THE CHIEF

 The first time I laid eyes on Dwight Smith, he was coaching his Karns High baseball team against Doyle High’s team. Dwight had just blown a valve over a call made by the umpire, and his loud voice informed the entire community that the ump couldn’t find his behind with both hands and never made a correct call in his life. I asked the Doyle coach, Bobby Campbell, who in the world that maniac was. Her replied,” Oh, that’s just the Chief.” Little did I know that in a few short years I would be teaching with the Chief. We became close friends, and I grew to love the guy. 

Over the years, Dwight was one of the most successful baseball coaches in the area. His friend and nemesis, Bud Bales, always seemed to have the right answers to beat Karns teams. He kept up with his record and could tell anyone how many victories he’d accumulated.  

Players have bunches of stories about the Chief, and each one is hilarious. One related how Dwight loved to talk. He could discuss any part of the game of baseball, and over the years, he actually did. His explanations lasted forever. He’d have his players sit against a wall and begin. Boys began nodding off; they squirmed and zoned out. Dwight wasn’t aware of anything because he was in a zone.  

My son was one of hundreds of boys who attended Dwight’s summer baseball camp. Dallas is now 38 now, but he still remembers verbatim the instructions that Dwight gave for throwing a curve ball. He loved that coach and wanted to play for him in high school.  

The coach never had any problem saying exactly what was on his mind. My wife tells me that I have no filter; Chief didn’t have one or anything to hold one. I watched at lunch one day at school as he made a statement to a football coach. The man disagreed with him, and before I could blink, the two were ready to fight. No, Dwight never backed down. At the same time, he had a great sense of humor, and his laugh was contagious. He teased and taunted others, and he never minded others doing the same to him.  

A couple of years ago, the Chief was inducted into the Tennessee high school hall of fame. Players who were near my age showed up, as well as younger men to watch a man whom they admired be rewarded for so many years of devotion to the game.   

A Facebook post two days ago informed us that Dwight’s illness had worsened. He spent time in the hospital, and his son Shane had moved him to a nursing home. We were told that the time was short to see Dwight, who now lives in Illinois. Because that kind of trip is impossible for most of us, we’ve replied to the post with prayers and well wishes.  

The man whom I thought was a maniac the first time I saw him has been a good, close friend. His time with us is limited, and I want all to know what a good, decent man and coach Dwight Smith is. There will never be another Chief, nor should there be. My friend, know that you are loved and appreciated by your players and friends. You will forever be remembered as one of the best parts of the game of baseball.  

GOLF BUDDIES

 I started playing golf after I married Amy. Her Poppa played and wanted me to go with him. I enjoyed the time with him, but my game was filled with hacks at the ball and worm burners that rolled along the fairways. At other times, the dangerous slice that I had hit houses, screened in porches, and trees. Still, I liked being with my father-in-law. 

During my teaching career, I taught a 7:00 a.m. class, which allowed me to leave early. On many days, I made my way to the golf course to play at least 9 holes. I have played in dangerously hot summers and frigid winters. I’ve even teed off as snow flurries turned into huge flakes. The bug had certainly bitten me, and I was hopelessly hooked on playing golf.  

For about 30 years, I’ve swung the clubs with little success of becoming a better player. Two different times I took lessons from pros, and although some improvement came, my scores lowered only a couple of strokes. The person who has the worst score on a hole tees off last, and it’s only because my brother Jim likes to go last that I am not permanently stuck in that position.  

The upside to playing golf has always been the people with whom I’ve been paired. For several years, I played with Jim and two other men who worked with him at the course. Little John and Andy were older than we were, but they beat us like red-headed stepchildren every round. We were a solid foursome who laughed and joked and tried not to take the game too seriously. John has cut back his playing time in recent years, and Andy contracted melanoma and passed from the cancer a few years back.  

Two other men I play with are Joe Dooley and David Ingram. I worked with Joe at Karns High School for 25 years and subbed with him for 5 years.  David and Joe were basketball refs for years. The three of us have played at least one hundred rounds together. Until last year, we traveled to Marion, Virginia, each year to play in a tournament the benefitted Project Crossroads. I think I am correct in saying that we came in last place every time. Still, we had good times there. Joe and David were witness to the only hole in one I ever had.  

One more group that I’ve played with is just as special. Jim called me to ask if I wanted to play with his foursome a few years back. The other two players were Dwight Christian and Pete Stafford. Dwight was a band director in Knoxville for years. His bands were always some of the best in the area and won their shares of competitions in Knoxville and in other places in the area. Dwight played for years as a professional musician, and although I never heard him play, stories are that he was magician with his instrument. Pete Stafford coached high school football in Knoxville for years. He is a legendary coach whose teams always were top notch. Pete later became a principal in the school system. I imagine every student dreaded having to make the walk to his office. Pete seldom raises his voice, but he very presence is enough to make students in trouble feel nervous.  

My buddies are in the 80’s now, and playing golf is difficult. Jim offered to get them and let them chip and putt a round or two. We just gathered the other day. Now, we meet for lunch at Cheddar’s. The talk is filled with truths and a tall tale or two. We keep up with each other’s health and family. Pete likes to fish, as does Jim, so they spend time discussing their latest catches. No, we don’t play golf; the only exercise comes from lifting forks to our mouths. The sharing of a meal and just being together is good enough for us. We are friends who have grown close, at first on the golf course and now as older guys with plenty of aches and pains.  

As I said earlier, I play “at” golf. My game is mediocre, and with more stiff joints and deep aches in legs and knees, I doubt that it will get much better. The good thing is that my cost per stroke is lower than most everyone else’s. I’m thankful for the game and the good friends that it has brought into my life.  

