BASEBALL IS BACK!

BASEBALL!

Please Note: This blog was first published on the Brazil Times website on March 10 2008 – Before the CUBS WON THEIR WORLD SERIES!

“… The only real game in the world, I think, is baseball. As a rule, people think that if you give boys a football or a baseball or something like that, they naturally become athletes right away. But you can't do that in baseball.  You got to start from way down, at the bottom, when the boys are six or seven years of age. You can't wait until they're 14 or 15.   You got to let it grow up with you, if you're the boy. And if you try hard enough, you're bound to come out on top…." from Babe Ruth’s farewell speech at Yankee Stadium, April 27, 1947.

In middle-class St. Louis of the 1950’s we were believers.  We believed in God, country, Babe Ruth, Stan Musial, and the St. Louis Cardinals.  Only the latter ever let a boy down.

We did, as everyone in the world knew, have the unconquerable Stan “the Man” Musial.  If only baseball wasn’t a team game. The Man would have won us the Pennant every year, if baseball were a one-man enterprise.  The Cards usually finished fourth (or fifth) in an eight team race.

In those days Major League Baseball (the only sport I knew of) had two leagues which included nine teams – eight of these were in the National League; the other, the New York Yankees, made up something called the American League.  The National League team which won the most of 154 games played the Yankees in the WORLD SERIES!  Once in a while the Yanks would let someone else play in the SERIES, but not often.  After all, without the Yankees we could not justify stopping school to watch the (day) games.

Probably it was because the Cardinals never won the Pennant that spring training became my favorite part of the baseball season.  I once had an opportunity to talk with the late Harry Carey, longtime announcer for the Cardinals.  I thanked him for making every spring of my childhood such an exciting, hopeful time.  I’d hear his unmistakable voice and hope bloomed again in the hearts of all St Louis boys.  Every spring he’d lead us in believing this was the year the Cardinals would win the WORLD SERIES!

When we moved to Indiana in 1996 I resolved to be a fan of our Colts and of the Chicago Cubs, the St Louis equivalents having inflected a childhood of disappointments. 

You may recall that in those days it took some determination and dedication to root for the Colts (i.e. pre-Manning).

It took no fortitude to become a Cub fan.  The Cubs never disappoint a boy, unlike the St Louis nine.  You never expect the Cubs to win, they never do, and you can’t be disappointed with the results.  When they do win it’s a bonus.  Even when they got to the playoffs they didn’t fail us.  No one electing to remain sane hoped they’d win, so faith was kept by all.

Last Saturday was the first televised Cub’s spring training game for the 2010 season.  Play-by-play came via Len & Bob, the best sports announcers in the biz.  The Cubs lost (oh, hum) to some guys calling themselves the White Sox.  Apparently White Sox also play in Chicago?  Must be an American League thing?

It was only an expedition game, sure. But, baseball is back! The Babe is not forgotten!  The Man Lives!  Len & Bob are on the air!  It’s spring!  There’s hope!  Maybe this year!  The only real game in the world, I think, is baseball (at least in the spring).

David L. Lewis is an observer of and sometimes commentator on life who may be reached via e-mail at thedaddy1776@gmail.com

This is part of complying of Blogs posted from May 17 2008 to May 10 2015 on the Brazil Times website under the by-line MY VIEW FROM THE BACK PEW.  Not all Blogs can or should be included -- that's well over 150,000 words which nobody much read the first time around.  And, some will be edited for timeliness, relevance, or just plain keeping short enough to be read.  These Blogs can no longer be found on the Times site and are reproduced here from original document files; my understanding is they remain “property” of the paper, so acknowledgement is given.

EVERY DADDY NEEDS A LITTLE GIRL

Every Daddy Needs a Little Girl[1]

This blog was written in 2008 at a time of a great loss to my favorite daughter.

When she was a teenager our only daughter, Susan, was embarrassed for me to introduce her with “I have four sons, but this is my daughter.”  Naturally I persisted in doing this because she was a teenager and was embarrassed by my saying it.

There is a story I’ve told so often she probably thinks she really remembers it happening.  When Susan was about four we went together to the bank.  She wanted to see what was going on, so I lifted her up on the counter.  Who can resist a sweet, good-natured and extremely beautiful four-year old?  The teller offered her a sucker.  Very sweetly she replied, “I have four brothers.”  Somehow I always want her to be that innocent little girl.

When she started Kindergarten I tried to convince her that if any boys tried to be friends she should say, “My name is Susan.  I love my daddy the best.  I don’t talk to boys.”  The “don’t talk to boys” part ended when she met Richie, on the first day of school.

