When I was a wee lad, my Dad took my brother and me to baseball games at Pittsburgh’s famed Forbes Field. Built in 1909, this stadium hosted such immortal Pirates with terrific baseball names as Honus Wagner, Pie Traynor, Ralph Kiner, Elroy Face, and Willie Stargell for sixty-one years. The fabulous Homestead Grays of the Negro League also called it home in the 1940s. Even the NFL Steelers played there for thirty years.
The first of these games with my father that I really remember happened in the summer of my sixth year. We were sitting in the left field line bleachers for a Saturday afternoon game against the Milwaukee Braves. In previous visits, such culinary delights as Cracker Jack and a grape snow cone would keep me enraptured. But on this day, I remember taking a more active interest in what was happening on the field. I vividly recall Dad pointing out #44 for the Braves, saying that he was going to become the best home run hitter of all-time. Quite a prediction about a youngster who was still in his twenties. That player was Hank Aaron. My Pop knew his baseball.
When a particular Pirate came to the plate, Dad told me “watch this man, son. He really knows how to hit.” Later in the game, he pointed him out again in right field, and informed me “that fella is the best outfielder in the entire world.” I sat entranced watching him make his powerful throws to the centerfielder during between-innings warm ups, and how he made graceful “basket catches” down around his waist as opposed to above his head like everyone else. After he caught a fly-out, he would non-chalantly flip the ball underhanded 150 feet or more back to the infield. I’d never seen anyone throw it like that…and haven’t since.
At one point in the game, a Brave slapped a hard single through the hole into right field. As a base runner was rounding third base and trying for home, number 21 charged the ball with ferocity, and unleashed a cannon-shot overhand throw that was a white blur. As the catcher caught the incendiary peg, he waited a moment for the embarrassed runner who didn’t even attempt to slide--he was out by so much. Dad rose to his feet cheering, as did the rest of the throng. I instantly became a fan of the regal Roberto Clemente.
Throughout the 60s and early 70s, when he was in the quartet of the greatest outfielders of that era alongside Willie Mays, Frank Robinson, and the aforementioned Aaron, Clemente won four batting titles, eleven straight Gold Gloves for his defensive prowess, appeared in twelve All Star Games, earned an MVP award, and captured two World Series titles with the Bucs. He ended his career with exactly 3,000 regular season hits—a feat that only a handful of others had reached before him.
Roberto became my idol. I learned all I could about him. Upon hearing that he squeezed a rubber ball in his youth to strengthen his arm, I began regularly doing the same. I oiled-up my Roberto Clemente Rawlings glove the way he instructed. I used the same Clemente model thirty-six ounce thirty-four inch bat with the rounded handle just like he did…even though it was much too heavy for me until later in high school. Choking up on it was my only solution, and I learned a lot about bat control that way. I studied instant replays of his technique for charging a ball in the outfield, and how he put all of his being into those jaw-dropping rocket throws from right field to cut down runners (he had an amazing twenty-nine assists in one season alone).
Since the dimensions of Forbes Field were the largest ever of any in the major league stadium (355 feet down the left field line, 406 feet to left center, 457 feet to center--so deep that they stored the batting cage out there during games--and 390 to right center) Roberto adapted his hitting style to take advantage of those wide confines. Down the right field line was relatively short (317 feet), but there was a twenty foot wire fence above the eight foot wall, making it difficult for a right handed hitter to lift home runs over it. So, he became an expert of lining hard drives off that screen for extra base hits, or slicing screaming shots into the other gaps in the outfield. As a result, he hit an 166 triples in his career (no active major leaguer these days is anywhere near a hundred). Because Roberto hit that way, I modeled my style after that—becoming a “spray” hitter, and running the bases with wild abandon, trying to get that extra base if I could.
Many a night growing up in Columbus, Ohio, and Decatur, Illinois--hundreds of miles away from Pittsburgh--I would tune in the radio to clear channel KDKA (which could be heard in thirty-eight states and Canada) to listen to Pirate’s announcer Bob Prince and his eloquent descriptions of “The Great One.” When Roberto would stride towards the plate in a crucial situation, Prince would shout, “Arriba! Arriba!” (loosely translated ,“Let’s go, take us up!”) urging Clemente on to do something spectacular to help the Pirates’ fortunes.
I remember getting into arguments with other kids about whom the best baseball player was. I was often looked at funny because I revered this black Puerto Rican with the funny accent, as opposed to Mickey Mantle, Pete Rose, Carl Yastremski, or Johnny Bench. All great players, mind you. But because of the way I was raised, my Dad never noticed things about color or language—it was how someone carried themselves, and what they did with their lives that defined them according to how I was taught. And Roberto was the man for me.
Playing in a non-media center like Pittsburgh did not give Clemente the acclaim that he might have received otherwise. But during those two World Series in ’60 and ‘71, when the whole nation (as well as all of Latin America) was watching, he hit safely in all fourteen games, and led the Pirates to victory over the heavily favored Yankees and Orioles, respectively. In fact, he won the MVP award for the 1971 series by hitting .414, driving in or scoring most of the clutch runs, and making stalwart plays and throws out in right. It was on that stage when everyone noticed what an amazing star he was. Even women noticed him looking so dynamic and charismatic in his uniform...I dare say he was one of the most handsome men to ever play the game with his intense, brooding eyes, high cheekbones, and perfect lips. He carried himself like a proud steed, with the body of a world class ballet dancer: muscled shoulders rippling down to a narrow waist—thirty inches—the same throughout his entire career. He had powerful arms, and hands so magical they were said to have eyes in their fingertips.
The excellent biographer, David Maranis, wrote the definitive telling in Clemente: The Passion and Grace of Baseball’s Last Hero. It brought back so many memories of times shared with my father watching “El Magnifico” play eighteen seasons for the battling Buccaneers.
Eloquently, Maranis states: Anyone who ever saw Clemente, as he played with a beautiful fury, will never forget him. He was a work of art in a game too often defined by statistics. And though it is a great book about baseball, the author explains it is more than that: Roberto Clemente was that rare athlete who rose above sports to become a symbol of larger themes. Born near the cane breaks of rural Carolina, Puerto Rico, at a time when there were no blacks or Puerto Ricans playing organized ball in the U.S., Clemente went on to become the greatest Latino player in the major leagues. He was, in a sense, the Jackie Robinson of the Spanish-speaking world, a ballplayer of determination, grace, and dignity who paved the way and set the highest standard for waves of Latino players who followed in later generations and who now dominate the game.
Since coming to the United States in the mid-50’s, at the dawn of the civil rights era, Clemente had grown more assertive on questions of racial equality. Martin Luther King, Jr. was at the top of the list of people he admired. They had met several times, and King once spent a day talking with Clemente on his farm in Puerto Rico. When King was assassinated in April 1968, Clemente led the way in insisting that the Pirates and Astros delay opening the season in Houston until after the slain civil rights leader’s funeral. The schedule called for games in Houston on April 8 and 9. King was buried on April 9. The Pirates and Astros, at the player’s request, held off on playing until April 10.
Al Oliver (who went on to become another tremendous hitter under Clemente’s tutelage), a black teammate who considered himself one of Clemente’s disciples, said Roberto would draw him into long discussions, more about life than baseball. “Our conversations always stemmed around people from all walks of life being able to get along well, no excuse why it shouldn’t be…He had a problem with people who treated you differently because of where you were from, your nationality, your color, also poor people, how they were treated…that’s the thing I really respected about him the most, was his character, the things he believed in.”
What Clemente admired most about King was not his philosophy of nonviolence, but this ability to give voice to the voiceless. “When Martin Luther King started doing what he did, he changed the whole system of the American style. He started saying what they would’ve liked to say for so many years, but no one listened. Now that wasn’t only for black people, but all minorities. People were empowered by him. That is the reason I say he changed the whole world.”
Because Clemente had a thick Puerto Rican accent, and was often fiery in his interviews and interactions with sportswriters, many misunderstood him. Few knew what he was really like in his private time. He regularly visited sick children in hospitals in every city the Pirates played in. He gave away great amounts of money to the poor. Since he had chronic back pain most of his adult life after a car accident in 1955, he was very sensitive to those with neck and spine problems. He studied chiropractics long before it was en vogue, and helped many—even complete strangers he met—who were in pain with massages and adjustments. He did much in his native Puerto Rico to assist with programs to help young people have opportunities other than delinquency and drugs.
