. More recently, I got to attend a Caps game at their new arena downtown with Tim Truman during a business trip to DC. I have also attended two NHL games at the Sharktank in San Jose while attending a business conference, as well as a Columbus Blue Jackets game during their inaugural season. The only other NHL team I've watched was after WVU won the Music City Bowl in 2000, the guys I went with walked across the Cumberland River from the football stadium into downtown where we were able to get tickets to watch the Nashville Predators play that evening.
I've also attended a few minor league games in Wheeling, and many more collegiate hockey games in Morgantown (WVU Mountaineers) and Athens (Ohio University Bobcats). It seems I don't get to follow hockey as much as I would like (maybe I should pay for more than basic cable TV), but it is still a sport that I enjoy. I don't really have a favorite team that I follow anymore (although I enjoyed seeing Chicago win the Cup last year for old times sake). I just like to see good competitive games (preferrably without the fighting), and admire the incredible of skating skills these professionals possess. I plan on enjoying hockey for years to come (assuming that civilization doesn't "devo" too far!).
The news I hate to hear is about the rioting and looting in downtown Vancouver after the loss. What does it say about how civilization is evolving (or de-volving, which was the basis for the name of that '80s rock band Devo)? My previous travels to Windsor and Toronto left me very impressed with the people and cities of Canada. I would have been less surprised if Boston had lost the Stanley Cup and rioting broke out there than I am to find out it happened in Vancouver. What a sad statement about how societal norms are breaking down! At least some good citizens are volunteering to clean up the mess.
Rather than ruminate on the decline and fall of mankind, I'll instead talk about hockey. All this talk about the Bruins winning the Stanley Cup for the first time since the Bobby Orr era has brought back a good memory for me. The very first hockey game I ever attended was in the '72-'73 season, when Boston played a game at the igloo in Pittsburgh. I actually got to see Bobby Orr, Phil Esposito, Wayne Cashman, and other stars of that famous team play that day. After last night's big win, the sports experts are all talking like that was a long time ago, but it doesn't seem to be ancient history to me.
I got this rare chance because a friend of mine at Hamilton Junior High was Warren Montgomery. His dad worked at BorgWarner with my dad, and Warren's dad was originally from Boston and a big hockey fan. He wanted to take his son to see that game against the Penguins (who were a very weak team during those days) and allowed him to bring a friend. I was fortunate to be asked to go along.
This was my first trip to Pittsburgh, and my first time in a pro sports city (Columbus, OH and Norfolk, VA were probably the only big towns I had visited at that age). I'll never forget my amazement when we came out of the tunnel and unexpectedly the whole city of Pittsburgh filled the windshield. What a sight! It was just the start of a wonderful day. The Pittsburgh Civic Arena, also known as the Igloo, was a fascinating building whose roof could be opened up. Even if you weren't a hockey fan, the experience was very interesting.
Just getting to see a real hockey game was quite a treat for me, because I was one of the only kids in Parkersburg who really knew anything about hockey. NBC had begun televising some NHL games and they caught my interest. Also, in the days before FM radio, I was big on listening to AM radio stations from around the country, including some that carried hockey games or sports talk shows. [One reason why I'd listen to radio stations from St. Louis, Richmond, Chicago, Charlotte, Boston, Ft. Wayne, Cleveland, etc., was that they actually came in better than the three Parkersburg stations, whose broadcast powers were reduced after sundown.] Finally, I think I had a teenager's sense of wanting to be unique by specializing in a sport others did not follow. I read a lot of library books to learn about hockey.
When I started following hockey, I decided that the Chicago Blackhawks were my favorite team. I liked their jersey insignia (I learned all the jerseys from the Sears catalog), plus they had one of the biggest stars of the day—Bobby Hull. I can still recite most of their players names (Stan Mikita, Tony Esposito, Pit Martin, Jim Pappin, Denis Hull, Lou Angotti, Keith Magnuson, Pat Stapleton, etc.). I'll never forget when Ken Dryden and the Montreal Canadiens beat Chicago for the Stanley Cup.
Another memorable hockey game for me was also a Penguins game at the Igloo. While attending law school at WVU in the early '80s, there was a student activities trip to see Pittsburgh take on the Edmonton Oilers, with their young star Wayne Gretzky. I remember being very impressed with #99, as he was quite easy to pick out from the rest of the players because of his skating talents. Fortunately, Anna and I got to see one Penguins game together a year or two ago before they tore down the Igloo (it has been replaced with the new Consol Energy Center).
While working for NASA Headquarters in Washington, DC, I was able to do a semi-season ticket package for the Washington Capitals with my friend from the University of Charleston, Chuck Crum. More recently, I got to attend a Caps game at their new arena downtown with Tim Truman during a business trip to DC. I have also attended two NHL games at the Sharktank in San Jose while attending a business conference, as well as a Columbus Blue Jackets game during their inaugural season. The only other NHL team I've watched was after WVU won the Music City Bowl in 2000, the guys I went with walked across the Cumberland River from the football stadium into downtown where we were able to get tickets to watch the Nashville Predators play that evening.
I've also attended a few minor league games in Wheeling, and many more collegiate hockey games in Morgantown (WVU Mountaineers) and Athens (Ohio University Bobcats). It seems I don't get to follow hockey as much as I would like (maybe I should pay for more than basic cable TV), but it is still a sport that I enjoy. I don't really have a favorite team that I follow anymore (although I enjoyed seeing Chicago win the Cup last year for old times sake). I just like to see good competitive games (preferrably without the fighting), and admire the incredible of skating skills these professionals possess. I plan on enjoying hockey for years to come (assuming that civilization doesn't "devo" too far!).
Monday, June 20, 2011
Jimmy & me
While in Atlanta recently, I got the chance to visit the Carter Presidential Center. Many of you probably have a low assessment of Jimmy Carter, and wonder why I would even take the time to visit there? However, I would visit any presidential library if I got the chance, because we should all honor the office, even if we might not totally agree with the man holding the office. Also, Jimmy Carter played an important role in my formative adult years.
As I was coming of age, I looked forward to casting my first ever vote in the 1976 election, and began my research early. By the summer of 1975, I had already been following the early candidates (anybody remember Terry Sanford? Fred Harris? Frank Church?). I was going to be a good citizen and ensure that I cast an informed vote, as is important in a democracy. The previous election had not gone well for me, as a Nixon supporter who defended the president in the early Watergate days, only to realize later I had been hoodwinked.
One candidate caught my eye early on. I was impressed with Jimmy Carter's unusual background—farmer, nuclear submarine officer, and progressive governor of a southern state. He had proven his leadership abilities by changing Georgia's segregationist policies, and best of all, he was not tainted by Washington—which I had already determined to be a problem for many others. I liked that he was not a typical Democrat (since I was not sure that I was typical of either party). I had grown up in a semi-Republican family, and even had done extensive volunteer work as a 9th grader in 1972 for Nixon's re-election (I was young—what else can I say?).
When my senior year began in the fall of 1975, my social studies teacher Mrs. Phipps gave us a sheet of possible topics for a major paper we were to write, or we could pick any of the potential presidential candidates. As I recall, she went around the room asking students to pick their topics. I chose Jimmy Carter, and most of my classmates had no idea who I was talking about (at that time, one could not imagine a president being referred to as “Jimmy” and someone asked if I knew him personally).
My early pick of Jimmy Carter began looking prescient as he came out of nowhere to win Iowa and New Hampshire, and suddenly went from being a nobody to becoming the frontrunner. It made me feel like picking a winning candidate was a piece of cake—all you had to do was spend time researching the possibilities and deciding on the best. [I have since learned it is not all that easy.]
As I began my college career in the fall of 1976, I was a big Carter supporter. I remember being in the dormitory watching the debate, which was really big because there had not been a televised debate since the JFK-Nixon debate in 1960. That debate ended up being key to Carter's victory a few weeks later. Another college memory was rushing over to the student union after a late morning class, to watch the inauguration on a big color TV. The fact that Carter eschewed the limo and walked the entire distance between the Capitol and the White House was impressive. We needed a man of the people to help us get away from the Watergate days. I also remember writing a paper about Carter's cabinet choices in an “American Presidency” class I took in the spring of 1977. Early on, I felt good about our new president.
I appreciated his emphasis on the energy problem, and his promotion of human rights—a phrase heard all the time now but which was not well known until his presidency. With the exception of economic concerns, the first part of his term went OK, and once the Camp David Accords were signed, he seemed assured of a second term. Indeed, it was his effective personal leadership that brought Sadat and Begin to reach that historic agreement. The Nobel peach prize that year went jointly to Sadat and Begin, but it was Carter who made it happen. [I'm glad he was eventually honored with the Nobel Prize later for all his humanitarian efforts.]
However, the latter stages of his term seemed to go downhill. The economy never seemed to get better. One of his appointees, Burt Lance, came under investigation for banking problems back in Georgia. Although Lance resigned, Carter stood by his side still supporting him, which seemed different from Carter's pledge to clean up Washington and get away from any hints of improprieties. I feared he was too loyal to his “Georgia Mafia” friends, and thus was like too many other politicians. [I should point out in hindsight that Lance was never charged with wrongdoing after the investigation was finished.]
Another peculiar thing that bothered me was that Carter changed the side of his head where he parted his hair. In the beginning, his part was on the same side as I part mine, but later in his term, he went for a new look and changed sides. I found this ridiculous; indeed, a sign of a potential personality disorder. My hair only wants to naturally part on one side, so this made him seem artificial to me.
Things got worse after the malaise speech (where he never used the word “malaise”). Americans didn't want a President to tell them what was probably the truth—they just wanted someone to make things sound like they were better. [Reagan understood this, and always pushed positive themes (“It's morning in America”).] Soon we were dealing with killer rabbits swimming towards his fishing boat (Google it if you don't believe me), and Carter became the butt of many jokes.
With the seizure of the Iranian embassy, the last year in office was the worst for him. ABC's Nightline got its start as a special news show at 11:30 each night called “America Held Hostage—Day
By this time, I had already given up on Carter. During the fall semester of 1979, which I spent in Washington as an intern for Congressman Rahall, I became intrigued by a liberal Republican named John Anderson who had decided to run for the Republican nomination. I felt like he had little chance, but I liked his thinking. However, Anderson ended up doing much better than anyone had predicted, placing high in early primaries even if he didn't win them. I jumped on board and eventually got my first job with his independent presidential campaign after graduating with my Political Science degree. Although Anderson didn't win, it was a great experience for me to travel around the country and participate in a national campaign. [It also solidified my identity as an independent.]
So in the span of five years, I went from an early supporter of Jimmy Carter to a paid employee of someone running against him. I've always had this complicated relationship with Carter and his legacy. I still think I was right to support him in the beginning, and yet also right to not support him for a second term. I also think he gets way more criticism than he deserves, and not enough credit. I admire the work he has done since leaving the presidency, be it with Habitat for Humanity, or his prodigious work as an author, or his efforts at promoting democracy through election monitoring and other diplomatic efforts. Also, many people don't realize how much work the Carters have put into improving health conditions and eradicating diseases in third world countries.
