OLD SKOOL

would never be spelled that way. In Old School, we spelled words correctly. Among other things.

But one thing I don't understand is school uniforms. Now two of my grandchildren wear them to elementary school, and the third will next year. When I ask him how school is going, he always corrects me. "I don't go to school; I go to pre-school." Hopefully things will be better by the time he and his brother and sister get to high school.

MTV High is having lots of problems these days. There are some who think that if they went to school uniforms, discipline would improve. Armed with studies and commisssions, proponents have documented research to prove their position. But I know from 30 years of teaching experience that some educational research should be ignored. It simply doesn't work.

Now one thing I hear the pro-uniforms spout is that Columbine wouldn't have happened because rifles were brought in under trench coats. Are the students wearing their school approved uniforms not to wear coats? Or are there going to be standard issue pea coats that can't exceed the belt line? What about taking in the weapons and leaving them somewhere undectable, then pulling them out when needed. I'm sure I'm not revealing anything that that kind of mind hasn't ascertained. Also, a lot of damage can happen with a snub nose. Even a .38 caliber derringer or two.

Another argument I hear is that by requiring unis, no one can tell which student comes from a wealthy family and which comes from a poor family. Yeah, right. That's the only indicator. I remember back in college commenting to a fellow student, "You know, it costs a lot of money to dress like a hippie." Hippies, of course, were supposed to be for no class distinctions among other things. They also supposedly wore crummy clothes.

One thing I don't hear is doing away with names. I mean if someone had the last name of Newman or Abbott (Y & R plug) then everyone would know wealth. The Basses (remember Ernest T. from Andy Griffith?) would be at the other end of the social strata. So I guess to even things on the educational playing field, we'd have to give up names. I mean where does it stop?

School uniforms? Not for me. Just a little common sense. And respect for the teachers, and the Newmans, and the Bass kids. I mean why not?

WHO IS JUNE MOP ANYWAY(S)?

I watch ER. Sometimes I can even hear it. I'm telling you, they mumble more on that show or have the worst sound techs than any show on tv. Lots of time I doze off while it's on commercial break. By the way, is it just me or are there many more commercials than there used to be? But anyhow, I don't know Ming Na from ER. She must be a doctor, but I just don't recognize her. Maybe she was on the show before I watched it. I think Clooney was on it at one time, but thankfully I didn't watch it then, though I did enjoy him with Jennifer Lopez in some movie called Outta Sight, I think.

So if I don't know her, how am I going to blog about her? Well, I was thinking of when my kids and I used to get autographs at baseball games and sports card shows. I looked at several stars who were hawking autographed pictures of themselves. For $9.99, you, too, could own this picture of Ming Na.

So how did I select her? Easy. I could read her name. It's a little fancy, but I can make out M-i-n-g and N-a. Even if she joined them together. Most of the others I saw were indistinguishable. Much like my son and daughter's signatures. No one has any problem with mine, nor my wife's. Maybe it's a generational thing.

One of the worst legibles that we ever saw on a baseball card or baseball was Willie Mays'. June Mop. That's what it looked like. Now how those go together, I don't know, but clearly that what it looks like.

Both son and daughter have good penmanship. Until it comes to their signatures. Oh well, even theirs aren't as bad as Willie's.

WELL IT KINDA SEEMS LIKE IT--JUST MARRIED, THAT IS







Yep, today's our anniversary. Of course the next question is, how many years. When friends were over last week, friends who also celebrated their anniversary this week, asked that question I responded, "16." After a puzzled look, I continued, "Well, 16 good years."



Funny, huh? When one of our friends was sharing that story with our Sunday School class, my bride chipped in with,"All the other years were perfect." How true, how true. And shame on me for indicating anything else.



Another friend of mine tells me that he and I have have been blessed, that we married well above ourselves. I couldn't agree more. Our as another buddy would have said, "better than we deserved."



So what do I remember about our wedding day? First, going over to the church, just a few blocks away, about two hours before the ceremony. When I went into the auditorium, I got scared. All those decorations, flowers, people that were going to be there. What about my groomsmen? Would all of them make it? Would I mess up?