Our four sons all understand that their father loves them deeply, but in a crisis the child I want with me is Susan.  Such as when you yourself are going into long put off heart surgery and your primary worry is a wife of 50+ years -- that’s when Susan is my strength.

Whenever I see some young father with his little girl I want to tell him that every daddy needs a little girl.  He needs one if only to learn what absolute and unconditional love really is.  I have seen daughters who adored their daddy when no one else could.  My little girl never seems to remember or recall my mistakes and stupid decisions. (Although I do suspect that when our kids get together without us parent types they do tell mommy & daddy “horror” stories.)

Another thing I tell young fathers is to not turn their back – when you turn around a few seconds later she won’t be that little girl you could lift up to see what’s going on.  Somehow she will have become a practicing lawyer in a city 2000 miles and [an airplane flight] away.

This past week my baby girl was hurting; and I had tears.  She faced pain and turmoil and disappointment; and there was nothing I could do to be strength to her.  I couldn’t even tell her I knew how she felt. No mere daddy could have known.  Every daddy needs a little girl, if only to teach him what pain really is and what tears are really for.

One does get old enough to learn that the sun also rises; but age brings the wisdom to know the time to point that out is after the sunrise.  The darkest time has now passed.  A few more sunrises may have to take place, but recovery does come.  Susan will go on because she is a strong woman -- even if she will always be daddy’s little girl.  After all, every daddy needs a little girl,

David L. Lewis is an observer of and sometimes commentator on life who may be reached via e-mail at thedaddy1776@gmail.com

Please Note

This is part of complying of Blogs posted from May 17 2008 to May 10 2015 on the Brazil Times website under the by-line MY VIEW FROM THE BACK PEW.  Not all Blogs can or should be included -- that's well over 150,000 words which nobody much read the first time around.  And, some will be edited for timeliness, relevance, or just plain keeping short enough to be read.  These Blogs can no longer be found on the Times site and are reproduced here from original document files; my understanding is they remain “property” of the paper, so acknowledgement is given.

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[1] Published on Brazil Times Website August 24, 2008

ONE RINGY-DINGY CUSTOMER SERVICE CALL

One Ringy-Dingy[i]

Actress-comedian Lily Tomlin has won multiple awards; including Tony, Emmy, and Grammy Awards. All this is true, of course; and my favorite Lily Tomlin role actually was Deborah Fiderer in West Wing. 

But, it was as telephone operator “Ernestine” on TV’s Laugh-In that made her someone I always look forward to seeing in any performance.

Ernestine would dial-up some phone company customer and you’d hear “that’s one Ringy-Dingy…two Ringy-Dingy” until the unsuspecting subscriber “answered”.  In one bit available on youtube.com she threatens an unseen party for not paying a bill of some $20.  When he doesn’t want to pay, Ernestine proceeds to relate the customer’s financial statement and tax returns (Ma Bell knows all).  Another time she uses a CIA phone book to get an unlisted number.  In a later bit she says, "We don't care, we don't have to...we're the phone company."

It is funny, even years later, because we’ve all had to deal with the phone company.  Lily went on to bigger and better things; Ernestine lives still.

The first time I got a phone there was only one phone company (“Ma Bell”), only one phone choice (black), and you did it their way on their terms.  Fifty years since my unfailing experience has been the hardest people on earth to do business with on the phone are telephone company employees.

Last week I ventured again into the valley of the shadow of Ma Bell (no longer called that, but the mindset thrives).  As Dante would have said, “abandon hope all ye who enter here.”

For indiscernible reasons our phone service is tied to high-speed Internet.  This worked well enough for about 3 years; even get an occasional e-mail for some far-off Blog reader.  About two weeks ago I suddenly couldn’t check my mail – just kept me running around in circles.  But, my phone company has a special line just for residential user of their DSL service.  I’d just call and find out what’s going on.

Big mistake.

Apparently a system has been nearly perfected to defend live employees from ever having to talk to paying customers.  You just call and push requested numbers until the system cuts you off.  On my third attempt somehow defeated their defenses and got as far as being put on Hold for a technician who would be with me “in a few minutes.”  Didn’t keep track, but apparently I was on Hold long enough to time-out.  The line went dead.

Next day, mostly out of curiosity, timed how long I was on Hold before cut off – two-hours and fifteen-minutes.