I'm glad I got to visit the Carter Presidential Center. I doubt that it will ever happen, but Jimmy Carter is certainly someone I would enjoy getting a chance to meet and talk to, and perhaps come to resolution about my complicated history with him. I hope that history in the future will judge him more kindly than his contemporaries have judged him. It's easy to “pile on” and decide that someone like Carter is a bad person, but in reality, all of us have some good and some bad in us. It takes an intelligent person to be able to see the virtues in everyone.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Hotlanta Trip
Anna had to go to Atlanta for her Ph.D. program, so I tagged along. While she would be getting educated, I'd be free to sightsee. It had been 16 years since I had last visited “Hotlanta” (90+ degrees each day this trip) and 34 years since the UC Crew team rowed in the Southern Intercollegiate Rowing Association's regatta at Stone Mountain lake (my first visit to the greater Atlanta area). Anna drove to my place before we ventured south together. During her first leg of the trip, she got to pass the “Miracle on the Hudson” fuselage on I-79. Even though I didn't get to see it, I was able to enjoy it vicariously through her description. It was a good start to this trip.
Before heading off the next morning, we happened to turn on the last part of the Today show just as they were saying goodbye to Meredith Viera. I can remember when she first appeared on the national media as a young reporter on Walter Cronkite's CBS Evening News. Before we left, we saw the “lip dub” (one camera, one shot music video production) that included Jimmy Fallon and Abe Vigoda and a cast of hundreds rocking Meredith through “Don't Stop Believing” by Journey. I'm glad I got to see it! [Note to Bunk: the lip dub produced by Grand Valley State University, featuring your crew team, is still my favorite.]
We drove south on I-77 to I-85, listening to the audiobook "Always Looking Up" by Michael J. Fox, and made a quick lunch stop at Sonny's BBQ near Charlotte. Yes, I know that it is a “chain BBQ” and not one of those great local independent BBQ joints, but when you are in a hurry and need something with quick access near the Interstate, Sonny's BBQ works out well. The only other stop we made along the way was after we saw billboards for the TigerDirect Outlet Store in rural Georgia. TigerDirect is a computer and electronics supplier that has been around since early in the PC revolution, and most computer geeks are familiar with the company. It was fun roaming the aisles seeing all things “techie.”
After checking into the hotel on Wednesday evening, we walked down Peachtree Street to eat dinner at a relatively new restaurant called “Sweet Georgia's Juke Joint.” They offer live music every night (we got to hear a three-piece blues combo) as well as southern comfort food. I had the fried green tomato sandwich—it was OK, but the ones served up at the WV Turnpike's Tamarack Center are still the best!
Anna's colloquium didn't start until 5:00 on Thursday, so our early arrival allowed her to do some sightseeing before it started. We wanted to see the new Georgia Aquarium, which supposedly is the largest in the world. Previously, we had visited the aquariums in Chattanooga, TN, and the Newport, KY, plus I had toured the aquarium at Virginia Beach and the National Aquarium in Baltimore years ago. All of these were probably the biggest and the best when they first opened, but the bar keeps getting higher with each new one built.
There were several aspects that made this one memorable. The biggest is the 6 million gallon main aquarium, with acrylic walls that are about two feet thick. The pictures we took do not do this place justice. It has to be seen to be believed, especially the beluga whales, the huge manta rays, and the gigantic whale sharks.
We also enjoyed seeing a simple exhibit that other aquariums should have been doing long ago—a touch tank area full of live shrimp. It was interesting to watch these tasty morsels living their lives before they end up in cocktail sauce. Another innovative concept was the tunnel in the penguin area, complete with “pop-up” clear acrylic viewing areas, allowing close-up views of these birds, as well as lots of underwater viewing as they “fly” around. Finally, I had never seen Garden Eels, which look like something out of a science fiction movie.
Across from the aquarium is the new “World of Coca-Cola” building. Anna and I had both taken the Coke tour separately back in the '90s when it was located near Underground Atlanta. Now it has a new and much larger home, complete with a 3-D theater that also sprays water on you, plus has chairs that shakes and pokes you to “enhance” your viewing experience. This museum was fun, but not nearly as impressive as the aquarium. We did enjoy all the free samples of Coke products from around the world. Plus, since Coke just celebrated its 125th birthday, we got a free commemorative bottle.
Later that night, we had dinner at Ted's Montana Grill. Atlanta tycoon Ted Turner created these restaurants that feature bison meat grown on his ranches out west. Supposedly there are a lot of health benefits to bison meat. The bison steak I had was excellent! The ambiance of the restaurant was enjoyable as well. I will definitely eat at a Ted's franchise again.
On Friday morning, I caught a Metropolitan Atlanta Regional Transit Authority (MARTA) bus to the Carter Presidential Center. It is always interesting to me to ride public transportation in other areas. I thoroughly enjoyed the Carter Center, and reliving the events of the late '70s. I hope to write an upcoming essay about my Jimmy Carter recollections.
After spending most of Friday at the Carter Center, I caught the bus back to Underground Atlanta. The visitor center there offers a guided tour on Atlanta history from the civil war to civil rights (plus I had a coupon for a dollar off the ticket!). The tour guide was a 75 year old retired scientist from the nearby Center for Disease Control who shared his love of history with myself and some young female college students from Chicago.
Friday evening, guests were allowed to attend one function of this colloquium weekend, so I got to tag along with Anna. Newark, New Jersey mayor Corey Bookman gave a very inspirational speech. He is certainly a young leader on the rise. At one time I wanted to be a successful politician like he has become, and for awhile, everything was going as planned (activist school board member, known for visiting schools, re-elected with over 10,000 votes in 1996, elected president of the state school boards association, writing for the National School Boards Association, etc.). But for whatever reason, it ultimately didn't work out. You can try to do everything right, but sometimes things just don't turn out the way you planned. One positive result was that I got to try my hand at teaching on the college level when my part-time school board job went away. Plus, Anna and I would never have become a couple if I were still a politician. So at least I got the chance to try politics and get it out of my hair.
After the Mayor Bookman speech, we decided to try the nearby Benihana restaurant. This chain was a leader in the field of Japanese restaurants with chefs who put on a show cooking at your table. It was good, but not really over and above other such places.
On Saturday morning, I decided to participate in a 5K that began at the Georgia state capitol building. It was fun doing a 5K in a new city, and I got to see some Atlanta neighborhoods I would never otherwise have seen. I finished a bit slower than my previous best time, but it was very hot! I want to give a shout out to the folks who organize running events back home in West Virginia, because this one did not impress me. For example, when you reached the finish line, they expected you to fill out a card with your name and bib number along with the time you saw on the clock as you entered the finish chute. What's up with that? Plus, the starting line was set up about twenty feet from the end of the block, where you had to make an immediate left turn—not a good course design! However, it gave me a reason to get up early and get some good exercise, and my registration fee went towards helping a good cause (a homeless shelter in downtown Atlanta).
During the day, I hiked over to visit CNN and take their studio tour. I had done this 16 years ago, but couldn't remember a whole lot about it, so I decided to do it again. It is interesting how they have gone away from the green-screen chroma-key technology and are now using what amounts to a big iPad, where the anchor can select an item on the big screen, move it around, expand or collapse it, or whatever, just like one can do with touch screen devices.
I checked out the Phillips Arena (home of their NBA and soon-to-be-moved NHL franchises) as well as the Georgia Dome, home of the Falcons and where WVU beat Georgia in the Sugar Bowl a few years back. As I was walking back towards to hotel, all of the sudden I heard my name called out from a car on the street (Anna is often amazed at how we can go places and I run into someone I know). It pulled over and the two young Chicago women from the history tour the day before were in it. We talked for awhile there along the street, comparing notes on Atlanta sightseeing, before heading off in our separate directions. It turns out that one of them was actually a model, who had flown to Atlanta for a photoshoot and brought her best friend along. It certainly made my day to have two pretty girls remember my name and make an effort to stop and to talk with me in a strange city. As you get older, you savor the little things!
On our last full day, Anna unexpectedly got done with classes a bit early, so we had just enough time to catch a two-hour Segway tour. These self-balancing two-wheeled people movers are a lot of fun, and we've done them in a number of places (e.g., Bahamas, Grenada, Pittsburgh, Wisp). Anna is particularly skillful in maneuvering these machines. The tour guide took our group through some interesting sections of downtown Atlanta, including a lap around the state capitol (allowing me to show Anna where the 5K was based). The guide also took us by the Ted's Montana Grill where we had eaten. Apparently it is the flagship restaurant for this chain, and includes the Ted's Montana Grill University to train employees. It turns out that Ted Turner not only owns that historic building, but he actually lives in the penthouse. He also had solar panel roofs installed on the building as well as the adjoining parking lot to provide green power. The guide mentioned that he owns the most bison of any rancher in America.
After the tour, we ate dinner at nearby Legal Seafood (they give a coupon for a free bowl of chowder to all Segway riders). We sat on their outside porch overlooking the Olympic Park area and had a delicious meal (second only to the bison steaks at Ted's). It was a nice ending to our last evening together in Atlanta.
On Sunday morning, while Anna wrapped up her classes, I packed up and retrieved the car, so as to avoid the rush when all her fellow students tried to check out all at once. I drove to famous drive-in restaurant called “The Varsity” for an early lunch. This restaurant, established in 1928, is renowned in Georgia. The Varsity serves more Coca-Cola than any other restaurant, and an urban legend claims that they have a direct underground pipeline from the nearby Coke headquarters (not true). The atmosphere was wonderful, but I felt the food was over-rated. However, I'm glad I got to experience The Varsity, and it was a nice way to finish off a long weekend in Hotlanta.
Before heading off the next morning, we happened to turn on the last part of the Today show just as they were saying goodbye to Meredith Viera. I can remember when she first appeared on the national media as a young reporter on Walter Cronkite's CBS Evening News. Before we left, we saw the “lip dub” (one camera, one shot music video production) that included Jimmy Fallon and Abe Vigoda and a cast of hundreds rocking Meredith through “Don't Stop Believing” by Journey. I'm glad I got to see it! [Note to Bunk: the lip dub produced by Grand Valley State University, featuring your crew team, is still my favorite.]
We drove south on I-77 to I-85, listening to the audiobook "Always Looking Up" by Michael J. Fox, and made a quick lunch stop at Sonny's BBQ near Charlotte. Yes, I know that it is a “chain BBQ” and not one of those great local independent BBQ joints, but when you are in a hurry and need something with quick access near the Interstate, Sonny's BBQ works out well. The only other stop we made along the way was after we saw billboards for the TigerDirect Outlet Store in rural Georgia. TigerDirect is a computer and electronics supplier that has been around since early in the PC revolution, and most computer geeks are familiar with the company. It was fun roaming the aisles seeing all things “techie.”
After checking into the hotel on Wednesday evening, we walked down Peachtree Street to eat dinner at a relatively new restaurant called “Sweet Georgia's Juke Joint.” They offer live music every night (we got to hear a three-piece blues combo) as well as southern comfort food. I had the fried green tomato sandwich—it was OK, but the ones served up at the WV Turnpike's Tamarack Center are still the best!