When Clemente went to a splashy New York awards banquet to accept the award for the Outstanding Player of the World Series Ward in October 1971, famed sportswriter Roger Kahn said “He spoke with a huge, bursting beautiful heart.” His speeches in the past few years had become sharper and more powerful. He had a specific goal, the creation of a sports city in Puerto Rico, but also a more urgent sensibility, one that he had first articulated at a speech in Houston back in February 1971, before the start of the championship season, when he received the Tris Speaker Award. “If you have a chance to help others, and you don’t, you are wasting your time here on earth,” he said that night. This line of thinking is why Roberto Clemente has stayed much more than just a childhood idol to me. He still influences me greatly.
In his final years, Clemente often quoted his mother’s favorite philosophy: “Life is nothing, life is fleeting, everything ends, only God makes a man happy.”
In December of 1972, just a few months after the last game of the season where He had collected his 3,000th hit in his final at bat, a ringing double off the left center field wall at the still new Three Rivers Stadium where they Pirates had moved a few years before, Clemente’s mythology grew greater.
He had coached some winter league games in Nicaragua that fall, and had fallen in love with the people there. When the world heard of the massive earthquake that shook the small Central American country, killing tens of thousands, and leaving scores more homeless and in dire need, Clemente sprung into action. Within a matter of days, he raised hundreds of thousands of dollars, as well as four planeloads worth of food, medication, and clothing in his homeland of Puerto Rico. After the first few shipments were delivered, and it became apparent that dictator Anastasio Somaza’s strongmen had confiscated them for their own purposes instead of letting them be distributed to the poor, Clemente determined that he needed to fly with the next load to assure that everything would be taken care of properly.
In the haste to get things done during New Year’s weekend, Clemente naively contracted an additional plane with an unscrupulous air trafficker to make the three-hour trip from San Juan to Managua. It turns out the DC-7 that was rented had mechanical problems, the captain had a terrible flight record and a history of drinking, the other crew were untrained, and to top it off, the plane was overloaded by at least ten percent.
On New Year’s Eve, 1972, at 9:18 PM, after several hours of delays trying to get various elements of the plane working properly, with Roberto’s insistence, the slipshod aircraft and crew took off. Clemente wanted to get to Nicaragua as quickly as possible to bring this aid, and to help unclog the bottleneck there, and hopefully be back home by the next evening to celebrate the holiday with his wife and three sons. The plane wheezed and groaned down the runway, barely achieving lift-off after using nearly all of the one and a half miles of concrete. Just avoiding some palm trees, it heaved and lurched out over the ocean, beginning to make the turn back towards the west, when it suddenly lost what little altitude it had gained, and crashed a mile off shore.
The skeleton staff at the airport (due to the holiday) didn’t know what had happened at first. In the darkness there was much confusion, and not enough rescue equipment to get out quickly in the rough seas. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as later salvage operations proved that with the shredded fuselage and shrapnel-like remnants that everyone was most likely killed instantly upon high impact with the water. No bodies were ever found, most likely due to heavy shark population in that area.
Within hours, the revelry of New Year’s Eve celebrations across the island came to a grinding halt as the news spread that the great Roberto Clemente had been killed in a plane crash. By New Year’s Day, the airwaves across the America were sobered by the bulletins. I hadn’t been watching TV or listening to the radio when I got up, so I heard about it from my best friend, Duke, who called in tears to tell me around nine AM. I remember leaning against the washer in our downstairs laundry room where I took the call—stunned, and then began sobbing.
When all-star pitcher and teammate Steve Blass heard, he thought, “My God, Clemente! He’s invincible. He doesn’t die! He plays as long as he wants to and then becomes governor of Puerto Rico.” He and fellow all-star, reliever Dave Guisti, drove over to Pirates’ General Manger Joe L. Brown’s house in Pittsburgh’s southern suburbs. Brown let them in and they sat around drinking coffee, talking about Roberto, and crying. Brown says, “we recalled the depth of the man, and the intelligence of the man, and the humor of the man. Clemente never held anything back from the people. He gave them more than they had any right to expect from him. He reminded me of a panther—the grace and power of a panther. I will always remember of footage from the ’71 Series of Roberto rounding second and sliding into third, so graceful and strong, such spectacular passion. What a good man.”
On January 2nd, Hernandez Colon was sworn in as Puerto Rico’s new governor. But the proceedings were quite somber, and all the festivities that were scheduled were canceled. In his inaugural speech, Colon said of Clemente, “our youth have lost an idol and an example; our people have lost one of their glories.”
At Robert’s memorial service a few days later, nearly all of the Pirates’ players and front office staff, as well as hundreds of other baseball dignitaries and many US government officials came to Puerto Rico to honor him. Many spoke, but it was when Willie Stargell stood up, that everything came into focus. For nearly a decade, Stargell had been the other pillar on the Pittsburgh team. He towered over Clemente physically, but always looked up to him. “I’ll tell you, it’s really hard to put into words all the feelings that I have for Robby,” Stargell said, fighting back tears. “Since I’ve been with him I’ve had a chance to know a really dynamic man who walked tall in every sense you can think of. He was proud, and he was dedicated. He was in every sense what you can determine a man to be. And I think going the way he went really typifies how he lived. Helping other people without seeking any publicity or fame. Just making sure that he could lend a hand and get the job done…the greatness that he is, we all know the ballplayer that he is. For those who did not know him as a man they really missed a fine treat for not knowing this gentleman. I had the opportunity to play with him, to sit down and talk about the things that friends talk about. And I am losing a great friend. He will always remain in my heart.”
In Spanish, Clemente means “Merciful.” How fulfilling of his moniker to die while on a mission of mercy. So touched was the baseball world with his death, that he and the immortal Lou Gehrig are the only players to have the five year waiting period waived so they could be enshrined in the Hall of Fame immediately after their deaths.
In one of his final interviews, Clemente said “Even though I make a lot of money, I live the life of a common fellow. I am not a big shot. If you go outside the ballpark you are never going to see me trying to put on a show or pull attention, because that’s not the way I am. I am a shy man, but you see me with all kinds of people all the time. The only thing I worry about is being healthy and living long enough to educate my sons and help them respect other people. As long as they grow up to respect others, I will be happy.”
Thanks, Dad, for introducing Roberto Clemente to me. But, after all is said and done, it is you who taught me the most about a love for baseball, and respect for others, and social justice---Roberto just echoed it.
Here are some video tributes to Roberto Clemente:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kzR5RvttxJ0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4FDJhHnnoas&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbltQjJk0Bo&feature=related
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Keziah Singing in India
With the recent flooding along the Mississippi River valley, and the scenes of the tsunami tragedy in Japan a few months ago have had me recalling a little girl I met in India six years ago.
It was the summer following that massive tidal wave that swept across so many countries that share shorelines along the Indian Ocean. We were on the southeast coastline about an hour outside of Chennai in the fishing village of Ernavor.
A little five-year-old orphan named Keziah (ironically, after one of Job’s daughters), who couldn’t have been more than three feet tall, was decked-out in her Sunday best outfit, and proudly let us know that she wanted to sing for us. Even though the primary language of the area is Tamil, she informed us that she had been teaching herself English. I took her into a quiet office away from all the joyous clatter of several hundred other youngsters so we could hear her tiny little voice. Lisa Landis, from WJTL in Lancaster, PA decided to pull out a recorder in hopes that it might be something neat.
With about as wonderful pitch as you could expect from such small child, she sang “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” “The B-I-B-L-E,” and “Showers of Blessing” more sweetly than I could ever imagine an angel. Lisa and I looked at each other with tears in our eyes—not only because of the beauty of it, but the irony of it all.
You see, on that Sunday morning the day after Christmas in 2004, Keziah’s parents had dropped her off at her grandmother’s home about two miles inland so they could get some focused work done on his fishing boat. They, like the other 7,000 folks in that sleepy town had no idea what was racing across the horizon in their direction. Estimates from eyewitnesses who survived were that the initial wave was fifty feet high, and traveling as fast as 200 miles per hour. Since they were most likely in the harbor when it hit, they had no chance. They were never found, their boat was reduced to splinters, and their humble little two-room shack was vaporized by the wall of water.
Over the next few months, her grief-filled grandmother heard about a program to help children with great needs at the Wesley Center, a Compassion project based in a small Methodist church. The morning of the tsunami, the water had come to within twenty feet of the front door and then began receding. Keziah was enrolled right away, and within a week, she had a sponsor from Australia. Additionally, the pastor and his wife, Dipak and Ananda, were so taken with the spirit of this little orphan during that first semester, that they asked her grandmother if they would be allowed to adopt her. Granny said yes, and they even extended much love and help to the aging woman as their relationship has unfolded.