Time to try a different approach:  Live Chat line.  This lets you “talk” to a customer service rep via on-screen response.  He texted me their phone number.  After explaining the 2-hour thing, he offered to have someone to call me, if I gave him a phone number (he didn’t have it after my entering it into their system three times).

Someone did call.  He assured me he’d put me direct through to a tech without having to be on Hold.  After 20-minute wait he broke in to assure me they’d call back as soon as a tech was free.  I’m still waiting for that call back.

Two hours later I ventured again into the valley of the shadow of voice recognition software [at this point it was me or them].  Oddly enough after only an hour I actually got someone to talk to (Saturday seems to be a good day to call).  It was a male version of Ernestine.  They’d been having trouble with some e-mail accounts, he stated matter-of-factly; why hadn’t I just called tech support?  He gave me an esoteric website to use to check my e-mail.  It worked, once.

One Ringy-Dingy.

David L. Lewis is an observer of and sometimes commentator on life who may be reached via e-mail at thedaddy1776@gmail.com (I will read it, soon as I’m off Hold).

Please Note

This is part of complying of Blogs posted from May 17 2008 to May 10 2015 on the Brazil Times website under the by-line MY VIEW FROM THE BACK PEW. Not all Blogs can or should be included -- that's well over 150,000 words which nobody much read the first time around.  And, some will be edited for timeliness, relevance, or just plain keeping short enough to be read.   These Blogs can no longer be found on the Times site and are reproduced here from original document files; my understanding is they remain “property” of the paper, so acknowledgement is given.

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[i] Posted on The Brazil Times website April 13, 2010

FIRST DATE ANNIVERSARY

First Date

This was published on Brazil Times website on February 14 2010.  I wrote others later, but this was my first attempt at a “Valentines Day Blog” for the only woman I’ve ever truly loved.

According to federal law the third Monday of February is an official bank & government employee “holiday”. These “official” holidays are something of anomalies.  There are no particular traditions associated with them, and only the lucky few get the day off.

Unfortunately the 3rd Monday of the month can never fall on the 14th – which means Valentine’s Day will never be an official holiday.  If it were it might be worth taking the day off.  We could even work-up some traditions to associate with the day; certainly enough important things have happen on the fourteenth day of February, to wit:

In 270 A.D., according to on the ground reporters, one of at least three men recognized as “Valentine” created the first Valentine’s Day card.  The day assigned to this event is the fourteenth, presumably chosen by a marketing company unaware of the third Monday of the month rule.

And, on Sunday February 14 1965 one Kay Allen of Normandy Missouri went on a first date with a certain David Lewis of St Louis City Missouri.

We had met the previous Friday evening (Feb 12th) at Hodges Skating Rink.  I remember her as being the only really pretty girl in the place (I’ve always said I thought her to be pretty).  She says she remembers me being the only decent looking guy available.  Back in those days I usually wore a white shirt, solid color tie, and sweater.  Still like sweaters, may still have that tie.

I chose her for the “gentleman’s choice” skate.  I figured it was the only way she’d skate with me, what with being the prettiest girl there and all.  Girls can’t turn down the first guy who shows up for gentleman’s choice.  She says now she couldn’t believe I asked her (the girl knows how to make a guy feel good).

Our first date was a trip to the Planetarium in St. Louis.  She always remembers how we talked for hours.  I don’t quite remember, probably means I mostly listened and observed [the only two things I’m any good at].

After our first date I told my best friend I’d met the girl I was going to marry.  As previously written, I’ve never looked back or the right hand or the left and there is no other woman I ever loved.  It was a good first date.

Over these now 45 54 years the anniversary we most cherish is that first date.  Wedding anniversaries have tended to come and go, but we always try to do something on Valentine’s.  At least once she was in hospital, at least once I was, and one year we were both so sick we waited to celebrate.  Somehow our (my?) tradition has come to be not cards or flowers, but taking her to some high-class, five-star restaurant (read as, Steak ‘n Shake).

This year I’ve decided to celebrate the day by declaring the third Monday of February an official holiday:  Kay & David’s First Date Anniversary.  If you work for a bank or the government, take the day off.

David L. Lewis is an observer of and sometimes commentator on life who may be reached via e-mail at thedaddy1776@gmail.com

TEACHER

• Teacher

This blog was published on the Brazil Times website March 26 2012 upon the occasion of our youngest son becoming a first time father.  Much has changed since:  Another baby, Preston; move to Indiana; and, I also suspect, becoming a better teacher.

The third most beautiful noun in the English language is “teacher”.  This truth best illustrated out of the mouth of a Kindergarten child.