Then the crowd. Wow! I'd never been to such a big wedding. Are all these people my new in-laws? How will I ever remember who they are?



Then the great music. Then the great looking bride. I'd never seen her prettier. Then the reception and the pictures. And the pictures. Actually, I have that out of order, the pictures first. I think I missed some of the guests because the pictures took so long. But hey, with all the re-takes and touch ups they had to do on me, who would have guessed. Then towards the end of the reception, my buddy from college who lived in the room next to me showed up. He was from Kuwait and he thought MTV was a whole lot closer to Bloomington/Normal. Then he couldn't find our church. He went to two other weddings before getting to ours. Well, he didn't go to the weddings, just the churches where weddings were going on "at half after seven".



But it's been 39 years (see I made you read almost the whole blog before revealing that big number, but it's one I'm proud of) and yes, it's been wedded bliss. Thanks CQ. I'll always love you.



But please don't make me carve out another message in stone.

KING OF THE WILD FRONTIER

Was it the bear he killed? When he was only three. Now, that's one tough Tennessean. Maybe that's another reason to like him. You know, the way they talk.

Born on a mountain top is pretty cool, too. In a green state, actually the greenest state.

While he was a childhood hero of mine. Yes, I had a coonskin hat. And I played Davy Crockett in my backyard. The Fess Parker movie was a five or six week series on The Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights when I was growing up. I loved it. (And a show about a kid named Moochie Morgan who was a Leave it to Beaver type kid.) But I really liked almost all of The Disney shows back then. I never dreamed I might go to DisneyLand (and a new DisneyWorld, yet to be built) someday.

But Davy Crockett was the best. When our son Scott was small and we headed to Florida for Spring Break, we gassed up in Tennessee. The gas station was selling coonskin hats. I don't know if I bought the hat for Scott or me. But I loved it when he loved it. He loved Davy, too and the Little Golden Book. He wore his hat along with other rawhide, Western looking stuff as a Halloween costume. Twice.

But when asked, "Weren't you Davy Crockett last year?" He replied,"Yes." "But this year I'm Daniel Boone."

Long time readers may have read that story before, but I thought it bore repeating. And, I still haven't made it to the Alamo. I hate to see a grown man cry. Especially when it's me.

THOSE WERE THE DAYS, OH YES, THOSE WERE THE DAYS, MY FRIEND

I was reminiscing with Joe Snider, one of my Band of Brothers, this morning. (See my other blog One Way for explanation) We were talking about days gone by when:

We didn't lock our house. Well, we did at night. I remember a skeleton key always on the inside keyhole, but it was only locked after everyone was home for the night. For me in my teen years, that meant midnight on weekends. Well, at least most weekend nights.

Even more surprising, I never had a key to our house. Never. There was somebody home, or the house was unlocked, so why did I need a key? I don't think my brother ever had one either. And certainly no neighbors had a key in case we were locked out. People back then just respected others' houses and would never think of robbing or coming into someone's house without knocking. Except for one neighbor boy who felt so at home at our house (and other neighbors) that he would simply walk in. He would be under foot without announcing his presence, but he was the exception.

The same thing with another's property. We would park our bikes all day at the Little League Field. None I ever recall were stolen or even taken for a joyride. People just left your stuff alone. It was unwritten. Either that or there were some harsh penalties. Bicycle locks? Non-existent. Again, who needed them?

The first thefts I recall were in high school P. E.classes where we were issued gym baskets with combination locks on them. The smart thieves would put their locks on your basket and yours on theirs, but they wouldn't click theirs. Voila. They stole your wallet and you didn't know how. That was about the time Roy Orbison and Patty Duke were popular, so that shows how long ago that was.