Anna's colloquium didn't start until 5:00 on Thursday, so our early arrival allowed her to do some sightseeing before it started. We wanted to see the new Georgia Aquarium, which supposedly is the largest in the world. Previously, we had visited the aquariums in Chattanooga, TN, and the Newport, KY, plus I had toured the aquarium at Virginia Beach and the National Aquarium in Baltimore years ago. All of these were probably the biggest and the best when they first opened, but the bar keeps getting higher with each new one built.
There were several aspects that made this one memorable. The biggest is the 6 million gallon main aquarium, with acrylic walls that are about two feet thick. The pictures we took do not do this place justice. It has to be seen to be believed, especially the beluga whales, the huge manta rays, and the gigantic whale sharks.
We also enjoyed seeing a simple exhibit that other aquariums should have been doing long ago—a touch tank area full of live shrimp. It was interesting to watch these tasty morsels living their lives before they end up in cocktail sauce. Another innovative concept was the tunnel in the penguin area, complete with “pop-up” clear acrylic viewing areas, allowing close-up views of these birds, as well as lots of underwater viewing as they “fly” around. Finally, I had never seen Garden Eels, which look like something out of a science fiction movie.
Across from the aquarium is the new “World of Coca-Cola” building. Anna and I had both taken the Coke tour separately back in the '90s when it was located near Underground Atlanta. Now it has a new and much larger home, complete with a 3-D theater that also sprays water on you, plus has chairs that shakes and pokes you to “enhance” your viewing experience. This museum was fun, but not nearly as impressive as the aquarium. We did enjoy all the free samples of Coke products from around the world. Plus, since Coke just celebrated its 125th birthday, we got a free commemorative bottle.
Later that night, we had dinner at Ted's Montana Grill. Atlanta tycoon Ted Turner created these restaurants that feature bison meat grown on his ranches out west. Supposedly there are a lot of health benefits to bison meat. The bison steak I had was excellent! The ambiance of the restaurant was enjoyable as well. I will definitely eat at a Ted's franchise again.
On Friday morning, I caught a Metropolitan Atlanta Regional Transit Authority (MARTA) bus to the Carter Presidential Center. It is always interesting to me to ride public transportation in other areas. I thoroughly enjoyed the Carter Center, and reliving the events of the late '70s. I hope to write an upcoming essay about my Jimmy Carter recollections.
After spending most of Friday at the Carter Center, I caught the bus back to Underground Atlanta. The visitor center there offers a guided tour on Atlanta history from the civil war to civil rights (plus I had a coupon for a dollar off the ticket!). The tour guide was a 75 year old retired scientist from the nearby Center for Disease Control who shared his love of history with myself and some young female college students from Chicago.
Friday evening, guests were allowed to attend one function of this colloquium weekend, so I got to tag along with Anna. Newark, New Jersey mayor Corey Bookman gave a very inspirational speech. He is certainly a young leader on the rise. At one time I wanted to be a successful politician like he has become, and for awhile, everything was going as planned (activist school board member, known for visiting schools, re-elected with over 10,000 votes in 1996, elected president of the state school boards association, writing for the National School Boards Association, etc.). But for whatever reason, it ultimately didn't work out. You can try to do everything right, but sometimes things just don't turn out the way you planned. One positive result was that I got to try my hand at teaching on the college level when my part-time school board job went away. Plus, Anna and I would never have become a couple if I were still a politician. So at least I got the chance to try politics and get it out of my hair.
After the Mayor Bookman speech, we decided to try the nearby Benihana restaurant. This chain was a leader in the field of Japanese restaurants with chefs who put on a show cooking at your table. It was good, but not really over and above other such places.
On Saturday morning, I decided to participate in a 5K that began at the Georgia state capitol building. It was fun doing a 5K in a new city, and I got to see some Atlanta neighborhoods I would never otherwise have seen. I finished a bit slower than my previous best time, but it was very hot! I want to give a shout out to the folks who organize running events back home in West Virginia, because this one did not impress me. For example, when you reached the finish line, they expected you to fill out a card with your name and bib number along with the time you saw on the clock as you entered the finish chute. What's up with that? Plus, the starting line was set up about twenty feet from the end of the block, where you had to make an immediate left turn—not a good course design! However, it gave me a reason to get up early and get some good exercise, and my registration fee went towards helping a good cause (a homeless shelter in downtown Atlanta).
During the day, I hiked over to visit CNN and take their studio tour. I had done this 16 years ago, but couldn't remember a whole lot about it, so I decided to do it again. It is interesting how they have gone away from the green-screen chroma-key technology and are now using what amounts to a big iPad, where the anchor can select an item on the big screen, move it around, expand or collapse it, or whatever, just like one can do with touch screen devices.
I checked out the Phillips Arena (home of their NBA and soon-to-be-moved NHL franchises) as well as the Georgia Dome, home of the Falcons and where WVU beat Georgia in the Sugar Bowl a few years back. As I was walking back towards to hotel, all of the sudden I heard my name called out from a car on the street (Anna is often amazed at how we can go places and I run into someone I know). It pulled over and the two young Chicago women from the history tour the day before were in it. We talked for awhile there along the street, comparing notes on Atlanta sightseeing, before heading off in our separate directions. It turns out that one of them was actually a model, who had flown to Atlanta for a photoshoot and brought her best friend along. It certainly made my day to have two pretty girls remember my name and make an effort to stop and to talk with me in a strange city. As you get older, you savor the little things!
On our last full day, Anna unexpectedly got done with classes a bit early, so we had just enough time to catch a two-hour Segway tour. These self-balancing two-wheeled people movers are a lot of fun, and we've done them in a number of places (e.g., Bahamas, Grenada, Pittsburgh, Wisp). Anna is particularly skillful in maneuvering these machines. The tour guide took our group through some interesting sections of downtown Atlanta, including a lap around the state capitol (allowing me to show Anna where the 5K was based). The guide also took us by the Ted's Montana Grill where we had eaten. Apparently it is the flagship restaurant for this chain, and includes the Ted's Montana Grill University to train employees. It turns out that Ted Turner not only owns that historic building, but he actually lives in the penthouse. He also had solar panel roofs installed on the building as well as the adjoining parking lot to provide green power. The guide mentioned that he owns the most bison of any rancher in America.
After the tour, we ate dinner at nearby Legal Seafood (they give a coupon for a free bowl of chowder to all Segway riders). We sat on their outside porch overlooking the Olympic Park area and had a delicious meal (second only to the bison steaks at Ted's). It was a nice ending to our last evening together in Atlanta.
On Sunday morning, while Anna wrapped up her classes, I packed up and retrieved the car, so as to avoid the rush when all her fellow students tried to check out all at once. I drove to famous drive-in restaurant called “The Varsity” for an early lunch. This restaurant, established in 1928, is renowned in Georgia. The Varsity serves more Coca-Cola than any other restaurant, and an urban legend claims that they have a direct underground pipeline from the nearby Coke headquarters (not true). The atmosphere was wonderful, but I felt the food was over-rated. However, I'm glad I got to experience The Varsity, and it was a nice way to finish off a long weekend in Hotlanta.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Thanks, Stew + Hooray for Holgorsen!
My beloved Mountaineers have a new football coach. It might have been nice if things had worked out for this fall as Oliver Luck (who I admire) envisioned, but unfortunately it did not work out that way. Forced marriages don't usually work, and this setup was similar to an unhappy couple not divorcing in an effort to protect the kids. Inevitably, the split occurred sooner than later.
I welcome our new coach, and wish him the best. I was never a Stew hater like some folks were, but neither was I an unabashed Stew supporter. I appreciated him for stepping into the vacuum when Rodriguez abruptly left. [Note: Now that he has been fired from Michigan, I'm not going to call him Fraudriguez or the Product or any other such name—I'm still not thrilled with him, but at least I'm ready to move on.] I am forever grateful for Stew's leadership in that fantastic Fiesta Bowl win.
However, the next season displayed some reasons why his new coaching staff was not up to snuff. I went to the East Carolina game where we lost, followed by the devastating defeat by Colorado on ESPN. At least when we drove to Charlotte for the bowl game we got to see them beat UNC at the end of that season. The next two bowl games we attended (Jacksonville's Gator Bowl versus Florida State and the Champs Sports Bowl at Orlando against N.C. State) were not as much fun to watch.
Stew was a good guy, but was from a different era. Big time college football is changing rapidly. The old days of a father figure leader who keeps his job even during mediocre seasons are no more. It is a big business, and those who win (and especially in an innovative fashion) are going to thrive, and those who don't won't last long. Just having a winning season is not enough to keep your job. Coaches are measured against expectations, and WVU fans have high expectations. Losing to Syracuse and Connecticut as we did this year is simply not good enough.
To make matters worse, sometimes Stew looked confused on the sidelines during games. Some people didn't like his comments that they thought seemed crazy, like “Match the Mountains” or the Field Marshal Foch's quote ("Hard pressed on my right. My center is yielding. Impossible to maneuver. Situation excellent. I attack.") or a story about West Virginia from early in this century (http://rivals.yahoo.com/ncaa/football/blog/dr_saturday/post/Bill-Stewart-calls-on-Harriet-Beecher-Stowe-Ol?urn=ncaaf-128745). Some thought he was dumb, but he was a smarter guy than most of those who criticized him. He definitely loved West Virginia!
To me, Stew's biggest problem was his loyalty to those he hired. His biggest mistake was probably hiring Jeff Mullen to be his offensive coordinator. This happened only because his first choice—an old friend with whom he had coached in the Canadian Football League—was not allowed to get out of his contract. When that hiring fell through, Stewart talked with another old friend from West Virginia, Jim Grobe (the Wake Forest head coach), who recommended his young quarterback coach from his WF staff. Mullen had never served as an offensive coordinator, and while we probably needed to incorporate more passing than had been done in the Rodriguez era, the new offense never seemed to fully click. But Stew stuck by his hire, and it probably cost him his job.
Now we have a new head coach with no West Virginia connections. I hope he likes it here and stays a long time if he is as good as promised. I also hope that his little drinking problem in Cross Vegas (a smashup of Cross Lanes and Las Vegas) served as an adequate wake-up call to "police" his own behavior. We expect more from our coaches whose jobs include molding these young student athletes into top notch adults, as well as being someone who all West Virginians (even the non-drinkers and non-gamblers) can feel good about. The head coach at WVU is a huge job in this state. I hope that Holgorsen's new offensive staff meshes well with Casteel's defensive staff (most of whom have West Virginia connections), so that they become a cooperative cohesive coaching staff.
Most of all, I'm eager to put this chapter behind us and move on towards summer camp and then the opening game of the Holgorsen era. Let's Bring On The Mountaineers!!!
I welcome our new coach, and wish him the best. I was never a Stew hater like some folks were, but neither was I an unabashed Stew supporter. I appreciated him for stepping into the vacuum when Rodriguez abruptly left. [Note: Now that he has been fired from Michigan, I'm not going to call him Fraudriguez or the Product or any other such name—I'm still not thrilled with him, but at least I'm ready to move on.] I am forever grateful for Stew's leadership in that fantastic Fiesta Bowl win.
However, the next season displayed some reasons why his new coaching staff was not up to snuff. I went to the East Carolina game where we lost, followed by the devastating defeat by Colorado on ESPN. At least when we drove to Charlotte for the bowl game we got to see them beat UNC at the end of that season. The next two bowl games we attended (Jacksonville's Gator Bowl versus Florida State and the Champs Sports Bowl at Orlando against N.C. State) were not as much fun to watch.