On top of all that, Keziah decided she wanted to accept the gift of grace in Christ as she was seeing His love carried out in such loving ways all around her. Not only had she received much, but many others in that village had seen the church as a verb after that horrific disaster. We met many who were so grateful that Compassion, through this local fellowship, had blessed them with a rebuilt homes, new aluminum fishing boats, new nets, new clothes, and much food and clean water while they tried to get back on their feet. Many of these families, once Hindu and Muslim, now embraced Christ because they saw His body in action, and were touched deeply by the outpouring of care that came without condition their way.
So as this bubbly little soul poured her heart out in song for us, it was more than a show being put on for these foreigners…it was a heartfelt and joyous expression of gratitude.
I’ll never forget her singing. We were able to record two of her renditions, and you can hear them here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2yOZNn7RRs
It was the summer following that massive tidal wave that swept across so many countries that share shorelines along the Indian Ocean. We were on the southeast coastline about an hour outside of Chennai in the fishing village of Ernavor.
A little five-year-old orphan named Keziah (ironically, after one of Job’s daughters), who couldn’t have been more than three feet tall, was decked-out in her Sunday best outfit, and proudly let us know that she wanted to sing for us. Even though the primary language of the area is Tamil, she informed us that she had been teaching herself English. I took her into a quiet office away from all the joyous clatter of several hundred other youngsters so we could hear her tiny little voice. Lisa Landis, from WJTL in Lancaster, PA decided to pull out a recorder in hopes that it might be something neat.
With about as wonderful pitch as you could expect from such small child, she sang “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” “The B-I-B-L-E,” and “Showers of Blessing” more sweetly than I could ever imagine an angel. Lisa and I looked at each other with tears in our eyes—not only because of the beauty of it, but the irony of it all.
You see, on that Sunday morning the day after Christmas in 2004, Keziah’s parents had dropped her off at her grandmother’s home about two miles inland so they could get some focused work done on his fishing boat. They, like the other 7,000 folks in that sleepy town had no idea what was racing across the horizon in their direction. Estimates from eyewitnesses who survived were that the initial wave was fifty feet high, and traveling as fast as 200 miles per hour. Since they were most likely in the harbor when it hit, they had no chance. They were never found, their boat was reduced to splinters, and their humble little two-room shack was vaporized by the wall of water.
Over the next few months, her grief-filled grandmother heard about a program to help children with great needs at the Wesley Center, a Compassion project based in a small Methodist church. The morning of the tsunami, the water had come to within twenty feet of the front door and then began receding. Keziah was enrolled right away, and within a week, she had a sponsor from Australia. Additionally, the pastor and his wife, Dipak and Ananda, were so taken with the spirit of this little orphan during that first semester, that they asked her grandmother if they would be allowed to adopt her. Granny said yes, and they even extended much love and help to the aging woman as their relationship has unfolded.
On top of all that, Keziah decided she wanted to accept the gift of grace in Christ as she was seeing His love carried out in such loving ways all around her. Not only had she received much, but many others in that village had seen the church as a verb after that horrific disaster. We met many who were so grateful that Compassion, through this local fellowship, had blessed them with a rebuilt homes, new aluminum fishing boats, new nets, new clothes, and much food and clean water while they tried to get back on their feet. Many of these families, once Hindu and Muslim, now embraced Christ because they saw His body in action, and were touched deeply by the outpouring of care that came without condition their way.
So as this bubbly little soul poured her heart out in song for us, it was more than a show being put on for these foreigners…it was a heartfelt and joyous expression of gratitude.
I’ll never forget her singing. We were able to record two of her renditions, and you can hear them here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2yOZNn7RRs
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Meditations on the Muse
While spending a few days this week with Kerry Livgren, who has to be one of the most musical people I have ever been blessed to know, I have pondered the gift that is music. Here are various thoughts on the same from others. Let me know which ones resonate with you…
A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence. ~Leopold Stokowski
Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. ~Berthold Auerbach
Without music life would be a mistake. ~Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
Take a music bath once or twice a week for a few seasons. You will find it is to the soul what a water bath is to the body. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes
If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother trying to say it in music. ~Gustav Mahler
Why waste money on psychotherapy when you can listen to the B Minor Mass? ~Michael Torke
Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness. ~Maya Angelou
Were it not for music, we might in these days say, the Beautiful is dead. ~Benjamin Disraeli
Music is what feelings sound like. ~Author Unknown
If I ever die of a heart attack, I hope it will be from playing my stereo too loud. ~Anonymous
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. ~Lord Byron
Musical compositions, it should be remembered, do not inhabit certain countries, certain museums, like paintings and statues. The Mozart Quintet is not
shut up in Salzburg: I have it in my pocket. ~Henri Rabaud
Music is the poetry of the air. ~Richter
There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is. ~William P. Merrill
Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. ~Ludwig van Beethoven
Life can't be all bad when for ten dollars you can buy all the Beethoven sonatas and listen to them for ten years. ~William F. Buckley, Jr.
Music is the wine that fills the cup of silence. ~Robert Fripp
Music's the medicine of the mind. ~John A. Logan
Music is the universal language of mankind. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Outre-Mer
He who hears music, feels his solitude peopled at once. ~Robert Browning
Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. ~Victor Hugo
Music has been my playmate, my lover, and my crying towel. ~Buffy Sainte-Marie
Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory. ~Oscar Wilde
Its language is a language which the soul alone understands, but which the soul can never translate. ~Arnold Bennett
Music expresses feeling and thought, without language; it was below and before speech, and it is above and beyond all words. ~Robert G. Ingersoll
Music is the literature of the heart; it commences where speech ends. ~Alphonse de Lamartine
When words leave off, music begins. ~Heinrich Heine
Music is the shorthand of emotion. ~Leo Tolstoy
A jazz musician is a juggler who uses harmonies instead of oranges. ~Benny Green
Silence is the fabric upon which the notes are woven. ~Lawrence Duncan
Music produces a kind of pleasure which human nature cannot do without. ~Confucius
Music is love in search of a word. ~Sidney Lanier
It is incontestable that music induces in us a sense of the infinite and the contemplation of the invisible. ~Victor de LaPrade
Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life. ~Jean Paul Richter
I worry that the person who thought up Muzak may be thinking up something else. ~Lily Tomlin
Thoughts?
A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence. ~Leopold Stokowski
Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. ~Berthold Auerbach
Without music life would be a mistake. ~Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
Take a music bath once or twice a week for a few seasons. You will find it is to the soul what a water bath is to the body. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes
If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother trying to say it in music. ~Gustav Mahler
Why waste money on psychotherapy when you can listen to the B Minor Mass? ~Michael Torke
Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness. ~Maya Angelou
Were it not for music, we might in these days say, the Beautiful is dead. ~Benjamin Disraeli
Music is what feelings sound like. ~Author Unknown
If I ever die of a heart attack, I hope it will be from playing my stereo too loud. ~Anonymous
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. ~Lord Byron
Musical compositions, it should be remembered, do not inhabit certain countries, certain museums, like paintings and statues. The Mozart Quintet is not
shut up in Salzburg: I have it in my pocket. ~Henri Rabaud
Music is the poetry of the air. ~Richter
There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is. ~William P. Merrill
Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. ~Ludwig van Beethoven
Life can't be all bad when for ten dollars you can buy all the Beethoven sonatas and listen to them for ten years. ~William F. Buckley, Jr.
Music is the wine that fills the cup of silence. ~Robert Fripp
Music's the medicine of the mind. ~John A. Logan
Music is the universal language of mankind. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Outre-Mer
He who hears music, feels his solitude peopled at once. ~Robert Browning
Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. ~Victor Hugo
Music has been my playmate, my lover, and my crying towel. ~Buffy Sainte-Marie
Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory. ~Oscar Wilde
Its language is a language which the soul alone understands, but which the soul can never translate. ~Arnold Bennett
Music expresses feeling and thought, without language; it was below and before speech, and it is above and beyond all words. ~Robert G. Ingersoll
Music is the literature of the heart; it commences where speech ends. ~Alphonse de Lamartine
When words leave off, music begins. ~Heinrich Heine
Music is the shorthand of emotion. ~Leo Tolstoy
A jazz musician is a juggler who uses harmonies instead of oranges. ~Benny Green
Silence is the fabric upon which the notes are woven. ~Lawrence Duncan
Music produces a kind of pleasure which human nature cannot do without. ~Confucius
Music is love in search of a word. ~Sidney Lanier
It is incontestable that music induces in us a sense of the infinite and the contemplation of the invisible. ~Victor de LaPrade
Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life. ~Jean Paul Richter
I worry that the person who thought up Muzak may be thinking up something else. ~Lily Tomlin
Thoughts?
