THE ALTON GIANT

That's what they called him. Robert Pershing Wadlow. All 8' 11.1" of him. The tallest person ever recorded. One and a half feet taller than Yao Ming. More than three feet taller than the average man.

He lived from 1918-1940 in Alton, Illinois. One time my dad met him and shook his hand. He thought that was pretty neat.

By looking closely at the picture, you can see he was pretty well proportioned. Check out his hands. Wow.

That's not a little boy he standing next to. That's a grown man. Imagine getting to meet someone like that. I shook George Bush's hand when he was Ronald Reagan's veep, and I got to meet and talk to former President Ford about the Tigers in 1984, and I thought both of those were real thrills. But there have been other Presidents. Nobody but nobody, except in Biblical times, has ever been that tall.

And Robert was from southern Illinois. Like a lot of other giants. Even if they were not nearly nine feet tall.

WHAT IT IS

A skull? or a lady sitting in front of her vanity mirror with perfume bottles before her.

Ok, I see both. But I'm that kind of guy. One that can see both sides. Well, sometimes.

Sooo...This poem from a 1998 novel I wrote called The Last Game, covers both the lady and the skull.

I want to overlap your life

And be the transparent leaf

That covers your skeleton

As illustrated in anatomy books,

Because I'm part of you

And when I leave

Like the transparency

No one knows,

No one can see

That I've been that close to you.

It was just a voice, just a character in my first short novel (I don't like the term novella) about the decline of honest to goodness neighborhoods and all the actions/antics that go on there as kids grow into adulthood. I grew up in a neighborhood like that, and hope they don't become extinct.

My second short novel, Niches and Crannies, is about high school life. I grew up a lot there, too. As a teacher for 30 years. If you'd like copies of either, please contact me, because they're not available at many places. Yet.

RIDING THE RAILS

French Lick, Indiana, was the first place I ever rode a train. Unless you count the little train they used to have at the MTV City Park. Oh, how I loved that train.

Carol Hicks would know, but I believe the Lions Club took over that train once it left the park. I know her dad, Jim engineered the Lions Club train for years.

The second train I rode in Paris, France, to Belgium got my picture in the local paper because my wife and I were with Gov. Edgar and his wife. He was wearing a Rend Lake College jacket, so we got a picture for the locals, including RLC Pres. Mark Kern.

Since then I've ridden the train from Williams, AZ, to the Grand Canyon, the Bullet Train in Japan, all around Austria and Switzerland where I slept soundly.

And while I never miss having to wait on a train to clear the tracks, what I miss most about the lack of trains in Arizona is the sound of the horn. That far off sound in the night seemed to be calling me from the comforts of the inside of my house on Olive.

What we have in Scottsdale are airplanes. Virgil De Boer is a two-month resident of Scottsdale and he says just once he would like to look to the sky and not see at least one plane. He's right. It's rare when there aren't any. But they don't make that cool sound.

Maybe it's the appeal of the hobo in me. A romantic character, he was his own man. He lived by his wits and usually hopped a freight train to get where he was going. At least in legend and lore. And there aren't any hobos on planes. Or stowaways anymore.

No, forget that thought. It's the sound of the trains' horn. Or even the trains' whistles like they have at the St. Louis Zoo, still also a favorite of mine.

They just draw me to them. Now, the wait's another story. I used to keep a paperback book in my glove compartment just to read while I was waiting on a train. Maybe the planes aren't so bad.

I'LL BE DOIN' SOME OF THESE

When I first spotted this picture, it reminded me of some of the psychedelic posters of the 60's that used to adore dorm walls. Popular on LPs, the psychedelic artwork appeared on covers. At ISU my roomie Lindy and I cranked out Vanilla Fudge's album many nights.

"You just keep me hanging on," could be heard blaring from Manchester Hall Room 808. I don't know why we played it so often, so loudly and even set up his stereo speakers in our windows to allow others to hear our music. But that, as they say, was then.

At 7 AM today, I have my annual physical. When the new year started,I had such hope for a renewal, at least a return to my normal body size. I was doing great. In March I was down a whopping 17 pounds for the year. In my weigh in today, I'm afraid the scales are going to reveal a net loss approximating 4 pounds. If I'm lucky.

What happened? Well, I got lazy, but recently started my 2-mile walk almost daily. A few exercises in the pool have been added infrequently. But snacks, especially Diet Cokes have been my downfall. Along with Hershey chocolates. Oh, I'm weak. Potato chips, too, though for the past 3 weeks, I've resorted to Baked Lays. Needless to say, my potato consumption has dropped. You know what's worse than Baked Lays? Almost nothing.

So when I gingerly stand on the doctor's scales, but they show a big, big number, I'll be at the wrath of Dr. Lakin. He won't yell too much. He can't. He's also a professional clown. That's how he worked his way through Med School at John Hopkins. But he'll devise a plan. A strategy. He'll know in advance that I'll fail as always, but he'll try to be positive.

He'll e-mail me with all my test results. And I'll see him next Summer. A trimmer, a more svelte patient. Who am I kidding?

Wish me luck. (By the way, if you're not visually adept enough to figure our psychedelic stuff, the picture shows a guy touching his toes.)

HEAT--YOU'RE NUMBER 1

Kudos to the NBA champs the Miami Heat. I didn't think they could do it.

Oh, Shaq is awesome (did anyone ever have bigger feet? He must surpass Bob Lanier's size 22). Riley is a heckuva coach, no doubt. Zo and Posey played great. Walker was a force on the boards. And, oh yeah, that Wade guy can play a little hoop, huh?