And how times have changed. Yesterday I had a friend from out of state call and leave a message. I was errand running and missed him. He drove to my house, but the guard at the gate wouldn't let him in because I hadn't informed him that my friend was coming. When we made connections by phone later, I told him he was fortunate that he wasn't shot. That's the kind of security we have today. And still I and most all of our neighbors have security systems in our homes. Lock the doors. Yep, and all our doors are dead bolts. It even took a locksmith an hour to get into our house earlier this Summer when we temporarily misplaced our keys.

And Roy Orbison has given way to 50 Cent and Patty Duke to Hanna Montana. Oh we were young... we thought those days would never end.

CRUISING WITH CURT FLOOD

Well, a book about him anyway(s). One of the great things about cruising is the freedom to read. I know what you're thinking--come on, you're retired; you have plenty of time to read. And you're right. I guess, I'm a little like the bumper sticker "So many books--too little time".

One of the very first things I did when we got aboard our ship was head to the library. The good books seem to go quickly on a cruise ship, and since we rarely pack enough to have to check luggage, I only brought one book which I finished on the plane. So I headed to the library. I was disappointed. No David McCullough. What? I've been on a cruise with him. I've heard him lecture on a cruise ship. Twice. And Royal Carib. doesn't even have one of his books?

So shut out of one of my favorite authors, I went for a new one. Boy, am I bad; I don't even remember the author (perhaps Parker?). But I remember the book --A Well Paid Slave. About a childhood hero of mine, Curt Flood.

I had met Curt, Jr., at a Cardinal game back in 1990 when he lived in St. Louis. Our daughter at age 10 would talk and sit with him at the games. He always had good seats behind home plate.

One night while Curt Jr. was with news anchor Robin Smith, he invited us to sit with him and his dad. We talked and I told him how much the modern player should be indebted to him for his sacrifice. If one man is responsible for the escalation of pro athletes' salaries, it's Curt. He challenged the reserve clause that bound a player to a team for life. His challenge went all the way to the Supreme Court. It costs him hundreds of thousands of dollars and his career.

Surprisingly, he seemed genuinely appreciative of my comment on what players owed him. My comment, sincere to me, was probably offered a thousand times to him, I figured. For literally years, I wondered why he seemed that pleased at my comment. After reading the book, I had my answer.

Not one major league player at the time testified for him. Many current players don't even know who he was. He received plenty of hate mail telling him he was ruining the game, and who was he to turn down $90,000 a year to play baseball? "A well paid slave is nonetheless a slave," was Curt's comment to Major League baseball.

What an enjoyable evening it was. I even got to try on his World Series ring. The ball he signed for our daughter that night still holds a place of honor at our son's house. The reading of the book 17 years later even heightens the experience more. It's one time, I'm glad for a McCullough-less library.

I DINED ON RATATOUILLE

On our recent cruise. Well, I didn't dine on it, but it was part of an excellent meal. And I was excited to see it as an offering. There were a few problems though.

It came with a lobster tail, so I forgot that ratatouille was what I was eating. Until afterwards. I knew it was tasty, but when I have lobster in front of me, I seem to lose all sense of focus and direction. I would have offered my wife a taste had I remembered, but on second thought, if it was on the same plate as lobster, then she would have declined since she's allergic to shell fish.

She may have declined anyway(s) since she, too, had the opportunity to order ratatouille sans lobster. She might have thought Remy was the cook. But she missed out, because like the food critic I highly endorsed it. Even if I didn't know what it was.

The reason I'm bringing up Ratatouille is because of last night's Emmys. I watched for as much as I could take. I mean besides a very few shows (Lost, but not regularly and one of the mini-series movies) I didn't see anything up for the awards that I ever even saw once. I knew Seacrest and one of the presenters--the coach on Friday Night Lights. I also know who Tony Parker's wife Eva is, but that's about it.

And, see I'm getting to it, the last movie in a theatre I saw was Ratatouille with the wife and grandkids. Well, the two older ones. One who turns 7 today--Happy B'Day, Grant.

So does that speak to how out of it I am? I saw on the internet today that even Al Gore won an emmy. What in the world for? (I just noticed, I wrote Al Gore and the internet in the same sentence). Maybe I just answered my own question, but was that a category?