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Trouser Trauma
With the massive brood of cicadas in full swing here in Tennessee and environs, I thought I would pull out an old blog about a bizarre experience I had on a first date during the last invasion…
Annie was a lovely lass that I had thought was fetching for quite some time, and after a lot of patience and planning, things finally worked out that we could go on a first date. She had some work that brought her to my side of town, and we rendezvoused at my place on a warm May evening. After some fun pleasantries, we decided to walk over to Bosco’s, a local eatery, for dinner.
As some of you may recall, the spring of ’98 marked the return of the of the thirteen year cicada across the Mid South. This odd occurrence can transform normally peaceful, spring days in Nashville into a buzz saw of chattering mating calls from literally tens of millions (perhaps even billions?) of a benign sort of locust. They have been gestating in underground cocoons for a baker’s dozen of summers, and now they ooze to the surface, and crawl up the nearest tree where they grow to around two inches in size, molting along the way, and fairly screaming their ear splitting love songs in attempts of “hooking up.” Once the females have been impregnated, they implant eggs in the bark of trees, which in turn hatch a few days later and drop to the ground, and they somehow burrow inward for the process to begin all over again. Meanwhile, the mature brownish green bugs, with their red “eyes” and translucent wings, flutter about for a few days of “gettin’ it on” before dying relatively quick deaths. When Tom Petty wrote “The Waiting is the Hardest Part,” I wonder if he had these crazed caeliferas in mind.
What can not be emphasized enough, for those of you not familiar with this phenomenon, is the preponderance of these critters. They are everywhere—especially dominating neighborhoods with trees, covering nearly every square inch of bark, making the trunks look like they are undulating with movement. Flying about recklessly (and harmlessly), they can be particularly irritating to those with long hair. I’ve seen more than one woman freak out from one getting entangled in her locks.
Lawnmowers are attractive to these hovering grasshoppers due to the vibration and noise. So, as you cut your yard, you have to swat thousands of these away, and sometimes even have to clean out the rotary encasement from the gizzard goo that accumulates around the shaft and blades. They also wreak havoc on cars, splattering by the dozens on grilles and windshields with every errand you run. Sales of window-washing fluid skyrocket during these months. I had one sneak into the interior of my Chevy Cavalier once, wedging itself into the air vents of my dashboard. For several days I had to endure its mournful squeals every time I turned on the AC.
As Annie and I strolled through my heavily wooded neighborhood towards the restaurant, we recounted some of our run-ins with these winged creatures, being serenaded by the massive swells of volume as they harmonize in their mating song. It was so loud at times, it rendered conversation almost useless. We couldn’t help but have several crunchy moments underfoot, too, as the husks of evolving bugs were scattered thickly along our path. We just laughed, and batted a few away as they came near us, or occasionally landed on us---you get used to them pretty quickly.
With this being our first date and all, I was trying to play things particularly cool. So, when I felt one of these fellows land on my neck, I calmly tried to flick it away. However, it slid down the back of my shirt instead, fluttering about in the bunching fabric down near my belt. Being somewhat ticklish, I began to giggle. I thought I would try to hold out until we got to the restaurant and I would then eradicate the winged thumper while cleaning up in the men’s room. After about a block further of striding towards our destination, the bug’s hyperactivity got the best of me, and I finally decided to admit my ordeal to Annie. She stood in a mixture amusement and amazement at my calm as I pulled out my shirt tale and shook it. For all intents and purposes, I should’ve been caterwauling about the sidewalk having a conniption fit. But, with the confident demeanor of James Bond under extreme duress, I defused the tickling time bomb. It was hard to tell if I set the spittlebug free, because there was so many others darting about in the air and on the ground.
Once we were seated at Bosco’s, I sensed something was amiss. You see, the sport shirt I was wearing was of medium length, and so as not to have the tail popping out from my waist continually, I had tucked it into the top edge of my boxers underneath—a common practice employed by a fair amount of guys when necessary. Well, it appeared that in the process of pulling the shirt out a few minutes earlier, I had actually created a ramp for the pest to slide snuggly down towards the inner sanctum of my undies. The leaf hopper sought after a space where it wouldn’t be squashed, and once I was seated it found such sanctuary in the upper crevasse between my glutal cheeks— the northern end of my butt crack, as it were. At first I thought it might be a just the discarded exoskeleton of the intruder, as there was just an awareness of a foreign object. But when said entity began to migrate towards more space, I realized I was in trouble. He was alive, irritated, and on the march.
Annie was regaling me with a fun story about her youth in Kansas City, and I had been enamored with her dancing blue eyes, lilting laugh, and just charmed out of my gourd with her simple beauty. But I was quickly becoming duplicitous in my agenda. While trying to stay engaged with our repartee, I simultaneously was “negotiating” with this groping grasshopper.
Here was my plan: I began shifting weight back and forth on my haunches trying to move the foreigner away from the center, where I would then, in my warped reasoning of the moment, crush the life out of it with one of my bums. This, however, proved problematic…for the more I squirmed (very surreptitiously, I might add, so as not to alarm Annie), the more the katydid burrowed towards any free space.
In about half a minute, it had worked its way to the most nether region. I now felt it fidgeting around my---how do I say this delicately---scrotum. The sensation made certain very personal probes during annual physical exams seem like a walk in the park in comparison.
It would be hilarious to see what my facial expressions were during this torment. On one hand I was being so debonair with Annie, trying desperately to be affirming and involved with her childhood story, while simultaneously avoiding gritting my teeth and grimacing from the sordid sensations emanating from my crotch.
My male pride wouldn’t allow me to come clean about it at this juncture, since I had already used up my “quirky equity” when I tried to discard the bug out on the street. And I didn’t want to cut her off in mid-story for fear of it appearing rude. I was just going to wait for closure to her tale, then excuse myself to wash up. Annie was none the wiser, and she kept chatting away.
As I would be nodding my head and chuckling along with her commentary, I’m sure I made responses along the lines of “uh-huh…yea…OHH! (eyes suddenly widening)...uh-huh…(chuckle)…I see..EEEEeee (jaw tightening as my body would spasm ever so slightly)…well, of course you should haaaAAAAAVE.”
After another minute or two of this (seemed more like a fortnight), Annie could sense something was not up to par. She interrupted her train of thought with a concerned “are you alright?” At that juncture I think the bush cricket decided to try a double summersault into a full gainer somewhere near my “taint” and I blurted out “well, remem-BERRR (sharp breath) that cicada in my-YYYYYY shirt a few minutes AAAAgo?”
Her eyes gleamed and she said “yeah….?” as a smile began to break across her lovely face.
“Well, he’s taken up residence iii-IIIIIII-n my drawers, and seems to be-eEEEE trying out some M.C. Ha-ha-ha-HAAAAmmer moves down there. Do you mind if I-YI-YI-YI excuse myself?!”
We couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. She said “Oh my God—go NOW!”
Once again, trying to maintain a cool exterior, I got up from the table and tried walking with my butt cheeks clenched, even though my little passenger was vibrating to beat the band. After sauntering about twenty-five feet across the main floor, I turned out of her sight and into the hallway leading to the restrooms, and sprinted the final five yards.
Once inside I furiously unbuckled and “dropped trow” as I tried to eradicate the chirping interloper. Two other gentlemen glared at me with awkward bemusement as I tried to explain my ordeal while simultaneously slapping and clawing away at my exposed daddy-parts. They kind of leaned up against the wall so as to not get too close, chortling at my predicament. I’m sure they had some lovely table talk at my expense when they returned to their dates…but who could blame them?
I dispatched my lil’ French tickler and brought his short life to an even hastier demise with a firm squash of my right penny loafer. Turns out it was one of the newly hatched cicadas, a teneral, that was a bit smaller, still whitish in color and a bit dopey in the early stages of its short life. I didn’t want this to take too long, but it seemed to take forever trying to clean up. I kept worrying that Annie would think I was a total spazzoid.
Eventually, I made it back out to her. She was such a sweetheart about the whole thing, and we tittered about it on and off through the rest of our dinner.
So, if you ever see me acting out of sorts and wonder what my deal is, I can safely attest that I have indeed had a “bug up my ass” on at least one occasion, and have a pretty good idea what that’s all about. Therefore, you may have to use another term to question what my problem might be. One thing’s for sure, thinking back on it helps me not take too many other strange things that befall me too seriously now.
