ALL FOR THE LACK OF A DEFERMENT



That's all. Otherwise, who knows, I might have been a dj. At least I applied to the CBS School of Broadcasting when I was a senior in high school. It was no longer than a one-year program, and while the US was in the throes of Viet Nam, it simply wasn't enough for me.
One Friday night a recruiter from the school came to my house. I was out with friends and so he visited with my parents. I'm not sure they even knew I had applied. Before the advent of cell phones, they couldn't reach me, though they called my buddy's Russ' house looking for me. After awhile, I guess the recruiter gave up and went home, ending my career in broadcasting before it began.
But what a great job, I thought with my 17-year old logic. All you do is talk a little and play music. Hey, I loved music, I listened to it day and night, I'd be getting paid for doing something I really liked. I also liked the idea of requests, staying up late at night, and maybe bringing people together.
MTV High had an active Speech Dept. where Radio Speaking was a category for state competition, but I was a senior by the time my voice got low enough to be considered and besides, I was in the contest play that fell just shy of qualifying for state. I still remember our rating and critique: we got 3nd place with a smudge on 3. Upon closer inspection, you could see a 2 had been erased. Naturally, 2nd advance; 3rd or 3nd went home.
I did have a side career in announcing high school sports as public address announcer for varsity football, basketball, and baseball--for 35 seasons. The only time I made it on the radio was when a radio announcer in the press box or booth would shove a mic under my nose when I introduced Homecoming Queen candidates or other special events.
Another Wolfman left out of the night air. Or maybe another Ted Baxter.

I KISSED YOU ONCE
AND YOU RELEASED YOUR VENOM

IMMUNIZING ME FROM ALL OTHER WOMEN ON EARTH

"DON'T LISTEN TO HIM, HONEY"

Summer days and baseball games. If you look very, very closely you might spot my son pitching to his son in a typical baseball setting where 6 and 7 year olds are just beginning their baseball careers. The coaches usually pitch while the best defensive players man the pitching position, simply because that's where most of the action is.

When our son was that age, I could watch his games because after teaching Summer School I was free for the afternoon. I coached him and our daughter, too, in baseball, basketball, soccer, football, and golf. But that's not what this blog entry is about.

It's about parents. A particular parent. While I was watching our son circa 1981, another teacher with a son on the same team and I would sit in the bleachers. I was almost always quiet with an occasional encouraging yell to Scott or one of his friends. My teacher friend wasn't quite as subdued.

One of our players at the pitcher's position would field the ball hit to him, but instead of throwing it to the first baseman, he would try to run the hitter down and tag him out.

"Son," my friend Bob exclaimed, "don't run after him; throw the ball to the first baseman."

Of course he was absolutely correct. And for me to be absolutely correct it should be noted that neither of the coaches had tried to encourage the fielder to throw to first.

"Don't listen to him, honey," was the retort made by the fielder's mother.

Now I'm embarrassed just sitting there.

"Fine, fine, if you don't want him to learn how to play the game," Bob yelled at the mom.

That's where the story ends. Thankfully. Nothing else was said by either. I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked my lucky stars I wasn't coaching that season.

NUDDER BLOG

Although not daily as On the QT attempts to be, I've begun another blog. It's entitled 1 WAY and may be accessed by typing http://tgqandclq.blogspot.com

Its genesis (pun intended) was spawned by my wife (the clq in the address) as an alternative to my Bible Study Fellowship which is on Summer hiatus. She knows I need to be in the Word and I have a tendency to let other things get in the way. Bible Study Fellowship didn't allow that. I had planned on re-reading the Bible in one year as I did two years ago. But I was going to do it in 90 days. And that's still an admirable activity.

But, as she knows, I need more than just reading the Word--I need to study it. And she knows how I love to write, so it just seemed a perfect fit.

Topics will vary. It will be different from On The QT, obviously. I hope you check it out. I pray it will open some eyes, edify, keep me focused, and bring glory to God.