Stew was a good guy, but was from a different era. Big time college football is changing rapidly. The old days of a father figure leader who keeps his job even during mediocre seasons are no more. It is a big business, and those who win (and especially in an innovative fashion) are going to thrive, and those who don't won't last long. Just having a winning season is not enough to keep your job. Coaches are measured against expectations, and WVU fans have high expectations. Losing to Syracuse and Connecticut as we did this year is simply not good enough.
To make matters worse, sometimes Stew looked confused on the sidelines during games. Some people didn't like his comments that they thought seemed crazy, like “Match the Mountains” or the Field Marshal Foch's quote ("Hard pressed on my right. My center is yielding. Impossible to maneuver. Situation excellent. I attack.") or a story about West Virginia from early in this century (http://rivals.yahoo.com/ncaa/football/blog/dr_saturday/post/Bill-Stewart-calls-on-Harriet-Beecher-Stowe-Ol?urn=ncaaf-128745). Some thought he was dumb, but he was a smarter guy than most of those who criticized him. He definitely loved West Virginia!
To me, Stew's biggest problem was his loyalty to those he hired. His biggest mistake was probably hiring Jeff Mullen to be his offensive coordinator. This happened only because his first choice—an old friend with whom he had coached in the Canadian Football League—was not allowed to get out of his contract. When that hiring fell through, Stewart talked with another old friend from West Virginia, Jim Grobe (the Wake Forest head coach), who recommended his young quarterback coach from his WF staff. Mullen had never served as an offensive coordinator, and while we probably needed to incorporate more passing than had been done in the Rodriguez era, the new offense never seemed to fully click. But Stew stuck by his hire, and it probably cost him his job.
Now we have a new head coach with no West Virginia connections. I hope he likes it here and stays a long time if he is as good as promised. I also hope that his little drinking problem in Cross Vegas (a smashup of Cross Lanes and Las Vegas) served as an adequate wake-up call to "police" his own behavior. We expect more from our coaches whose jobs include molding these young student athletes into top notch adults, as well as being someone who all West Virginians (even the non-drinkers and non-gamblers) can feel good about. The head coach at WVU is a huge job in this state. I hope that Holgorsen's new offensive staff meshes well with Casteel's defensive staff (most of whom have West Virginia connections), so that they become a cooperative cohesive coaching staff.
Most of all, I'm eager to put this chapter behind us and move on towards summer camp and then the opening game of the Holgorsen era. Let's Bring On The Mountaineers!!!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
The Greenbrier River Trail (GRT): A GReaT Trip
In the past, I've enjoyed long bicycle rides. I like the physical exertion as well as the mental solitude. It also takes some some bicycling skills to avoid any wrecks (especially when gawking at the scenery). I especially like the sense of exploration, not knowing exactly what lies ahead.
I've ridden the entire North Bend Rail Trail in one day (in fact, it was the day in 2007 when Anna was going to her job interview in Morgantown, and she dropped me near Clarksburg that morning to pedal my way home). I've previously written in my Facebook Notes section about my three day trek down the C&O Canal Path along the Potomac River to attend a conference in Washington. I've also explored all the bike trails (along the rivers from Shinnstown to Pt. Marion, the entire Deckers Creek trail, the Youghigheny bike path from Ohiopyle to Confluence, etc.) in the region near Morgantown.
I still had one major bike ride that I wanted to cross off my bucket list—the Greenbrier River Trail (GRT). This nearly 80 mile ride starts at Cass (home of the Cass Scenic Railroad) and finishes near Lewisburg. It is a wild and beautiful section of the state, with mile after mile of nature and little sign of civilization. The length is similar to the North Bend Rail Trail, but my one day North Bend blitz ride was downhill to Parkersburg, over a route that I already had experienced in segments (with lots of experience on the western half). I was not sure that trying a one day trip by myself on a trail I had never experienced was the prudent thing to do.
Fortunately, my Significant Other's Brother (but he's not an S.O.B.!)—who now lives in Columbus, Ohio—expressed an interest in riding the GRT with me. [By the way, I am his Sister's Significant Other, pronounced with an incredulous “Sso?”] Although somewhat new to long distance bicycling, he had met me recently in Athens, Ohio, to ride 36 miles together on the Adena Bikeway to Nelsonville and back. That practice day went well, and it seemed that we would be able to break the GRT into two segments of about 40 miles. Best of all, he is an accomplished outdoorsman, experienced camper, and first aid expert—valuable talents to have on such an epic adventure.
He picked me up after work last Thursday, and we drove to Cass, where we spent the night at the Route 66 Outpost. This general store has some “motel rooms” on the second floor which served our purpose well. We were able to leave his truck there over the weekend and get an early start on Friday morning.
The Route 66 Outpost is directly across the Greenbrier River (which is more like a stream at this northerly point) from the Cass Scenic Railroad State Park depot. I've done the Cass steam engine ride to the top of the mountain in my youth, and hope to do it again sometime. I highly recommend the historic train trip to anyone. Like rafting on the New River or hiking to Blackwater Falls, it is one of those iconic experiences in West Virginia.
The GRT actually begins about a half-mile south of the town of Cass, so we had to pedal on Rt. 66 for a short distance through town. The State Park has fixed up many of the old company houses for visitors to rent, and the town is very quaint. Soon we left the blacktop for the two-track hard-packed dirt and crushed stone bike trail. The first mile marker one sees is “80”, instantly reminding you of just how far you need to pedal!
Bicycle touring is a unique experience. You are always pressing onward, never sure what lies around the next bend, with plenty of nature and wildlife surrounding you at all times. Even when traveling with a partner, it is still a good way to get inside your head and contemplate the universe. The solitude is a wonderful escape from workweeks in my hectic cubicle. Since you are not motorized, things are a lot quieter than motorcycle or car touring. Often we had majestic views of the clear flowing river. Sometimes the sun is blocked by the canopy of trees, while on occasion you may be crossing a cleared pasture field.
It was during one of the few open areas that I heard an unusual noise. I turned around and saw a military C-130 four-engined cargo plane coming down the valley. When I first saw it, the wings were tilted as it had banked through the turn behind us between the ridge tops. It was just leveling out as it bore down on us. Initially I thought maybe it was in trouble, but it was under full power with no smoke, and was just making an exceptionally low pass through the valley. A few seconds later, it was gone. Later that afternoon, we heard another approaching plane, only this time it was a screaming jet fighter. Our vision of this one was obscured by the tree leaves, but it was obviously in a hurry. You might wonder why the military was buzzing us with aircraft? I've heard that the Greenbrier River valley is so sparsely populated that it is used as a training area for pilots to get used to flying low in mountainous terrain. Those two pilots certainly added some spice to our wilderness journey!
Speaking of wilderness, we didn't see any bears—although they likely saw us, hidden away from the trail itself. If the numerous berries along the path had been ripe, we likely would have encountered them. In fact, Beartown State Park is near where we camped Friday night. We did see lots of deer and other wildlife, including two snakes (neither of them dangerous—a garter snake and a black snake) and a couple of feral Collie dogs.
About mid-way the first day, we rolled into Marlinton, the county seat of Pocahontas County. We ventured off the trail to explore the town. After talking with the receptionist at the visitor center, we went to the Greenbrier Grill to eat lunch while sitting on their balcony deck overlooking the river. The view was nice, the food was good, and the neighbor's stereo—playing blues music loud enough for us to enjoy across the street—made it even better.
We covered 40 miles the first day before stopping to camp at one of the nice sites along the trail, complete with raised tent pad and fire ring. At dinner, I had my first M.R.E. (Meals Ready to Eat)--the military's method of providing a warm meal in the field. It uses a chemical reaction with water to heat the food. The chicken tetrazzini I ate wasn't bad, but I'm sure a steady diet of MREs would quickly grow tiresome.
A good fire is a must when camping, and we were able to get one going. There is something mesmerizing about watching the flames while alone in the wilderness. I remember reading an explanation a father made to his son when asked about “Where do flames come from?” The answer (which was far more eloquent than I can recreate) was that a tree spends day after day, year after year, decade after decade soaking up the solar energy of the sun. What one sees when burning a log on the campfire is all that power from the sun being released again. While I cannot tell that story as articulately as I remember reading it, I still enjoy that explanation.
Another great thing about camping is seeing the stars at night. Although the tree canopy precluded much of our view, the segment of the sky we could see was literally polluted with stars. In a city, one would only see a fraction of those stars, but in the wilderness, they are countless. It is no wonder why our ancestors (before the invention of the electric light, television, etc.) were fascinated with the night sky. It is truly amazing!
We packed up and took off the next morning. The weather had been perfect for this trip, with no rain and warm—but not overly hot—daytime temperatures. Again, we thoroughly enjoyed the scenery along the way. The southern half of the trail, as the river grows bigger, resulted in more kayaks and canoes. During one of our stops overlooking the river, the water was so clear I could watch a fisherman's every cast and follow his lure through the water back to him. At another stop, I watched a huge snapping turtle come up to the surface for air, before swimming off again under the surface. Yet another time, I watched a guy in a canoe reel in a nice trout (I assume—or maybe it was a bass). It was a relief to see that the water was crystal clear the entire length of the river. I love being around water of all types, but a flowing river with rocks and rapids can be as mesmerizing as watching a campfire.
We finally counted down the last few miles until arriving at the southern terminus. Anna came to pick us up and take us back to the hotel for the night. It had been a long, hard ride, and the shower sure felt great! Anna's nephew drove over to join us just for the night, and the four of us had a great meal at an authentic Irish pub before exploring Lewisburg, WV. It is a lovely old downtown with lots of history. Lewisburg recently won a contest proclaiming it as the “coolest small town in America.” Fayetteville won this same award several years ago, so West Virginia is fortunate to have two of the recent winners of this national award.
The next day, the three of us drove back north in Anna's car to pick up the truck back where we started at Cass. Along the way home, we passed the Greenbrier Resort as well as the National Radio Astronomy Observatory. This major science operation was located at Greenbank (near Cass) because the population was so sparse there would be little domestic electrical interference for these giant dishes to explore black holes, pulsars, and other interesting parts of our universe. Finally, another scientific aspect of our trip was the huge windmill farm on the ridgeline just west of Elkins, WV. I find these power generators to be very interesting, and don't consider them to be visual pollution. I think you can still appreciate nature while appreciating technology as well.
I think the “technology” of a good bicycle is the best way to see the countryside. You can cover more ground than walking, without the environmental impact (noise or pollution) that other forms of transportation entail. Bicycling is an excellent form of locomotion. This trip covered a wide expanse of technology, from the shrill sound of the steam locomotive's whistle at Cass to the quiet whoosh of the modern hi-tech wind turbines at Elkins. The bottom line is the Greenbrier River Trail was a GReaT trip!