Annie was a lovely lass that I had thought was fetching for quite some time, and after a lot of patience and planning, things finally worked out that we could go on a first date. She had some work that brought her to my side of town, and we rendezvoused at my place on a warm May evening. After some fun pleasantries, we decided to walk over to Bosco’s, a local eatery, for dinner.
As some of you may recall, the spring of ’98 marked the return of the of the thirteen year cicada across the Mid South. This odd occurrence can transform normally peaceful, spring days in Nashville into a buzz saw of chattering mating calls from literally tens of millions (perhaps even billions?) of a benign sort of locust. They have been gestating in underground cocoons for a baker’s dozen of summers, and now they ooze to the surface, and crawl up the nearest tree where they grow to around two inches in size, molting along the way, and fairly screaming their ear splitting love songs in attempts of “hooking up.” Once the females have been impregnated, they implant eggs in the bark of trees, which in turn hatch a few days later and drop to the ground, and they somehow burrow inward for the process to begin all over again. Meanwhile, the mature brownish green bugs, with their red “eyes” and translucent wings, flutter about for a few days of “gettin’ it on” before dying relatively quick deaths. When Tom Petty wrote “The Waiting is the Hardest Part,” I wonder if he had these crazed caeliferas in mind.
What can not be emphasized enough, for those of you not familiar with this phenomenon, is the preponderance of these critters. They are everywhere—especially dominating neighborhoods with trees, covering nearly every square inch of bark, making the trunks look like they are undulating with movement. Flying about recklessly (and harmlessly), they can be particularly irritating to those with long hair. I’ve seen more than one woman freak out from one getting entangled in her locks.
Lawnmowers are attractive to these hovering grasshoppers due to the vibration and noise. So, as you cut your yard, you have to swat thousands of these away, and sometimes even have to clean out the rotary encasement from the gizzard goo that accumulates around the shaft and blades. They also wreak havoc on cars, splattering by the dozens on grilles and windshields with every errand you run. Sales of window-washing fluid skyrocket during these months. I had one sneak into the interior of my Chevy Cavalier once, wedging itself into the air vents of my dashboard. For several days I had to endure its mournful squeals every time I turned on the AC.
As Annie and I strolled through my heavily wooded neighborhood towards the restaurant, we recounted some of our run-ins with these winged creatures, being serenaded by the massive swells of volume as they harmonize in their mating song. It was so loud at times, it rendered conversation almost useless. We couldn’t help but have several crunchy moments underfoot, too, as the husks of evolving bugs were scattered thickly along our path. We just laughed, and batted a few away as they came near us, or occasionally landed on us---you get used to them pretty quickly.
With this being our first date and all, I was trying to play things particularly cool. So, when I felt one of these fellows land on my neck, I calmly tried to flick it away. However, it slid down the back of my shirt instead, fluttering about in the bunching fabric down near my belt. Being somewhat ticklish, I began to giggle. I thought I would try to hold out until we got to the restaurant and I would then eradicate the winged thumper while cleaning up in the men’s room. After about a block further of striding towards our destination, the bug’s hyperactivity got the best of me, and I finally decided to admit my ordeal to Annie. She stood in a mixture amusement and amazement at my calm as I pulled out my shirt tale and shook it. For all intents and purposes, I should’ve been caterwauling about the sidewalk having a conniption fit. But, with the confident demeanor of James Bond under extreme duress, I defused the tickling time bomb. It was hard to tell if I set the spittlebug free, because there was so many others darting about in the air and on the ground.
Once we were seated at Bosco’s, I sensed something was amiss. You see, the sport shirt I was wearing was of medium length, and so as not to have the tail popping out from my waist continually, I had tucked it into the top edge of my boxers underneath—a common practice employed by a fair amount of guys when necessary. Well, it appeared that in the process of pulling the shirt out a few minutes earlier, I had actually created a ramp for the pest to slide snuggly down towards the inner sanctum of my undies. The leaf hopper sought after a space where it wouldn’t be squashed, and once I was seated it found such sanctuary in the upper crevasse between my glutal cheeks— the northern end of my butt crack, as it were. At first I thought it might be a just the discarded exoskeleton of the intruder, as there was just an awareness of a foreign object. But when said entity began to migrate towards more space, I realized I was in trouble. He was alive, irritated, and on the march.
Annie was regaling me with a fun story about her youth in Kansas City, and I had been enamored with her dancing blue eyes, lilting laugh, and just charmed out of my gourd with her simple beauty. But I was quickly becoming duplicitous in my agenda. While trying to stay engaged with our repartee, I simultaneously was “negotiating” with this groping grasshopper.
Here was my plan: I began shifting weight back and forth on my haunches trying to move the foreigner away from the center, where I would then, in my warped reasoning of the moment, crush the life out of it with one of my bums. This, however, proved problematic…for the more I squirmed (very surreptitiously, I might add, so as not to alarm Annie), the more the katydid burrowed towards any free space.
In about half a minute, it had worked its way to the most nether region. I now felt it fidgeting around my---how do I say this delicately---scrotum. The sensation made certain very personal probes during annual physical exams seem like a walk in the park in comparison.
It would be hilarious to see what my facial expressions were during this torment. On one hand I was being so debonair with Annie, trying desperately to be affirming and involved with her childhood story, while simultaneously avoiding gritting my teeth and grimacing from the sordid sensations emanating from my crotch.
My male pride wouldn’t allow me to come clean about it at this juncture, since I had already used up my “quirky equity” when I tried to discard the bug out on the street. And I didn’t want to cut her off in mid-story for fear of it appearing rude. I was just going to wait for closure to her tale, then excuse myself to wash up. Annie was none the wiser, and she kept chatting away.
As I would be nodding my head and chuckling along with her commentary, I’m sure I made responses along the lines of “uh-huh…yea…OHH! (eyes suddenly widening)...uh-huh…(chuckle)…I see..EEEEeee (jaw tightening as my body would spasm ever so slightly)…well, of course you should haaaAAAAAVE.”
After another minute or two of this (seemed more like a fortnight), Annie could sense something was not up to par. She interrupted her train of thought with a concerned “are you alright?” At that juncture I think the bush cricket decided to try a double summersault into a full gainer somewhere near my “taint” and I blurted out “well, remem-BERRR (sharp breath) that cicada in my-YYYYYY shirt a few minutes AAAAgo?”
Her eyes gleamed and she said “yeah….?” as a smile began to break across her lovely face.
“Well, he’s taken up residence iii-IIIIIII-n my drawers, and seems to be-eEEEE trying out some M.C. Ha-ha-ha-HAAAAmmer moves down there. Do you mind if I-YI-YI-YI excuse myself?!”
We couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. She said “Oh my God—go NOW!”
Once again, trying to maintain a cool exterior, I got up from the table and tried walking with my butt cheeks clenched, even though my little passenger was vibrating to beat the band. After sauntering about twenty-five feet across the main floor, I turned out of her sight and into the hallway leading to the restrooms, and sprinted the final five yards.
Once inside I furiously unbuckled and “dropped trow” as I tried to eradicate the chirping interloper. Two other gentlemen glared at me with awkward bemusement as I tried to explain my ordeal while simultaneously slapping and clawing away at my exposed daddy-parts. They kind of leaned up against the wall so as to not get too close, chortling at my predicament. I’m sure they had some lovely table talk at my expense when they returned to their dates…but who could blame them?
I dispatched my lil’ French tickler and brought his short life to an even hastier demise with a firm squash of my right penny loafer. Turns out it was one of the newly hatched cicadas, a teneral, that was a bit smaller, still whitish in color and a bit dopey in the early stages of its short life. I didn’t want this to take too long, but it seemed to take forever trying to clean up. I kept worrying that Annie would think I was a total spazzoid.
Eventually, I made it back out to her. She was such a sweetheart about the whole thing, and we tittered about it on and off through the rest of our dinner.
So, if you ever see me acting out of sorts and wonder what my deal is, I can safely attest that I have indeed had a “bug up my ass” on at least one occasion, and have a pretty good idea what that’s all about. Therefore, you may have to use another term to question what my problem might be. One thing’s for sure, thinking back on it helps me not take too many other strange things that befall me too seriously now.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Let Them Eat Tanks
Ben & Jerry's co-founder Ben Cohen talks with Jim Wallis of Sojourners Magazine about ice cream, Oreos -- and how the bloated military budget is destroying our economy and making us all less secure.
Jim Wallis: Why should you, a successful businessperson, be worried about the military budget? Why did this become such a life mission for you?