ILLINOIS TEACHER SHOT WHILE ON STRIKE

I don't hold many records of any kind anywhere. Maybe one I hold is being around MTV's Mayor more than anyone else.

Mary Jane Chesley and I went to Field/Hall Grade School together from grades 1-6. Next, Casey Jr. High for grades 7-8. Followed by MTV High grades 9-12. Next MTV Junior College/Rend Lake College for two years. SIU-C for two more. We got our Master Degrees there, too, but that was over Summers and commuting during the school year, so I guess that's where we parted. No worries--we taught together at MTV High for 30 more years. Wow! And you know what? I never recall a disagreement or cross word spoken to the other. Isn't that something?

But one record I may hold is that as far as I know, I am the first and hopefully last teacher in the state ever shot while picketing on strike. A student unknown to me fired at another teacher and me while we were sitting on the curb of the sidewalk by the high school gym. His bullet from a high powered Chinese air rifle grazed my lower back stinging and causing some blood.

He was arrested and later spent some time in prison after firing a loaded rifle at a farmer riding on a tractor.

I guess that's what I get for taking a break from pounding the pavement with my picket sign. And if that's the only record I have, I really hope it goes unbroken.

1960 REVISITED

When I saw this ad, I think my heart skipped a beat. It was my bicycle. Or very close to my beloved Schwinn of 1960. What I remember most was the chrome fenders. I would actually shine them.

I loved that bike like no other. I had three that I recall. One with training wheels, of course. I think I rode that one, without the training wheels, for a long time. It seemed like all my friends had bigger bikes, but most in the neighborhood were older, so it may have been the case of perception.

Western Auto provided my first big bike. Back in the day, there were little ones with training wheels and then the big ones. Nothing in between that I remember. Mine was red and I was proud of it. But it wasn't a Schwinn.

When I got my Schwinn, I was almost afraid to ride it. It was so beautiful. I knew I would wreck it. Hey, kids always wreck their bikes. But I couldn't imagine this one damaged.

I rode that bike until I was old enough to drive. I wish I had had an odometer. Man, I put some miles on that baby! We would ride all over town. And amazingly, we had no locks on them. We'd just leave them at the show, the baseball field, the city park, and when we'd go back for them, they were always there. 100% of the time. I never knew anybody who had their bike stolen back then. It was just the old honor system, I guess. Or just growing up in a small Midwest town. Simpler times? I wouldn't necessarily say that, but certainly safer.

I wonder what happened to that old bike? I'd guess it was sold dirt cheap. But no price could equal the fun I had on that black bike with chrome fenders. I should have given it a name--like

The Memory Making Machine.

LUNCH BOXES I RECALL



For me, a Davey Crockett. But I seem to remember using it more for a place to store crayons rather than sandwiches and snacks. It became most useful when the cardboard package containing crayons broke. We never put our baseball cards in there; they were reserved for cigar boxes. And where did we get those? I knew of no one's father who smoked cigars back then. There was one of our older neighbors who did, but everybody thought he stunk. But that's where baseball cards went when they weren't in our bicycle spokes.
For our son, it was an Emergency lunch box. Gage and DeSoto were his heroes, so his choice, as mine was easy. It wasn't his only lunch box, nor was Davey my only. These were the two most representative.
For Courtney, it was pink, perhaps My Little Pony. She had so many interests, it could have been anything. What I remember most about her school lunches was that her second grade lunch room supervisor wouldn't help her open her little can of peaches or pudding. So she brought it home sealed tightly. I mean what's a supervisor there for? Oh, well. She wasn't much kinder to our son who at age 10 couldn't hit this slider that a 12-year old Royal shouldn't have been throwing anyway(s). Funny what you remember about folks.
Peanuts, Barbies, St. Louis Cardinals, Star Wars, Under the Sea, etc. I'm sure there were many others. While I always preferred the metal, I know lots of those boxes became plastic in later years.
Of course what mattered most was it was not a crap-a-teria lunch, but one made by mom with love.