I've ridden the entire North Bend Rail Trail in one day (in fact, it was the day in 2007 when Anna was going to her job interview in Morgantown, and she dropped me near Clarksburg that morning to pedal my way home). I've previously written in my Facebook Notes section about my three day trek down the C&O Canal Path along the Potomac River to attend a conference in Washington. I've also explored all the bike trails (along the rivers from Shinnstown to Pt. Marion, the entire Deckers Creek trail, the Youghigheny bike path from Ohiopyle to Confluence, etc.) in the region near Morgantown.
I still had one major bike ride that I wanted to cross off my bucket list—the Greenbrier River Trail (GRT). This nearly 80 mile ride starts at Cass (home of the Cass Scenic Railroad) and finishes near Lewisburg. It is a wild and beautiful section of the state, with mile after mile of nature and little sign of civilization. The length is similar to the North Bend Rail Trail, but my one day North Bend blitz ride was downhill to Parkersburg, over a route that I already had experienced in segments (with lots of experience on the western half). I was not sure that trying a one day trip by myself on a trail I had never experienced was the prudent thing to do.
Fortunately, my Significant Other's Brother (but he's not an S.O.B.!)—who now lives in Columbus, Ohio—expressed an interest in riding the GRT with me. [By the way, I am his Sister's Significant Other, pronounced with an incredulous “Sso?”] Although somewhat new to long distance bicycling, he had met me recently in Athens, Ohio, to ride 36 miles together on the Adena Bikeway to Nelsonville and back. That practice day went well, and it seemed that we would be able to break the GRT into two segments of about 40 miles. Best of all, he is an accomplished outdoorsman, experienced camper, and first aid expert—valuable talents to have on such an epic adventure.
He picked me up after work last Thursday, and we drove to Cass, where we spent the night at the Route 66 Outpost. This general store has some “motel rooms” on the second floor which served our purpose well. We were able to leave his truck there over the weekend and get an early start on Friday morning.
The Route 66 Outpost is directly across the Greenbrier River (which is more like a stream at this northerly point) from the Cass Scenic Railroad State Park depot. I've done the Cass steam engine ride to the top of the mountain in my youth, and hope to do it again sometime. I highly recommend the historic train trip to anyone. Like rafting on the New River or hiking to Blackwater Falls, it is one of those iconic experiences in West Virginia.
The GRT actually begins about a half-mile south of the town of Cass, so we had to pedal on Rt. 66 for a short distance through town. The State Park has fixed up many of the old company houses for visitors to rent, and the town is very quaint. Soon we left the blacktop for the two-track hard-packed dirt and crushed stone bike trail. The first mile marker one sees is “80”, instantly reminding you of just how far you need to pedal!
Bicycle touring is a unique experience. You are always pressing onward, never sure what lies around the next bend, with plenty of nature and wildlife surrounding you at all times. Even when traveling with a partner, it is still a good way to get inside your head and contemplate the universe. The solitude is a wonderful escape from workweeks in my hectic cubicle. Since you are not motorized, things are a lot quieter than motorcycle or car touring. Often we had majestic views of the clear flowing river. Sometimes the sun is blocked by the canopy of trees, while on occasion you may be crossing a cleared pasture field.
It was during one of the few open areas that I heard an unusual noise. I turned around and saw a military C-130 four-engined cargo plane coming down the valley. When I first saw it, the wings were tilted as it had banked through the turn behind us between the ridge tops. It was just leveling out as it bore down on us. Initially I thought maybe it was in trouble, but it was under full power with no smoke, and was just making an exceptionally low pass through the valley. A few seconds later, it was gone. Later that afternoon, we heard another approaching plane, only this time it was a screaming jet fighter. Our vision of this one was obscured by the tree leaves, but it was obviously in a hurry. You might wonder why the military was buzzing us with aircraft? I've heard that the Greenbrier River valley is so sparsely populated that it is used as a training area for pilots to get used to flying low in mountainous terrain. Those two pilots certainly added some spice to our wilderness journey!
Speaking of wilderness, we didn't see any bears—although they likely saw us, hidden away from the trail itself. If the numerous berries along the path had been ripe, we likely would have encountered them. In fact, Beartown State Park is near where we camped Friday night. We did see lots of deer and other wildlife, including two snakes (neither of them dangerous—a garter snake and a black snake) and a couple of feral Collie dogs.
About mid-way the first day, we rolled into Marlinton, the county seat of Pocahontas County. We ventured off the trail to explore the town. After talking with the receptionist at the visitor center, we went to the Greenbrier Grill to eat lunch while sitting on their balcony deck overlooking the river. The view was nice, the food was good, and the neighbor's stereo—playing blues music loud enough for us to enjoy across the street—made it even better.
We covered 40 miles the first day before stopping to camp at one of the nice sites along the trail, complete with raised tent pad and fire ring. At dinner, I had my first M.R.E. (Meals Ready to Eat)--the military's method of providing a warm meal in the field. It uses a chemical reaction with water to heat the food. The chicken tetrazzini I ate wasn't bad, but I'm sure a steady diet of MREs would quickly grow tiresome.
A good fire is a must when camping, and we were able to get one going. There is something mesmerizing about watching the flames while alone in the wilderness. I remember reading an explanation a father made to his son when asked about “Where do flames come from?” The answer (which was far more eloquent than I can recreate) was that a tree spends day after day, year after year, decade after decade soaking up the solar energy of the sun. What one sees when burning a log on the campfire is all that power from the sun being released again. While I cannot tell that story as articulately as I remember reading it, I still enjoy that explanation.
Another great thing about camping is seeing the stars at night. Although the tree canopy precluded much of our view, the segment of the sky we could see was literally polluted with stars. In a city, one would only see a fraction of those stars, but in the wilderness, they are countless. It is no wonder why our ancestors (before the invention of the electric light, television, etc.) were fascinated with the night sky. It is truly amazing!
We packed up and took off the next morning. The weather had been perfect for this trip, with no rain and warm—but not overly hot—daytime temperatures. Again, we thoroughly enjoyed the scenery along the way. The southern half of the trail, as the river grows bigger, resulted in more kayaks and canoes. During one of our stops overlooking the river, the water was so clear I could watch a fisherman's every cast and follow his lure through the water back to him. At another stop, I watched a huge snapping turtle come up to the surface for air, before swimming off again under the surface. Yet another time, I watched a guy in a canoe reel in a nice trout (I assume—or maybe it was a bass). It was a relief to see that the water was crystal clear the entire length of the river. I love being around water of all types, but a flowing river with rocks and rapids can be as mesmerizing as watching a campfire.
We finally counted down the last few miles until arriving at the southern terminus. Anna came to pick us up and take us back to the hotel for the night. It had been a long, hard ride, and the shower sure felt great! Anna's nephew drove over to join us just for the night, and the four of us had a great meal at an authentic Irish pub before exploring Lewisburg, WV. It is a lovely old downtown with lots of history. Lewisburg recently won a contest proclaiming it as the “coolest small town in America.” Fayetteville won this same award several years ago, so West Virginia is fortunate to have two of the recent winners of this national award.
The next day, the three of us drove back north in Anna's car to pick up the truck back where we started at Cass. Along the way home, we passed the Greenbrier Resort as well as the National Radio Astronomy Observatory. This major science operation was located at Greenbank (near Cass) because the population was so sparse there would be little domestic electrical interference for these giant dishes to explore black holes, pulsars, and other interesting parts of our universe. Finally, another scientific aspect of our trip was the huge windmill farm on the ridgeline just west of Elkins, WV. I find these power generators to be very interesting, and don't consider them to be visual pollution. I think you can still appreciate nature while appreciating technology as well.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Not a bastard
Rodney Dangerfield was a hard core New Yorker, yet in some ways, he must surely have a West Virginian connection. Just like Rodney, it seems we get no respect. The mainstream media and societal trendsetters in major metropolitan areas like Hollywood and New York, as well as regular folks in regular states, seem to always want to stereotype us in less than flattering ways. It makes West Virginians (and I mean this to include those who may not have been born here, but who consider themselves as West Virginians) feel like we always have to prove ourselves. Thus, we revel in our successes, and savor our victories. We band together to support each other.
Why do we feel this way? This is a theory about one way West Virginia came to be seen as the red-headed stepchild (with no offense intended to red-heads or stepchildren, but merely as a phrase to describe anyone as undervalued and/or not fully accepted outcasts).
Our state was first populated by hardy settlers who decided the eastern seaboard area was not for them. Whether by choice or necessity, they moved from the flat lands of eastern Virginia to the rugged terrain of the Appalachian mountains. After all, much of the good land was already taken by rich planters, many of whom had been granted royal decrees of land by the king. Rather than buy existing land, early settlers were brave enough to venture into the wilderness to claim their own land that had not been owned yet (notwithstanding the claims by Native Americans, who mostly used West Virginia as a shared hunting ground). It wasn't easy living there, but at least they were free.
As the exploration and settlement of America continued, the flat landscape and rich farmlands of the midwest beckoned. To many, the Appalachian mountains were merely an annoyance to get beyond to better land on the other side. A flood of new settlers for the rest of America bypassed our state. Those who stayed in our hills and hollers were hard workers who loved the land as well as the majestic views in our world. The difficulty in travel here made us more isolated, but I think we liked it that way.
In the beginning, the original state of Virginia stretched all the way to the Ohio River. However, the vast majority of the Old Dominion population lived in the flatter eastern part of the state which had been settled first. For the most part, the citizens there looked down on the western counties as less civilized. Heck, we even elected frontiersman Daniel Boone (who lived near Charleston at that time) to the fancy halls of the Virginia legislature!
Our needs were much different than those in the rest of the state, and those in power mostly ignored us. They apparently were happy to have our tax revenue, but we never seemed to get much of it back. The only major expenditure made by the state of Virginia within our current boundaries was the Transallegheny Lunatic Asylum at Weston. Thus, the leaders in Richmond only saw fit to send us their insanity cases.
One big difference between western and eastern Virginia was the institution of slavery. The mountainous features of the western counties were not conducive to large scale farming of tobacco, cotton, etc. Thus, we never had a large slave population compared to the rest of Virginia and other southern states. Plus, most of us were too poor to own slaves. Ours was not a slave economy. This played a major role in the birth of West Virginia as its own state.
When the civil war came along, we saw no need to secede from the country we loved. We were strong believers in the United States. If the folks in Richmond were going to join the Confederacy, then this was our chance to win our freedom and go our own way. Our independent streak was strong! Thus, western counties refused to join the confederacy and originally set themselves up as the reconstituted state of Virginia. This allowed us to have a government with representation in Washington as the loyal Virginians.
What many of us in the western counties really wanted was to become our own state, rather than serving as a “shadow government” of our former state. We knew that we had not been treated fairly by the eastern Virginians who had always looked down on us. This seemed like our chance to free ourselves from their longstanding mistreatment. Otherwise, after the war would be over, we would once again be taken advantage of by Richmond.
The hard part was for the national government to decide whether the part of Virginia that stayed loyal to the union could be admitted as a new state. There was a major Constitutional obstacle--Article 4, Section 3 states “...no State shall be formed or erected, within the jurisdiction of any other state, nor any state be formed by the junction of two or more States, or parts of States, without the consent of the Legislatures of the States concerned, as well as of the Congress.” Could loyalist Virginia, with an acting Governor and a portion of the Legislature sitting in Wheeling rather than Richmond legally consent to the creation of West Virginia? Even our great president from that era was torn as to what he should do. Obviously, eastern Virginia would be opposed to this, and although they were part of the Confederacy, one goal of the Civil War was to put down the rebellion and get back to being the United States. This controversy on how to get around the Constitution is why it took a few years until June of 1863 for us to become a state. It was not an easy decision. There is a famous statue of Lincoln in front of the West Virginia Capitol called “Lincoln walks at midnight” commemorating his deep contemplation of whether to allow our new state to be created.