Ben Cohen: It was the same spirit that led Ben & Jerry's to work to improve the quality of life in the communities that we're a part of. There are things a business can do to integrate concerns for social justice and people who are being oppressed, but there are also things that only a country can do.
When I was working through Ben & Jerry's, it was clear that even big businesses, even huge foundations that have gobs of money, pale in comparison to how much money the federal government has. To restructure the edifice that creates injustice and poverty, you really need to look at the federal budget. That's where there's enough money to solve all these problems, without raising taxes, just by moving some money around. So that’s how I got to that point.
Wallis: How did you first become aware of how much money we're talking about and what that could mean for everything else?
Cohen: Part of it was getting just the vaguest idea of how much $1 billion is. You hear numbers such as 500 million, a billion, 500 billion, and they're all more than you can ever imagine. As Ben & Jerry's became a $100 million business and then a $300 million business, I began to understand how much that really is. Three times that is still less than $1 billion. It is shocking to me that we now spend $700 billion a year on the Pentagon budget. When I first started working on this issue a decade or so ago, the Pentagon budget was about half that amount.
Wallis: How do you help people visualize a number that large?
Cohen: There are two demonstrations I've done that have been incredibly popular. One is the BB demonstration and the other is the Oreo demonstration. The BB demonstration was shown to me by Sen. Alan Cranston of California. He used it to demonstrate the size of the U.S. nuclear arsenal. He would drop one BB into a container to represent the 15 kiloton bomb that went off over Hiroshima. Then he would drop in 60 BBs to represent enough nuclear weapons to blow up all of Russia. Then he would say, "And now I want to show the number of BBs that represent the U.S. nuclear arsenal," and he would pour in 10,000 BBs, and the noise just went on forever. It was so clearly illogical and irrational, and so clearly a waste, not just of money, but of our spirits and our soul -- in the same way that Martin Luther King Jr. warned that a nation that continues to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.
Spending money on unnecessary weapons is taking away from our schools and hospitals and housing, and taking away the hopes of our children and the genius of our times. It's just amazing to think about the huge expenditures of money on these unneeded weapons and what could be done with that same amount of money, if we used it to actually help people, especially people in poverty.
Wallis: Tell me about the Oreo demonstration.
Cohen: That's a demonstration I developed on my own. It makes it easier to understand the federal budget. One Oreo represents $10 billion. The $700 billion Pentagon budget is just a stack of 70 Oreos -- you can understand 70 Oreos. In comparison to that, the federal government spends just four-and-a-half Oreos on education, just one-half an Oreo on alternative energy, and a fraction of an Oreo on Head Start. If you take just seven Oreos off the Pentagon budget, you could provide health care for all the kids who currently don't have it. You could provide Head Start for all the kids who need it. You could eliminate our need for Mideast oil through energy efficiency. You could change our country into one that cares about people, eliminates poverty, and helps people climb their way out, through education.
Wallis: You mentioned Dr. King's comment about a nation that makes these choices being on the path to spiritual death. Are there spiritual roots to your concern about military spending?
Cohen: It's definitely a spiritual issue, as far as I'm concerned. My life is interconnected with the lives of everybody else. When people are suffering, I’m suffering. The thing that motivates me is the understanding that there is no lack of resources. We do have enough money. I've been inspired by a quote from Teilhard de Chardin, who wrote, "The day will come when, after harnessing space, the winds, the tides, gravitation, we shall harness for God the energies of love. And, on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, [humanity] will have discovered fire."
I believe that we can create Martin Luther King's beloved community. And the thing that just drives me crazy is that we have enough money. We're just spending it in the wrong places.
The military budget grew to half of what it is now during the Cold War, based on the idea that the Soviet Union was spending more than we were, so we were in this neck-and-neck arms race. We had a peer competitor; there were two superpowers. We thought that they were out to get us, so we needed to spend as much as the Soviet Union.
Today, there is no peer competitor. There is no other superpower, and we are spending more than five times as much as the next country that's not an ally. And that country is China, our biggest trading partner; we're not about to go to war with China. And yet we continue to spend this ridiculous sum of money for weapons that we plan never to use.
Wallis: How did you bring these issues into the last presidential campaign?
Cohen: We were trying to encourage presidential candidates to take a stand against militarism, to take a stand in favor of shifting money out of the Pentagon budget and into social needs. We did that by educating people in Iowa and New Hampshire about how the federal budget was spent. We didn't really need to do much convincing.
The huge majority of the population is not aware of how the federal budget is split up, and they're not aware of how much other countries spend on their military compared to us. In a recent poll, 16 percent of people thought that less than 20 percent of the budget goes to the Pentagon, and 64 percent of the people thought that military spending was less than half the budget -- it's actually around 58 percent, not even including the costs of past wars or foreign military aid. The Pentagon happens to be the biggest-ticket item in the entire discretionary budget.
Once you give them that information, you don't need to do anything else. They come to the conclusion themselves that we should shift money out of the Pentagon and put it into stuff that people need today, like better schools.
Wallis: You've done incredible work educating people about this issue. You've convinced people of this pretty readily, but you've had a tougher time with the politicians.
Cohen: That's exactly right. Politicians are deathly afraid of being accused of being "weak on defense." They regard that as political suicide. But the reality is that we are muscle-bound on defense. The reality is that it's our excessive military spending that’s creating the deficit that we have. That's what's making our country uncompetitive economically, because so much of government spending goes into building weapons instead of into creating things that people really need.
Wallis: It really isn't about "defense" anymore, is it?
Cohen: No, it's definitely not about defense. I called it the "military budget" or the "Pentagon budget"; it's definitely not the "defense budget." The huge majority of the money that's being spent is not being spent to defend the United States -- it's being spent to prepare to fight wars of aggression against countries that have not done anything to us. The United States has an ocean on each side that prevents countries from coming and attacking us, and we've got two good allies on the north and south. There's no country that has the ability to attack the U.S.
Wallis: How does the fact that we're engaged in two major wars, and now a third, in Muslim nations affect the politics of military spending?
Cohen: When you take into account the size of the military budgets of our opposition in Iraq, Afghanistan, and now in Libya, they're virtually nothing. They’re way under $10 billion a year. If what we're concerned about is terrorists -- they're spending a lot less than $1 billion a year. So these huge Pentagon expenditures of $700 billion and more, it’s like trying to take an aircraft carrier to hunt down one terrorist. It's overkill.
Wallis: Of course, people would say, sure we have the oceans and allies, but we were attacked on 9/11, and that's what we're afraid of now. How do you defend against terrorism?
Cohen: I don't think that's the reason to go to war. I think the terrorists that attacked us were criminals, and they should be hunted down like criminals and brought to justice. But terrorism is a tactic that's been used for centuries. Other countries have dealt with terrorist attacks, but no other country that I know of has gone to war over it.
Wallis: The Pentagon-related think tank The Rand Corporation put together a pie chart with statistics on how, historically, terrorism has been defeated. One big chunk, 40 percent, involved police tactics, intelligence, preventing things from happening. Another 43 percent involved reaching a political settlement, such as in Northern Ireland. In 10 percent of cases, terrorists win. And only 7 percent of the time has terrorism been defeated by military solutions. So why are we investing all our money in the 7 percent solution? What's driving all this, if it isn't our legitimate defense needs?
Cohen: No, it's definitely not our legitimate defense needs. It comes down to the military-industrial-congressional complex. You’ve got the Pentagon that is run by people whose careers depend upon getting a certain weapon system built, and they are always lobbying Congress to fund these weapon systems. The standard operating procedure is to do what's called "political engineering." Political engineering means to spread out the production of a weapons system across as many congressional districts as possible, so if there's a threat of cutting that weapon system, the majority of members of Congress hear howls of resistance from the people in their districts that have jobs making those weapons. And then you've got the weapons manufacturers themselves that are lobbying Congress to provide more funding, and providing campaign contributions to pressure them, in a form of legalized bribery, to keep the money rolling in from Congress.
Wallis: You told me recently that you thought that we now have the second biggest opportunity ever to really challenge military spending. The first was the end of the Cold War, with the "peace dividend" that never really happened. In fact, we've doubled the Pentagon budget since the end of the Cold War. But you think now might be an opportune time.
Cohen: Absolutely, because of the deficit. Because people are starting to understand that we can't continue to run up all these unpaid bills. When you start looking at where the government spends the money, and you start trying to find places to cut to bring the deficit under control, you realize that over half of all discretionary government spending is the Pentagon. If you're going to start bringing the budget under control, you can't just be fiddling around the margins; you've got to deal with the really big-ticket items. The bipartisan deficit commission came up with $100 billion a year worth of obsolete, unneeded Cold War-era weapons systems that do not need to be built.