My goodness, if he wasn't the MVP this season, then prepare for some big time awards from now on. He is an alien in a league where they don't quite play the same game of basketball that the 1959 NBA champions St. Louis Hawks did. Or the run by the Celtics. Or the Pistons champions of the 80's and 90's. And they were all great. For their time.

But these guys. Wow! Wade takes double, triple coverage and performs. He's not even aided by preferential officials' calls like michael jordan. He can score without constantly, openly walking. Jordan's baseline moves were great to watch. Kinda like watching the slam dunk contests when no walking is called. Well, that's what jordan did. Game after game. Dwyane Wade doesn't need the help. He is unreal.

Enjoy the parade, the championship, the honor, and the rings. A special tip of the hat to Dwyane Wade. What a performance! But watch out. Amare will be back next season with Nash, Marion, Bell, Diaw, KThomas, TThomas, Barbosa, Burke, House, and Coach D'Antoni.

LINGUISTICS HAS ALWAYS INTERESTED ME

Ever since my 301 Linguistics instructor asked me one day in class if I was from Australia. When I told him, "No. I'm from Mt. Vernon," he felt bad and the class laughed.

I felt pretty good about it. He said it was the way I said,"What." I don't know if I sounded a dipthong or epiglotal stop that was associated with the Aussies, but I can assure you that I don't sound that way today.

Why my Southern drawl/twang got more pronounced as I got older, I don't know. But whereas most people used to think my wife sounded as if she was from Alabama, now they think I do, too. So do I. When I catch myself on tape, I can hardly believe how I drag words out. "Did Grant play outside today?' becomes especially long with an emphasis on plaaaay and todaaaay.

Why and how did I change? I don't know. I just know when people ask me where I grew up and I say Illinois, they look puzzled at me expecting to hear "byaack" for back and speech punctuated with more nasal tones. When I tell them Mt. Vernon is closer to Nashville, Tennessee, than Chicago, they still seem puzzled.

Of course, that's only part of what appeals to me about linguistics. The way different parts of the country use different words or expressions for the same thing. A hamburger dressed, a hamburger with all the fixins, a hamburger run through the garden, a hamburger with the works or "woiks", a hamburger with everything on it.

The plural for "you." "Y'all" to some "you all" to others; "you ins," to some in Mt. Vernon: "you's guys," to others on the East coast, but generally "you guys," whether mixed gender or not.

Another area is slang. About the time I get current, I'm passe. I had to explain the terms "Props" and "Dis" to our Sunday School class last week. That should tell you how out of it us Boomers are in the Old West.

When Mav Jerry Stackhouse got suspended for a cheapshot on Shaq in Game 4, his coach Mr. Avery Johnson called the penalty "a bunch of baloney." No obscenity, no gutter language--just baloney. That's another kind of linguistics I like. By a class act, too.

CLOSE TO WHAT THE OASIS AT EIN GEDI LOOKED LIKE

We traveled to Jerusalem. One stop took us to where David hid from King Saul in Ein Gedi.

Also called the Spring of the Goat, Ein Gedi was a series of caves and rocks in the desert with only scrub brush and acacia trees dotting the landscape. Ibex, hyrax, gazelle, antelope, and leopard inhabit the area. On the day we were there, no leopards or antelopes were visible.

1 Samuel 24 tells the story of David's cutting of Saul's robe, yet sparing him because Saul was God's anointed. Saul responded telling David, "you have repaid good for evil." It was so easy to visualize this scene and imagine exactly where it happened above in one of the caves.

After one final climb, we reached the pool being filled by one of three beautiful waterfalls. "I was being respectful to her. I baptized her. A new tradition. Courtney terrorized me." These were Pastor Rob Wagner's words explaining the dunking of our daughter and her reciprocal reaction.

There were lots of others there that day who had made the climb. One group even threw their protesting teacher in. Whether they baptized her or terrorized her was open to interpretation. Ein Gedi was awesome with the beautiful waterfalls emptying into refreshing pools.

In one of the caves next to the pools there was a guard who would set down his machine gun to give a helping hand to a climber. I talked to him for a while. He had been to Arizona and liked it. I saw him later again that day at a food court. He smiled and waved. He was one of three armed guards at the site. It was a common sight in Israel to see people armed with machine guns. It is just a way of life for them.

I was reminded of Saul's words again about repaying good for evil.

IT'S NOT OFTEN YOU CHANGE A LIFE

I know high school students got tired of hearing about Toss No Mas. It was an anti litter program I started after traveling through New Mexico when I saw their advertisement.

Toss No Mas or Toss No More or Don't Throw Stuff Down has worked in New Mexico and we offered enough incentives to make it somewhat effective at the high school.

One student, Kelly Lund, told me it had changed her life. "I didn't used to think a thing about throwing down a gum wrapper or soda cup. Now I don't. You changed my whole life." At least the way she looked at litter.

I miss the chance to educate people about litter. It's so easy to pocket that wrapper. It's so easy to dispose of empty cups and take out sacks. Even if you have to hold on to them for awhile.

When I'm finished with a brat or a tray with nachos, catfish, and drink holder at the ballgame, I always get up and throw the trash away. Invariably, an usher thanks me for doing what everyone should be doing anyway(s). And don't ever buy the old line,"They pay people to do that." Cop out. Lazy. As my 3 year old grandson says, "Get on your feet, G-Daddy."

Whether it's Toss No Mas or Give a Hoot--Don't Pollute, please clean up your act. Don't make me have to tell you again.