This final decision was not without controversy. Since the Constitution clearly says that states cannot be made from other states, our statehood was questioned from the beginning. In fact, many referred to West Virginia as the bastard state, because of our illegitimate birth. From the start, we have always had to prove ourselves to others.
Once the Civil War was over, it didn't take long for the politicians in Richmond to go after us. First, they sued us over a technicality claiming that the eastern panhandle should not have been included in the new state of West Virginia. This bitterly contested case was taken all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court in 1871, but in the end, Virginia lost. [It was probably fortunate that the Supreme Court was able to reach its decision rather narrowly, and did not examine the overall constitutionality of our statehood.]
That was merely the first round—there was another round to go. You see, the state of Virginia had the audacity to sue West Virginia for what some would call “damages.” Before the Civil War, Virginia had sold bonds and thus taken on debt for various civil projects—primarily to improve areas now outside the boundaries of West Virginia, such as harbor improvements. After the Civil War, Richmond felt like we were liable to pay our share of debt that had been incurred while we were considered part of Virginia (regardless of the benefit to us). They contended that based on the fact that West Virginia constituted one-third of the geographic size of the original state of Virginia (despite not having one-third of the population nor holding one-third of the wealth), we should pay one-third of the bill (plus interest!). We fought their allegations, and it was a long, hard fight all the way to the Supreme Court again.
As often happens, just like Rodney, we got no respect. The U.S. Supreme Court finally decided in 1911 to side with Virginia, and we had to make a huge payment to them. The court allowed us to set up a payment schedule, because we couldn't afford to pay it all at once. However, it still made it rough on the growth and prosperity of our little state (especially during the Depression). Unfortunately, most of us have forgotten about this injustice, but at the time, most Mountain State folks were very aware of and upset about these debt payments to Virginia. There was a big celebration when the last payment was made in 1939.
Even though knowledge of these events has bypassed most current West Virginians, I think that perhaps subconsciously the questions about our heritage still impact us. Maybe it is just floating in the mountain air, or perhaps it has somehow been passed down through our DNA. Without really thinking about it, we all realize that unlike the Dakotas or the Carolinas (both equally balanced between north and south), there is no symmetry with the Virginias. Our state is sometimes seen as a sub-component of another state, unlike all other states. It really irks us when we tell someone we are from West Virginia and they reply with “Oh yeah, I drove through Roanoke once”--oblivious to the fact that West Virginia is a separate state, and not a region of Virginia.
All West Virginians have a sense of being disrespected—we tend to carry a chip on our shoulders. We know what it is like to be that red-headed stepchild, who must constantly prove worthy. Others may look down on us, but we are strong, we are independent, we are beautiful, and we are valuable. Regardless of how the Constitution might be interpreted by some, West Virginia is not the bastard state—we are the Mountain State, known as “Wild & Wonderful West Virginia.” We are the 35th star on Old Glory, and it is indeed, almost heaven.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
My 3-word speech
During my tenure on the Wood County School Board, I had the opportunity to sit through a lot of graduation ceremonies. Early in my career, we voted to change the high school graduations from all three being on the same night (with one or two of five board members attending each ceremony), to having each school holding their own graduation on successive nights (rotating each year as to who goes first). This allowed family members who might want to attend more than one ceremony to do so (such as grandparents with graduates at different schools). Thus, all five board members attended three nights of graduation ceremonies all in a row.
As I sat through all those speeches, I would sometimes think back to my own Parkersburg High School graduation night (Was it really 35 years ago? My how times flies!). It had rained that afternoon, so the irreversible decision was made to move the ceremony from the football stadium to inside the Memorial Fieldhouse. However, the rain quit and the sun came out a few hours before the ceremony, making it a hot and humid evening—in fact, it was downright sticky with our dress clothes covered by the suffocating graduation robes.
PHS was the largest school in the state at that time, and I remember that the persons sitting on either side of me were strangers whom I had never met. The guy on one side was probably a vo-tech student. I think the girl must have been a teenage mom—back then, they didn't allow students who were pregnant to stay in school with the rest of us. That attitude is certainly antiquated today. By the time I was elected to the school board in 1992, one of our high schools had its own day care center, where teen moms could leave their babies while they attended class, and other students could get credit for learning child care while taking care of them.
Besides memories of my own graduation, the main thing that I thought about during all those graduation speeches was that they were too long. My own graduation in the stifling heat of the jam-packed Fieldhouse was way too long, and decades later the ceremonies had not become any shorter. I vowed to myself that if I were ever invited to give a graduation speech, it would be one of the most shortest graduation speeches ever. I decided to try and distill the essential message down to the fewest number of words. Eventually, I came up with my three word graduation speech.
You see, I think one of the most important thoughts to get across to young people finishing school is not about savoring the accomplishment of getting a diploma. Your education should not end with a mere handshake and a walk off the stage. Yes, graduation is a defined milepost that everyone should strive to achieve, but none of us should ever stop learning. Don't kid yourself into thinking that just because you now have a piece of paper, you don't need to study or read or learn new skills. The education process needs to be a continuing, life long practice.
The world is changing far too rapidly to not continue using the same study habits and inquisitive nature that leads to reaching the graduation milepost. Explore more about what interests you—there is a lot more to the Internet than just music, videos, and games. Feed your curiosity. Learn more about your job so that you can get ahead. Those who choose to never pick up a book again and who only want to watch Jersey Shore, Jerry Springer, or whatever other junk TV shows are popular hits of the day are going to get left behind in the game of life (anyone remember that board game?). They become the roadkill along the side of the information superhighway.
The key is to continue using the skills that allowed you to graduate, to keep you going as technology and society evolve. Graduation is not about finishing school—it is about starting life, whether it is life in a job, in a marriage, in another institution of higher learning, or whatever. In today's world, if you stop learning, you will soon be going backwards. You can't be stagnant. Always keep putting one foot in front of the other, and constantly add to your wisdom. This is how one succeeds.
And most of all, heed the three words of my graduation speech: NEVER STOP LEARNING!
As I sat through all those speeches, I would sometimes think back to my own Parkersburg High School graduation night (Was it really 35 years ago? My how times flies!). It had rained that afternoon, so the irreversible decision was made to move the ceremony from the football stadium to inside the Memorial Fieldhouse. However, the rain quit and the sun came out a few hours before the ceremony, making it a hot and humid evening—in fact, it was downright sticky with our dress clothes covered by the suffocating graduation robes.
PHS was the largest school in the state at that time, and I remember that the persons sitting on either side of me were strangers whom I had never met. The guy on one side was probably a vo-tech student. I think the girl must have been a teenage mom—back then, they didn't allow students who were pregnant to stay in school with the rest of us. That attitude is certainly antiquated today. By the time I was elected to the school board in 1992, one of our high schools had its own day care center, where teen moms could leave their babies while they attended class, and other students could get credit for learning child care while taking care of them.
Besides memories of my own graduation, the main thing that I thought about during all those graduation speeches was that they were too long. My own graduation in the stifling heat of the jam-packed Fieldhouse was way too long, and decades later the ceremonies had not become any shorter. I vowed to myself that if I were ever invited to give a graduation speech, it would be one of the most shortest graduation speeches ever. I decided to try and distill the essential message down to the fewest number of words. Eventually, I came up with my three word graduation speech.
You see, I think one of the most important thoughts to get across to young people finishing school is not about savoring the accomplishment of getting a diploma. Your education should not end with a mere handshake and a walk off the stage. Yes, graduation is a defined milepost that everyone should strive to achieve, but none of us should ever stop learning. Don't kid yourself into thinking that just because you now have a piece of paper, you don't need to study or read or learn new skills. The education process needs to be a continuing, life long practice.
The world is changing far too rapidly to not continue using the same study habits and inquisitive nature that leads to reaching the graduation milepost. Explore more about what interests you—there is a lot more to the Internet than just music, videos, and games. Feed your curiosity. Learn more about your job so that you can get ahead. Those who choose to never pick up a book again and who only want to watch Jersey Shore, Jerry Springer, or whatever other junk TV shows are popular hits of the day are going to get left behind in the game of life (anyone remember that board game?). They become the roadkill along the side of the information superhighway.
The key is to continue using the skills that allowed you to graduate, to keep you going as technology and society evolve. Graduation is not about finishing school—it is about starting life, whether it is life in a job, in a marriage, in another institution of higher learning, or whatever. In today's world, if you stop learning, you will soon be going backwards. You can't be stagnant. Always keep putting one foot in front of the other, and constantly add to your wisdom. This is how one succeeds.
And most of all, heed the three words of my graduation speech: NEVER STOP LEARNING!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
"Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth" (Proverbs 24:17)
After digesting yesterday's big news, I started to write an essay last night about the death of Osama bin Laden. However, I decided to “step away from the keyboard” and mull it over for another day. My fear is that some of you might take this as criticism—but that is not my intent. It is merely my way of recording my own thoughts, which I have found to be a cathartic exercise. I am not out to change the minds of those who disagree, but perhaps I can offer a chance to contemplate the complexities of this development.
Many of my friends were overjoyed with news of Osama's death, but that was not my first reaction. I can't say that I get excited about the death of any man, even one whose tactics I abhor. Instead, my first thoughts were that maybe the USA could declare victory, bring our troops home to their families, and use the savings to help balance the budget (can you say win-win-win?).
I also kept thinking about the simple saying “What would Jesus do?” I grew up with a red letter edition of the King James Bible, and always felt that the red verses were the most important. I admire that Thomas Jefferson created his own “Jeffersonian Bible” by eliminating everything except the words of Jesus Christ. From what I know of Jesus, I don't think his reaction to the big news would be the same as most Americans. After all, He said “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” There are many other similar passages urging us towards forgiveness of others, and trusting God to handle the judgment and punishment responsibilities.
I realize that Al Qaeda and the horror of 9/11 makes us want a special exemption from the need to forgive. I don't mean to sound like a cheerleader or an apologist for the despicable actions of terrorists. However, I am reminded of the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (a few of you shared this quote as your status): "I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." Well said, Martin! I think Jesus would be proud of these remarks.
As an undergrad in the late '70s (during the Cold War days), I took a fascinating class on the history of Russia. I learned so much that I had not previously known during that semester (especially in those days, when the vast majority of Americans knew few facts about our avowed enemy). I remember writing a term paper on “The Mirror Image in U.S.-Soviet Relations” that explored how little we knew of each other, and how both sides often attribute positive characteristics to themselves and ignore any negative characteristics. We wanted things to be black and white; good versus evil. I won't complicate this essay by recreating that one, but in some of the same respects, we continue to only see what we want to see in Al Qaeda. We build them up into a formidable opponent, as if they are as organized and as large as the Soviet military was. Osama bin Laden served as the perfect boogeyman to fit our desired paradigm.