The whole time I was running the campaign to cut Pentagon spending, we were desperately trying to make the campaign bipartisan, but we couldn't find any Republicans that would get on board. Now, the campaign to cut Pentagon spending is being led by Republicans. A lot of the people that got elected as part of the tea party have been fighting to cut Pentagon spending. It's logical. You can’t avoid cutting the Pentagon when you take a look at how the federal government spends its money. So you've got tea partiers and libertarians speaking out in a very loud voice about how the Pentagon should be cut.
Wallis: Where are you finding support for your efforts?
Cohen: I think that religious people are likely supporters. They're the people that make so much sense to be on this bandwagon because this is what the Bible and Jesus is all about.
Wallis: We do have these scriptures about beating our swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks.
Cohen: It's unbelievable that politicians give all this lip service about how religious they are, but when it comes to putting their money where their mouth is, they don't do it. People talk about the needs of children and education and hunger and poverty, but there's very little money that they ever come up with. On the other side, there's very little talk about the Pentagon budget. It's not really a subject of conversation. And yet that's where all the money is going.
(Copyright, Sojourners Magazine, June, 2011 issue)
Jim Wallis: Why should you, a successful businessperson, be worried about the military budget? Why did this become such a life mission for you?
Ben Cohen: It was the same spirit that led Ben & Jerry's to work to improve the quality of life in the communities that we're a part of. There are things a business can do to integrate concerns for social justice and people who are being oppressed, but there are also things that only a country can do.
When I was working through Ben & Jerry's, it was clear that even big businesses, even huge foundations that have gobs of money, pale in comparison to how much money the federal government has. To restructure the edifice that creates injustice and poverty, you really need to look at the federal budget. That's where there's enough money to solve all these problems, without raising taxes, just by moving some money around. So that’s how I got to that point.
Wallis: How did you first become aware of how much money we're talking about and what that could mean for everything else?
Cohen: Part of it was getting just the vaguest idea of how much $1 billion is. You hear numbers such as 500 million, a billion, 500 billion, and they're all more than you can ever imagine. As Ben & Jerry's became a $100 million business and then a $300 million business, I began to understand how much that really is. Three times that is still less than $1 billion. It is shocking to me that we now spend $700 billion a year on the Pentagon budget. When I first started working on this issue a decade or so ago, the Pentagon budget was about half that amount.
Wallis: How do you help people visualize a number that large?
Cohen: There are two demonstrations I've done that have been incredibly popular. One is the BB demonstration and the other is the Oreo demonstration. The BB demonstration was shown to me by Sen. Alan Cranston of California. He used it to demonstrate the size of the U.S. nuclear arsenal. He would drop one BB into a container to represent the 15 kiloton bomb that went off over Hiroshima. Then he would drop in 60 BBs to represent enough nuclear weapons to blow up all of Russia. Then he would say, "And now I want to show the number of BBs that represent the U.S. nuclear arsenal," and he would pour in 10,000 BBs, and the noise just went on forever. It was so clearly illogical and irrational, and so clearly a waste, not just of money, but of our spirits and our soul -- in the same way that Martin Luther King Jr. warned that a nation that continues to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.
Spending money on unnecessary weapons is taking away from our schools and hospitals and housing, and taking away the hopes of our children and the genius of our times. It's just amazing to think about the huge expenditures of money on these unneeded weapons and what could be done with that same amount of money, if we used it to actually help people, especially people in poverty.
Wallis: Tell me about the Oreo demonstration.
Cohen: That's a demonstration I developed on my own. It makes it easier to understand the federal budget. One Oreo represents $10 billion. The $700 billion Pentagon budget is just a stack of 70 Oreos -- you can understand 70 Oreos. In comparison to that, the federal government spends just four-and-a-half Oreos on education, just one-half an Oreo on alternative energy, and a fraction of an Oreo on Head Start. If you take just seven Oreos off the Pentagon budget, you could provide health care for all the kids who currently don't have it. You could provide Head Start for all the kids who need it. You could eliminate our need for Mideast oil through energy efficiency. You could change our country into one that cares about people, eliminates poverty, and helps people climb their way out, through education.
Wallis: You mentioned Dr. King's comment about a nation that makes these choices being on the path to spiritual death. Are there spiritual roots to your concern about military spending?
Cohen: It's definitely a spiritual issue, as far as I'm concerned. My life is interconnected with the lives of everybody else. When people are suffering, I’m suffering. The thing that motivates me is the understanding that there is no lack of resources. We do have enough money. I've been inspired by a quote from Teilhard de Chardin, who wrote, "The day will come when, after harnessing space, the winds, the tides, gravitation, we shall harness for God the energies of love. And, on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, [humanity] will have discovered fire."
I believe that we can create Martin Luther King's beloved community. And the thing that just drives me crazy is that we have enough money. We're just spending it in the wrong places.
The military budget grew to half of what it is now during the Cold War, based on the idea that the Soviet Union was spending more than we were, so we were in this neck-and-neck arms race. We had a peer competitor; there were two superpowers. We thought that they were out to get us, so we needed to spend as much as the Soviet Union.
Today, there is no peer competitor. There is no other superpower, and we are spending more than five times as much as the next country that's not an ally. And that country is China, our biggest trading partner; we're not about to go to war with China. And yet we continue to spend this ridiculous sum of money for weapons that we plan never to use.
Wallis: How did you bring these issues into the last presidential campaign?
Cohen: We were trying to encourage presidential candidates to take a stand against militarism, to take a stand in favor of shifting money out of the Pentagon budget and into social needs. We did that by educating people in Iowa and New Hampshire about how the federal budget was spent. We didn't really need to do much convincing.
The huge majority of the population is not aware of how the federal budget is split up, and they're not aware of how much other countries spend on their military compared to us. In a recent poll, 16 percent of people thought that less than 20 percent of the budget goes to the Pentagon, and 64 percent of the people thought that military spending was less than half the budget -- it's actually around 58 percent, not even including the costs of past wars or foreign military aid. The Pentagon happens to be the biggest-ticket item in the entire discretionary budget.
Once you give them that information, you don't need to do anything else. They come to the conclusion themselves that we should shift money out of the Pentagon and put it into stuff that people need today, like better schools.
Wallis: You've done incredible work educating people about this issue. You've convinced people of this pretty readily, but you've had a tougher time with the politicians.
Cohen: That's exactly right. Politicians are deathly afraid of being accused of being "weak on defense." They regard that as political suicide. But the reality is that we are muscle-bound on defense. The reality is that it's our excessive military spending that’s creating the deficit that we have. That's what's making our country uncompetitive economically, because so much of government spending goes into building weapons instead of into creating things that people really need.
Wallis: It really isn't about "defense" anymore, is it?
Cohen: No, it's definitely not about defense. I called it the "military budget" or the "Pentagon budget"; it's definitely not the "defense budget." The huge majority of the money that's being spent is not being spent to defend the United States -- it's being spent to prepare to fight wars of aggression against countries that have not done anything to us. The United States has an ocean on each side that prevents countries from coming and attacking us, and we've got two good allies on the north and south. There's no country that has the ability to attack the U.S.
Wallis: How does the fact that we're engaged in two major wars, and now a third, in Muslim nations affect the politics of military spending?
Cohen: When you take into account the size of the military budgets of our opposition in Iraq, Afghanistan, and now in Libya, they're virtually nothing. They’re way under $10 billion a year. If what we're concerned about is terrorists -- they're spending a lot less than $1 billion a year. So these huge Pentagon expenditures of $700 billion and more, it’s like trying to take an aircraft carrier to hunt down one terrorist. It's overkill.
Wallis: Of course, people would say, sure we have the oceans and allies, but we were attacked on 9/11, and that's what we're afraid of now. How do you defend against terrorism?
Cohen: I don't think that's the reason to go to war. I think the terrorists that attacked us were criminals, and they should be hunted down like criminals and brought to justice. But terrorism is a tactic that's been used for centuries. Other countries have dealt with terrorist attacks, but no other country that I know of has gone to war over it.
Wallis: The Pentagon-related think tank The Rand Corporation put together a pie chart with statistics on how, historically, terrorism has been defeated. One big chunk, 40 percent, involved police tactics, intelligence, preventing things from happening. Another 43 percent involved reaching a political settlement, such as in Northern Ireland. In 10 percent of cases, terrorists win. And only 7 percent of the time has terrorism been defeated by military solutions. So why are we investing all our money in the 7 percent solution? What's driving all this, if it isn't our legitimate defense needs?