BANNING BOOKS

 Let’s get this out front first: I spent my working years as a high school English teacher. It was a good job, and what made it a wonderful one was the interactions with high school students as I taught them grammar, writing, and literature. To be honest, I was never the best literature teacher. Many of the things that appeared in the textbooks made no sense to me, and I never understood what made them worthy of being included. However, some selections were full of information that taught lessons about life and the highs and lows that affect us all.  

Okay, with all of that as a preface, I now state that I have no Idea why so many books have been or are now being banned. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is one such book. Yes, the book uses an offensive word for black people in several places. I learned when I was a small child that use of that word was wrong and would lead to swift punishment. Still, at the time this book was written, that foul word was used daily by folks who didn’t know any better or didn’t care. A picture of life in that time was vivid and the characters were realistic. It might not have been pretty, but it was close to reality. 

Even more ridiculous to me is the banning of To Kill a Mockingbird. I taught that book to my students, and yes, we discussed it. The injustices rained down on blacks was shocking to young folks. The key to that book was Atticus Finch. He taught his children, as well as generations of children who read this book, the importance of white Americans coming to the aid of wronged folks of all races.  

Holden Caufield is a deeply disturbed teen who stumbles his way through life. Catcher in the Rye is a book that more than likely reaches more young folks than parents and teachers combined. Its reality is that mental illness needs special treatment, but first parents must be aware of that illness in their own children. 

Walt Whitman might be one of the greatest poets this country has ever produced. I admit that I don’t understand everything he has written, but most of his poetry reaches the hearts of readers when someone is present to explain things. Yes, he was a homosexual, but his Leaves of Grass is not a manual for turning children. Folks who condemn Whitman’s poetry are probably the same ones who look for vile things in Disney movies. Give it a rest, please. Read “When I Heard the Learned Astronomer,” “O Captain! My Captain!,” or “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed.” 

I’m flabbergasted that the Harry Potter series has been banned. The collection of books led more children to read than any other modern-day books. Harry Potter possesses special skills, as do his fellow classmates in the school he attends. However, what those who’ve banned this book missed is that Harry is every bit the same as children his age. My grandson devoured those books and came to know that being smart was not a sin, in spite of the ravings of some groups that howled about the books’ fascinations with witchcraft. 

I might understand the banning of these books if the acts had taken place in the 1950’s. However, to have classics banned in this day and time indicates that too many people have failed to learn, grow, and  understand. I defend any parent’s right to complain about a reading assignment. A talk with a teacher usually clears up the problem. An alternate assignment can be given so that the same points of the lesson plan are discovered by all students. Raising a stink about a book to attract attention helps neither student nor parent, teacher, or school. 

We are supposed to be an enlightened country, perhaps more than any other one in existence. Yet, the banning of books, the burning of books, and the “protectionist attitudes and actions” of a minority harms the whole society. “Remember that those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” I seem to recall this same kind of banning took place in Hitler’s Germany. We must not overprotect children to the point that they are naïve. Let them and their ideas and beliefs be challenged so they can be strengthened or changed. In other words, let them be educated.  

MESSING WITH COMPANIES

 All of us usually admire dogged determination. However, when that characteristic is displayed by some companies, it makes our blood pressures rise to stroke levels. I’ve run into several of those annoying situations lately, and airing my grievances about them might make me feel better.  

I immediately ask reps on the phone to slow down because I can’t understand a word that is being spoken. Quiet overtakes the line for a few seconds before the individual begins the spiel with the same garbled language coming over the phone. Eventually, I convince the caller to slow down so I can understand what they want. The man or woman on the line wants to know if I would like to sell my property in Gallatin, Tennessee. I explain that I have already sold the condo and ask that their records be updated and my name be removed from their call sheet.  Their response comes with a quick hanging up. A year later, these goof balls are still calling and asking about the condo; however, now I receive emails from some other outfits that ask if I want to sell my property or even just a lot. Again, the answer is “no,” but the calls continue.  

I was a customer of a certain cable company for more than 40 years. I’d receive an occasional reduction in price, but the bill would creep higher in no time. So, I finally cut the cord, and chose a new provider who offered fiber optic internet connection. Then I found a cheaper television service. My costs have been reduced over $100. The original provider has been calling me and emailing me with “special savings” packages, but I won’t go back to them. Why didn’t they offer money-saving programs to me while I was a customer? I reckon all cable companies are ready to make a deal when you tell them you’re leaving. At any rate, a daily call from a different number comes from someplace across the ocean. A man who still struggles with English reads a script to me. All the while I am trying to stop him so that I can tell him that I am not interested. Eventually, I hang up, even though I know tomorrow will bring another call.  

The contact that gets me most comes from a place called Hiawatha Manor. My mother decided at some point prior to 1996 to buy a timeshare week at this place in Crossville. She thought a good time to go would be a week in February. No, I don’t get the thinking about that at all.  

In June of 1996, my mother passed after a long battle with cancer. As the executor, I followed all the rules, and one was that I publicly announce via a newspaper her death so anyone who had an outstanding debt could file against the estate. No company did.  

A year later, I got a call from an agent to inform me that the maintenance fee for the place was overdue. I explained to him that my mother’s estate was already closed, and that no new claims could be filed. He insisted so rudely that the bill be paid that I finally told the agent that he’d have to talk to my mother. I ended by asking if he would have her call me if he got through.  

Two months ago, I received a letter from this same place, and it stated that the outstanding bill was now nearly $12,000, Because I had time to “mess” with them, I wrote back a reply and explained past communications I’d had with the company. I stressed the fact that what they were complaining about was a 27-year-old account that became moot when the estate was closed by the courts. My parting words came again as a request to have my mother call me if they reached her.  

It’s best to just ignore such ridiculous calls and letters that come. However, I still have enough “smart-ass” in me that I find giving such inefficient companies a hard time. It comes naturally.