It seems to me that one of our life goals should be to become more civilized. Society must advance, mankind must evolve. Although humans are imperfect, we should still strive for improvement. Rather than falling into the same old trap of taunting and fighting, we should try to understand our differences. Rather than turning Osama into a evil tyrannical leader, we must make more of an effort to understand what motivates most terrorists.
While I don't claim to be an expert on this subject (there were no classes of this topic back when I was an undergrad), it seems to me that there are a few points that Americans must not ignore nor evade. First, is the way that Western countries decided to artificially turn Palestine into Israel (primarily as a response to the holocaust—something done by the Germans ended up hurting Palestinians, who had nothing to do with it). The vast majority of Americans are clueless as to how Israel was established, but if they really understood the history of the displacement of Palestinians, they might realize why we are so hated in the Middle East.
Another major factor that probably fuels anti-Americanism is the oil industry. Our insatiable appetite for oil eventually found a home in the Arab countries, overturning some governments and replacing them with puppet leaders (for example, the Shah of Iran). It made some families rich, and generally promoted the materialism and cultural values of the West over the traditional culture and local religion.
The preceding paragraphs definitely do not justify flying airliners into the World Trade Center, but peace will only come when we understand each other better. We can assassinate Osama or other individual leaders, but like the arcade game “Whack-a-Mole” another one will always pop up. Anyone can become a terrorists if they are so motivated, and little can be done to stop them. I fear that killing Osama does not end this jihad against America. Reprisals will likely come until we communicate with all sides better and understand what motivates them. I'm not saying they are right—but our enemies need to be understood rather than reviled.
Too often we want to paint things as a simple dichotomy—making everything either black or white, yes or no, right or wrong. However, reality is much more complex than that. We must explore the gray areas. This seems to me to be the direction towards the success we should all desire--lasting peace and prosperity.
Finally, I saw a bumper sticker recently that has stuck in my head through these latest developments. I like it when something short enough to fit on a bumper sticker can be so thought provoking. I think it makes a fitting conclusion.
The world is my country
Mankind is my brethren
Doing good is my religion
Many of my friends were overjoyed with news of Osama's death, but that was not my first reaction. I can't say that I get excited about the death of any man, even one whose tactics I abhor. Instead, my first thoughts were that maybe the USA could declare victory, bring our troops home to their families, and use the savings to help balance the budget (can you say win-win-win?).
I also kept thinking about the simple saying “What would Jesus do?” I grew up with a red letter edition of the King James Bible, and always felt that the red verses were the most important. I admire that Thomas Jefferson created his own “Jeffersonian Bible” by eliminating everything except the words of Jesus Christ. From what I know of Jesus, I don't think his reaction to the big news would be the same as most Americans. After all, He said “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” There are many other similar passages urging us towards forgiveness of others, and trusting God to handle the judgment and punishment responsibilities.
I realize that Al Qaeda and the horror of 9/11 makes us want a special exemption from the need to forgive. I don't mean to sound like a cheerleader or an apologist for the despicable actions of terrorists. However, I am reminded of the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (a few of you shared this quote as your status): "I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." Well said, Martin! I think Jesus would be proud of these remarks.
As an undergrad in the late '70s (during the Cold War days), I took a fascinating class on the history of Russia. I learned so much that I had not previously known during that semester (especially in those days, when the vast majority of Americans knew few facts about our avowed enemy). I remember writing a term paper on “The Mirror Image in U.S.-Soviet Relations” that explored how little we knew of each other, and how both sides often attribute positive characteristics to themselves and ignore any negative characteristics. We wanted things to be black and white; good versus evil. I won't complicate this essay by recreating that one, but in some of the same respects, we continue to only see what we want to see in Al Qaeda. We build them up into a formidable opponent, as if they are as organized and as large as the Soviet military was. Osama bin Laden served as the perfect boogeyman to fit our desired paradigm.
It seems to me that one of our life goals should be to become more civilized. Society must advance, mankind must evolve. Although humans are imperfect, we should still strive for improvement. Rather than falling into the same old trap of taunting and fighting, we should try to understand our differences. Rather than turning Osama into a evil tyrannical leader, we must make more of an effort to understand what motivates most terrorists.
While I don't claim to be an expert on this subject (there were no classes of this topic back when I was an undergrad), it seems to me that there are a few points that Americans must not ignore nor evade. First, is the way that Western countries decided to artificially turn Palestine into Israel (primarily as a response to the holocaust—something done by the Germans ended up hurting Palestinians, who had nothing to do with it). The vast majority of Americans are clueless as to how Israel was established, but if they really understood the history of the displacement of Palestinians, they might realize why we are so hated in the Middle East.
Another major factor that probably fuels anti-Americanism is the oil industry. Our insatiable appetite for oil eventually found a home in the Arab countries, overturning some governments and replacing them with puppet leaders (for example, the Shah of Iran). It made some families rich, and generally promoted the materialism and cultural values of the West over the traditional culture and local religion.
The preceding paragraphs definitely do not justify flying airliners into the World Trade Center, but peace will only come when we understand each other better. We can assassinate Osama or other individual leaders, but like the arcade game “Whack-a-Mole” another one will always pop up. Anyone can become a terrorists if they are so motivated, and little can be done to stop them. I fear that killing Osama does not end this jihad against America. Reprisals will likely come until we communicate with all sides better and understand what motivates them. I'm not saying they are right—but our enemies need to be understood rather than reviled.
Too often we want to paint things as a simple dichotomy—making everything either black or white, yes or no, right or wrong. However, reality is much more complex than that. We must explore the gray areas. This seems to me to be the direction towards the success we should all desire--lasting peace and prosperity.
Finally, I saw a bumper sticker recently that has stuck in my head through these latest developments. I like it when something short enough to fit on a bumper sticker can be so thought provoking. I think it makes a fitting conclusion.
The world is my country
Mankind is my brethren
Doing good is my religion
Party like it's 1949
Yesterday was the 37th Governor's Cup Regatta at the University of Charleston. Over the years it has developed into more than a crew race—even during my undergrad days, the races for some folks were merely an excuse to spend a Saturday afternoon on the campus riverbank (across from the state capitol), often with beautiful weather and blooms on the trees and flowers. GovCup became more a celebration of spring and a last big fling for students before final exams reared their ugly heads in a few weeks. Because of its popularity as a spring event on campus, GovCup became a favorite for alumni, providing a complementary event to Homecoming (Fall Festival) but in the first half of each year.
With the growth people from my generation using Facebook in recent years, lots of us have been reconnecting with our college classmates. Last year's GovCup was a phenomenal experience, with more alumni on campus than probably any event in UC history. This year, Easter (which is governed by the lunar calendar) came later than normal, and unfortunately coincided with GovCup. This conflict was sure to hurt attendance, plus the weather report was pessimistic. In fact, the rains, flooding, and debris on the river caused the regatta to almost get cancelled. A last minute go/no-go decision was made, and they ultimately decided to not cancel the entire event. Fortunately, the sun came out about noon, and it ended up being a beautiful day.
Although there were fewer alums from my era in attendance this year, those who made it had a great time. The alumni office provided a nice buffet in the rotunda (one of the most beautiful rooms on a beautiful campus). Some of us ventured off to tour the campus. We marveled at the new student fitness center, with its windows overlooking the river. In our day, there was one universal gym weight machine in a windowless basement room in the phys ed building. Except for the new fitness center built onto the front, the rest of the phys ed building/Eddie King Gym complex was pretty much still the same, bringing back lots of memories for us—although it is overdue for an update. Fundraising is now beginning to replace this antiquated building (note to self—send a check).
We got an official escorted tour to see the fancy suite apartments in the new East Dorm (and parking garage) that replaced Dickinson Hall girls dorm—they were amazing compared to the old-fashioned cramped dorm rooms we had. The only remaining dormitory from our era is Cox Hall, where I spent three of the best years of my life. After seeing the new dorm as part of an official tour, we had to try to relive our memories and get inside the old dorm, even if none of us had a keycard to get us in (hey, that was my home for years, and I still feel like I should be welcome to walk into that place). I found a door ajar that allowed us to get inside and roam around (and one girl invited us to check out her room). Cox Hall is now all single rooms, and the group restrooms now have individual shower stalls. The laundry facilities are no longer in the basement, but instead conveniently located on each floor. Cox Hall is not nearly as palatial as the other new dorms, but I would still be willing to live there today.
What struck me the hardest yesterday was realizing that we were wandering around the campus as alums who had come back although it had been 31 years since I graduated. During my student days, I can remember events that drew “old people” back to campus. It dawned on me that if I were a senior in 1980, our visit yesterday would be the equivalent to us seeing alums from the Class of 1949 roaming around (31 years earlier). Holy Cow! My former student self would have thought that folks who had graduated in 1949 were really old people, yet I don't feel all that far removed from those days (especially while visiting with my friends from that era). How could we now be the equivalent of the Class of 1949?
Later Saturday evening, a group of us gathered at a friend's house to socialize. All of us “old folks” continued to visit and tell stories from the old days, and enjoyed lots of music from that era (plus a special concert by Sue B., who is still as phenomenal on the guitar as she was when we were students). It was a great time that continued long into the night—just like it usually did when we were younger. Prince did a song in the early '80s that talked about partying like its 1999. Well, last night we partied like it was 1949! And I think we had a better time than whatever party those in the actual class of 1949 would have had after being on campus back in 1980. We still rock!
With the growth people from my generation using Facebook in recent years, lots of us have been reconnecting with our college classmates. Last year's GovCup was a phenomenal experience, with more alumni on campus than probably any event in UC history. This year, Easter (which is governed by the lunar calendar) came later than normal, and unfortunately coincided with GovCup. This conflict was sure to hurt attendance, plus the weather report was pessimistic. In fact, the rains, flooding, and debris on the river caused the regatta to almost get cancelled. A last minute go/no-go decision was made, and they ultimately decided to not cancel the entire event. Fortunately, the sun came out about noon, and it ended up being a beautiful day.
Although there were fewer alums from my era in attendance this year, those who made it had a great time. The alumni office provided a nice buffet in the rotunda (one of the most beautiful rooms on a beautiful campus). Some of us ventured off to tour the campus. We marveled at the new student fitness center, with its windows overlooking the river. In our day, there was one universal gym weight machine in a windowless basement room in the phys ed building. Except for the new fitness center built onto the front, the rest of the phys ed building/Eddie King Gym complex was pretty much still the same, bringing back lots of memories for us—although it is overdue for an update. Fundraising is now beginning to replace this antiquated building (note to self—send a check).
We got an official escorted tour to see the fancy suite apartments in the new East Dorm (and parking garage) that replaced Dickinson Hall girls dorm—they were amazing compared to the old-fashioned cramped dorm rooms we had. The only remaining dormitory from our era is Cox Hall, where I spent three of the best years of my life. After seeing the new dorm as part of an official tour, we had to try to relive our memories and get inside the old dorm, even if none of us had a keycard to get us in (hey, that was my home for years, and I still feel like I should be welcome to walk into that place). I found a door ajar that allowed us to get inside and roam around (and one girl invited us to check out her room). Cox Hall is now all single rooms, and the group restrooms now have individual shower stalls. The laundry facilities are no longer in the basement, but instead conveniently located on each floor. Cox Hall is not nearly as palatial as the other new dorms, but I would still be willing to live there today.