Of course the most beautiful such word, out of the mouth of child or adult, is “mother.”  And, at least I would like to think, second place goes to “daddy.”

This, though, is about a teacher.

Those in Brazil who remember our youngest, Benjamin William Lewis (aka “Benji”, aka “the Hammer”), might justifiably assume no good thing comes out of those darn skateboarders.  Occasionally I will run into one of his Northview teachers (they all seem to remember him), and each is equally amazed when told how Benji “turned out.”

The hardest year for a man is nineteen.  All of our sons drifted at about this time trying to find their direction.  Benji was perhaps the driftiest (is there such a word?).

He went forth with great ceremony to Evansville University to major in Art and minor in skateboard.  The minor dominated and he returned to try ISU, now majoring in skateboard.   His good friend Chris Newgent got him turned on to Ball State University (where apparently everyone sends their kids).  Not sure which he found first, himself or Lisa; but he would never have found the former without the latter.

It was about this time he said something which made me the proudest and most dumbfounded father on earth -- he had decided to become a grade-school teacher.  He said it was because he discovered how few children had a good father image.  He had had such an image, and wanted other children to know what that was like.

Since graduating (finally!) from Ball State he and Lisa have been teachers in a “disadvantaged” area of Charlotte North Carolina.  From all reports he is an exceptional teacher, though I still don’t see him as “Mr. Lewis.”  We think he is so good at it because there is no problem a parent can face pushing and shoving their kid through school that we didn’t face with Benj.  None of his students can get away with anything, because he already tried it at that age.

On March 20, 2012 Benjamin became a first time father, Parker Michael Lewis, 7lb 7oz, 21 inches. (For those keeping score at home our 12^th grandchild, accompanied by two great-grandchildren, as they keep rolling in.)  I told him daddies know everything, and now that he is a daddy he knows everything.  At least he knows as much as I did when my firstborn came into the world – almost nothing.  Having been a fifth grade teacher might help, but I seriously doubt it. The child, it seems, becomes the ultimate teacher of us all.  Truth is, by the time you figure out how to rear those darn brats they’re grown and gone and have succeeded in spite of your efforts.

Maybe I was wrong.  Benji may yet find out the most beautiful noun in the English language is actually “Daddy”.  It is when he says it to me.

David L. Lewis is an observer of and sometimes commentator on life who may be reached via e-mail at thedaddy1776@gmail.com

ANY GIVEN SUNDAY - SUPERBOWL

Any Given Sunday

This blog appeared on Brazil Times website February 9 2010, the morning after the Colts lost the Super Bowl.  I think it fits the morning after any “important” sports event.

"For when the One Great Scorer comes to write against your name, He marks - not that you won or lost - But how you played the game." - Grantland Rice

It is axiomatic in professional football that on any given Sunday any team can beat any other team.  The team which goes 1-15 wins one Sunday afternoon. The underdog may be more highly motivated.  The game may be evenly matched, but the ball bounces to the left, or to the right; it flies 2 inches too high, or 3 too low.  One team may play badly and not deserve to win, but the other simply loses.  And, on some extremely remote occasions, just maybe, God actually cares who wins, or at least has some higher purpose in mind.

It has become popular, particularly among those with something to sell, to refer to what happens on any given Sunday as “history”.  It is not history, but trivia.  It is of interest for the moment, but makes no lasting difference in the lives of any but those who participated.

How America was changed by the events of September 11 2001 is history, well worth including on some future American Citizenship examination.  Who won, or who lost, Super Bowl III is interesting.  That “The Phantom of the Opera” was the longest running musical on Broadway is more interesting if you care more about music than sports.

What happens any given Sunday is something.

If you are over 50 you have some memory of “the catch” the great Willie Mays made in the old New York Polo Grounds, it is interesting.  In an interview after his retirement from major league baseball Mays revealed what he knew sports to be – entertainment.  I recall Willie speaking of how he realized early on that what he was doing was entertainment.  He told of practicing making easy catches look hard, making the little harder plays seem spectacular.  In the end sports are not a cure for cancer, but an interesting diversion from reality.

Every football player, every athlete, every man eventually learns that any given Sunday is followed by any given Monday.

Monday morning comes….

     Children are still suffering in Haiti, around the world, in America, in Indiana.

     World peace is as elusive as ever.

     Hearts, the failure of which in one way or another gets us all some given day, continues to slow down a certain very old blogger.

Any given Sunday, as with any given Monday, it’s about how you played the game.