What struck me the hardest yesterday was realizing that we were wandering around the campus as alums who had come back although it had been 31 years since I graduated. During my student days, I can remember events that drew “old people” back to campus. It dawned on me that if I were a senior in 1980, our visit yesterday would be the equivalent to us seeing alums from the Class of 1949 roaming around (31 years earlier). Holy Cow! My former student self would have thought that folks who had graduated in 1949 were really old people, yet I don't feel all that far removed from those days (especially while visiting with my friends from that era). How could we now be the equivalent of the Class of 1949?
Later Saturday evening, a group of us gathered at a friend's house to socialize. All of us “old folks” continued to visit and tell stories from the old days, and enjoyed lots of music from that era (plus a special concert by Sue B., who is still as phenomenal on the guitar as she was when we were students). It was a great time that continued long into the night—just like it usually did when we were younger. Prince did a song in the early '80s that talked about partying like its 1999. Well, last night we partied like it was 1949! And I think we had a better time than whatever party those in the actual class of 1949 would have had after being on campus back in 1980. We still rock!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Camels Are Too Big
I'm one who never got into worshipping the rich. I feel like the Presidency is the most important job in the world, and if I ever make more than his $400,000 annual salary, then something is out of balance with my compensation. I know some might disagree, but I don't like the trappings of wealth. To me, being rich is a sort of like a zero sum game—extravagance on their part generally means that others are getting shorted. Perhaps I spent too much time as an undergrad studying the barons of industry during the Gilded Age (and results such as the coalfield wars and the Progressive Era).
I remember when “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” started back in the '80s. I never watched it because I had absolutely no interest. Just the commercials with Robin Leach's heavy British accent celebrating the extravagance of the rich made me want to hurl. Unfortunately, this was just the beginning of the aggrandizement of the rich and the celebration of celebrities, as the increase in cable channels led to everything from MTV's “Cribs” to “NYC Prep” on Bravo (not to mention all the fictional shows focused on the wealthy—Falconcrest, Dallas, etc.). All my students know that I often hold up Paris Hilton as the ultimate example of this wealth worship, because she became a celebrity not for any singing or acting talent, athleticism, or particular business acuity, but primarily because through her inheritance, she is filthy rich.
Today, there are two network reality shows on Sunday night dealing with the upper echelons of American society. These shows are giving the rich a chance to see what the rest of us live with on a daily basis. As you may know, I'm not big on watching TV (and only pay for basic cable), but it is often background noise as I read or surf the web. However, I've made a point to watch both of these and want to share my thoughts on them.
The first was Undercover Boss on CBS which began last year. I liked the premise of getting the CEO out of the his fancy office and into the real work. This is a concept that I think is important but is often sorely lacking today. I was a data center manager in the late '80s, and every Friday when the load of printer paper arrived, I would join with whichever employee's turn it was to unload the pallets. This was the most demanding physical labor component of their job, and I wanted them to see their manager sharing the workload. I started dressing more casual on Friday's because of this, and actually was called into the Division Director's office for wearing jeans, but he reluctantly decided to allow me to continue (because of this incident, I consider myself somewhat of a pioneer for casual Friday workplace attire where I work). It proved to be a good bonding experience with the staff because we talked as we worked. In addition to unloading boxes of paper, I also made a point to try and learn all the various job responsibilities, and even worked the afternoon and midnight shifts to experience life outside the normal workday.
Having watched some of these Undercover Boss episodes for the past two seasons, they seem to always follow a script. The boss has a hard time doing the real work, the boss discovers he has some incredible employees who are key to the success of the company, and then the boss calls them in and gives them some token of his appreciation. Sometimes the boss actually decides to change corporate policy because of what he has experienced. The boss always considers it an eye-opening experience (why did he have to wait until CBS created this show to realize what he was missing?).
To me, the internal changes that result are the most satisfying part of the show. I only hope that the empathy displayed by the boss continues long after the cameras are gone. In fact, I hope that Undercover Boss eventually does follow-up episodes to see how things went for everybody a year or so after the show aired. It seems to me that the producers will have a hard time continuing the original premise, since the show's popularity should make all employees suspicious of a new person being filmed in training. Let's hope that follow-ups don't show that everything went back to the status quo, with the top dogs once again isolated in their ivory towers enjoying their tea and crumpets, having forgotten the lessons from the show (which should include continued efforts to reach out to the real workers of the company).
The other show that I have watched a couple of times is far less worthy in my eyes. This year, ABC decided to take some millionaires and have them live like a pauper for a week, do some volunteer work, and then write some checks at the end of it all, with the cameras rolling on them the whole time. I have decided that this show is more about stroking the ego's of the millionaires than anything else, letting them feel like they care by giving away a few thousand to some worthy non-profits that they never knew existed. Let me educate the rich folks: THERE ARE AMAZING PEOPLE ALL OVER THIS COUNTRY TRYING TO DO GOOD DEEDS THROUGH NON-PROFITS ALL THE TIME, WITH NEVER ENOUGH MONEY. You don't need to be the center of attention through a national TV show to help them out! Quit isolating yourselves in your mansions and yachts with your fellow jet-setters (flying first class, of course, if not on your private jets) and realize that America needs your help.
I am afraid that the follow-ups to Secret Millionaire would reveal less of a lasting effect than the Undercover Boss follow-ups. These millionaires are not fully connected to the people they met, unlike Undercover Boss which at least maintains a boss/worker relationship after the show. The one week immersion experience is too easy for the Secret Millionaires to put behind them and move on, feeling good about the fact that they wrote a few checks (and occasionally popping in the DVD from “their show” to share with friends at cocktail parties their televised experience among the little people). At least the Undercover Bosses will still be living in the same corporation, and thus may better understand the reasons why changes are necessary. But then again, maybe I am overly optimistic about the potential for change in corporate cultures. The follow-ups to both these shows may end up being a disappointment.
By the way, can you tell from my rantings that I am not into conspicuous consumption? I realize that wealth is relative, and that I certainly am more comfortable than many (with what some might consider luxuries such as a Prius, a motorcycle, vacations, etc.), but my modest home would never impress Robin Leach. I don't aspire for earthly riches. One of my favorite Biblical quotes from Jesus Christ is: “For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
My “Take” on Lotteries
For most of the 20th century, there were no state lotteries. Only in the last few decades did cash-strapped states decide to promote gambling, and take away the “numbers racket” from the organized crime gangs. There had been a social stigma against gambling, whether based on religion or the simple mathematics of the odds. I grew up in a world where good people didn't gamble.
My first exposure to blatant underworld gambling was at college, where if you wanted to bet on sports games, there was a guy on campus who would sell you a “parlay card.” I never bothered with it, in part because I never felt like I had that much disposable income (as some of you know, I have a reputation for being “frugal”).
One lesson I did learn at college was to be careful about making bets. I once foolishly bet $20 that a friend of mine wouldn't drink a glass of cafeteria slop that had been poured together as a group of us idly chatted after dinner. The mixture was so gross I was certain he would not be able to get it down (and keep it down). As it turned out, he managed to do it, and then wanted his money. I had to “man up” and fork over the bet. That bet cost me dearly, but taught me a life lesson that has lasted far beyond that one night.
By the early '80s when I was in Morgantown getting my MPA/JD at WVU, Pennsylvania had a state lottery, and the TV stations covered their nightly drawings. Indeed, in 1980 there was an infamous attempt to rig the Pennsylvania Lottery by injecting white paint into all but the #6 and #4 ping-pong balls. Those in the know played all the combinations of those numbers, and it resulted in the biggest payout ever—thus raising suspicions and leading to the discovery of the conspiracy. Ironically, the winning number that night was the “Mark of the Beast”--666. [The first movie date that Anna and I had together was for the 2000 film “Lucky Numbers” starring John Travolta, based on this incident.]
In 1981, I remember driving with a girlfriend (who was from PA) across the state line from Morgantown to Point Marion for the sole purpose of buying my first lottery ticket for the nightly three digit drawing. With her help, I was going to sample the forbidden fruit of gambling on a lottery! I had carefully selected the three numbers which I considered my luckiest. In the back of my head, I thought there was a chance I could win with some beginner's luck. Of course, I didn't win (and never have since).
The West Virginia Legislature around the same time was beginning to consider a lottery as well, which required the people of the state to amend the Constitution. I did a paper for my State and Local Government class about this issue. I had the good fortune of meeting Kate Long (some of you probably know her voice from WV Public Radio commentaries, MountainStage, etc.), a wonderful person--who no doubt doesn't remember me--working for the WV Citizens Action Group at the time. As I recall, she provided me lots of data showing that a small state like West Virginia may not be able to support a profitable lottery, especially with our Bible Belt propensities. Lotteries end up being a regressive tax on the lower classes. My paper and my vote went against starting a lottery, but it happened.
One of the keys to the WV Lottery becoming profitable was the advent of multi-state combined contests. Our state was an original member of the Powerball consortium--without its big jackpots, we may have had problems breaking even with the original concept. Of course, this shows how there are sometimes new developments that cannot always be foreseen when deciding how to vote on an issue.
I have on rare occasions purchased lottery tickets since that initial foray into Pennsylvania in 1981, but they have been few and far between. Despite how fantastic the jackpot sounds, the odds are clearly against the player (just like in a casino, another place where I don't waste my money). There are a lot of people who play the lottery on a regular basis who clearly should not be wasting their limited resources in the hopes of winning big.
Here's my take on lotteries: if you get some enjoyment from it, AND CAN AFFORD IT, then I appreciate your donation to our state (and indeed, that is how it should be considered—a donation to the state coffers). If you are not well off (and especially if you are on welfare, food stamps, etc.), then I'd suggest not wasting your money (but hey, who am I to tell you not to waste your money?). Heck, in my mind, if have any debts at all, then why should you be voluntarily forking over your hard-earned money to the state when you could be paying yourself? Take care of yourself first—and hoping for a lottery payoff is not the way to do it. I've heard the odds of getting struck by lightning are greater than winning the lottery.
I have always remembered the magic three numbers I picked for my first “Pick 3” lottery chance in 1981 whenever I hear the nightly lottery report. In the past 30 years, I've only heard my numbers hit a time or two (and had no real remorse for not playing), but virtually every night they are not winners. The payoff from the simple Daily 3 would never have made up for the cost if I had really played those numbers every day, instead of just playing them in my mind.
For those of you who dream of hitting a big Powerball jackpot, please realize how many big winners have found it to be as much a curse as a blessing. Rather than turning their life around, winning often turns it upside down. West Virginia's Jack Whittaker is a prime example, but others have also found it to be more difficult than they had imagined. If by chance I ever play a Powerball and win it, I will be working to donate the majority of it as quickly as I can. But I don't plan on facing this problem, because there is an extremely low probability that I will buy a ticket (especially for a big jackpot, since it seems to me that the increased number of players means you may need to split the pot) and an even lower probability that I will win. One of the lotteries had an ad campaign that claimed “you gotta play to win.” However, not playing is how I come out ahead.
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