Cohen: No, it's definitely not our legitimate defense needs. It comes down to the military-industrial-congressional complex. You’ve got the Pentagon that is run by people whose careers depend upon getting a certain weapon system built, and they are always lobbying Congress to fund these weapon systems. The standard operating procedure is to do what's called "political engineering." Political engineering means to spread out the production of a weapons system across as many congressional districts as possible, so if there's a threat of cutting that weapon system, the majority of members of Congress hear howls of resistance from the people in their districts that have jobs making those weapons. And then you've got the weapons manufacturers themselves that are lobbying Congress to provide more funding, and providing campaign contributions to pressure them, in a form of legalized bribery, to keep the money rolling in from Congress.
Wallis: You told me recently that you thought that we now have the second biggest opportunity ever to really challenge military spending. The first was the end of the Cold War, with the "peace dividend" that never really happened. In fact, we've doubled the Pentagon budget since the end of the Cold War. But you think now might be an opportune time.
Cohen: Absolutely, because of the deficit. Because people are starting to understand that we can't continue to run up all these unpaid bills. When you start looking at where the government spends the money, and you start trying to find places to cut to bring the deficit under control, you realize that over half of all discretionary government spending is the Pentagon. If you're going to start bringing the budget under control, you can't just be fiddling around the margins; you've got to deal with the really big-ticket items. The bipartisan deficit commission came up with $100 billion a year worth of obsolete, unneeded Cold War-era weapons systems that do not need to be built.
The whole time I was running the campaign to cut Pentagon spending, we were desperately trying to make the campaign bipartisan, but we couldn't find any Republicans that would get on board. Now, the campaign to cut Pentagon spending is being led by Republicans. A lot of the people that got elected as part of the tea party have been fighting to cut Pentagon spending. It's logical. You can’t avoid cutting the Pentagon when you take a look at how the federal government spends its money. So you've got tea partiers and libertarians speaking out in a very loud voice about how the Pentagon should be cut.
Wallis: Where are you finding support for your efforts?
Cohen: I think that religious people are likely supporters. They're the people that make so much sense to be on this bandwagon because this is what the Bible and Jesus is all about.
Wallis: We do have these scriptures about beating our swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks.
Cohen: It's unbelievable that politicians give all this lip service about how religious they are, but when it comes to putting their money where their mouth is, they don't do it. People talk about the needs of children and education and hunger and poverty, but there's very little money that they ever come up with. On the other side, there's very little talk about the Pentagon budget. It's not really a subject of conversation. And yet that's where all the money is going.
(Copyright, Sojourners Magazine, June, 2011 issue)
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Letters About "Embracing the Gray"
I have gotten some thoughtful letters, notes, and messages about my first book, Embracing the Gray: A Wing, A Prayer, and A Doubter’s Resolve. Here are some excerpts:
Your book recalls some our shared days at Wheaton College. You were a deep sea diver without good equipment finding treasures many feet beyond the equipment you were given....you held your breath....and brought us truth...I will respect that forever. I appreciate that you aren’t a pretending or posturing follower of Jesus. You have earned every scar and survived many valleys and in the end have a fresh voice for real hope. No formulas here like you often find in many "Christian" books and novels. -B.M.
Quite a life you've had, Mark. Some of your experiences very heart warming and some pretty scary. But your search for answers, although a couple of bumps along the way, continues. Thank you for sharing your story. Your kind heart makes you a hero to many. -E.W.
You have embraced the grey, painted it with colors often brighter & sometimes darker. But...you kept seeing, looking, thinking, and praying. This posture is rare in an age where we are all tempted to give up & let others paint life for us. -D.B.
This book is some very beautiful fruit from a very tough season in your life. -K.T.
I finished your book this afternoon. It's absolutely fantastic-- the best thing I've read all year. I have a million things to say about it, but as for now, I'll leave it by saying that I'm so incredibly glad you shared your story. I really like that you acknowledge that not all our questions have easy answers, but still compellingly argue that God is with us as we face our questions. Too many Christians out there refuse to go beyond platitudes, and seem threatened by those who do. -A.S.
Finished your book last night, I laughed, I cried, I almost peed in my pants, :o/ I sang with the lyrics and I said out loud with no one else in the room: "what a privilege to know you and to be able to see into you soul." Thank you so much for putting word to paper. Blessings as God expands your territory and influence. -R.R.
My mom, dad and I are reading your book out loud in the living room, and mom is on the floor about to wake up the neighborhood with her laughter. thanks for the stories. :) -A.C.
Can't say that I'm all that surprised to hear about the responses you've received. You've really put it out there where your convictions shine through. Of course, it is still the well-spoken Mark I've always known. People identify with that type of honest struggle and it really does hit a nerve. Hopefully, this work will manifest itself by opening yet another door for your personal ministry and introduce others whose paths would have otherwise been obscured by their doubts. -C.D.
Wow, Mark. You totally have had me in tears reading your book... both laughing and crying. Thanks for putting so much out there. I mentioned it's a quick page turner, but I think it's also going to end up being a multiple times read for me. -S.G.
Just finished your book. Two sittings. It was such a pleasure to read and I thank you for sharing it. I hope you're having a good time basking in lots of affirmation over it! You really are an extraordinary guy who's had extraordinary experiences.
You probably didn't notice, but the night of your 'debut' when Amy was reading the piece about Mercy - I lost it. I was ugly crying on the back row. As God would have it, D.T. had just snuck in late and there was an empty chair right next to me. She basically held me while I wept over your eloquent, horrible, perfect, redeeming description of your story w/ Mercy. And - in light of their adoption of S. was deeply moved, too. Wow.
You've merely dented the surface w/ your tellings in this book. I do hope there will be another one (c'mon, admit it.. you're working on it, aren't you?). -C.M.
I just finished your book night before last... it was a great write. loved reading it. You made me laugh, you made me cry, and you even made me think... I want to be like you when I grow up. When does the next volume come out ; ) -L.H.
I love that U have always been who you are at whatever cost. You are an intense bright light in a world full of 10 watter's. I'm not surprised your book is having a great response. You have always said things that people wish they could say....or even think out loud. -S.S.
I continue to be humbled by these thoughtful words. And equally excited that the book is connecting with so many others. If you would like to read more reviews, or write one of your own, or order a copy (now available in Kindle format as well) go to:
Amazon
-or-
Wheatmark Books
-or-
Contact me directly if you would like to purchase a signed copy. : )
Your book recalls some our shared days at Wheaton College. You were a deep sea diver without good equipment finding treasures many feet beyond the equipment you were given....you held your breath....and brought us truth...I will respect that forever. I appreciate that you aren’t a pretending or posturing follower of Jesus. You have earned every scar and survived many valleys and in the end have a fresh voice for real hope. No formulas here like you often find in many "Christian" books and novels. -B.M.
Quite a life you've had, Mark. Some of your experiences very heart warming and some pretty scary. But your search for answers, although a couple of bumps along the way, continues. Thank you for sharing your story. Your kind heart makes you a hero to many. -E.W.
You have embraced the grey, painted it with colors often brighter & sometimes darker. But...you kept seeing, looking, thinking, and praying. This posture is rare in an age where we are all tempted to give up & let others paint life for us. -D.B.
This book is some very beautiful fruit from a very tough season in your life. -K.T.
I finished your book this afternoon. It's absolutely fantastic-- the best thing I've read all year. I have a million things to say about it, but as for now, I'll leave it by saying that I'm so incredibly glad you shared your story. I really like that you acknowledge that not all our questions have easy answers, but still compellingly argue that God is with us as we face our questions. Too many Christians out there refuse to go beyond platitudes, and seem threatened by those who do. -A.S.
Finished your book last night, I laughed, I cried, I almost peed in my pants, :o/ I sang with the lyrics and I said out loud with no one else in the room: "what a privilege to know you and to be able to see into you soul." Thank you so much for putting word to paper. Blessings as God expands your territory and influence. -R.R.
My mom, dad and I are reading your book out loud in the living room, and mom is on the floor about to wake up the neighborhood with her laughter. thanks for the stories. :) -A.C.
Can't say that I'm all that surprised to hear about the responses you've received. You've really put it out there where your convictions shine through. Of course, it is still the well-spoken Mark I've always known. People identify with that type of honest struggle and it really does hit a nerve. Hopefully, this work will manifest itself by opening yet another door for your personal ministry and introduce others whose paths would have otherwise been obscured by their doubts. -C.D.
Wow, Mark. You totally have had me in tears reading your book... both laughing and crying. Thanks for putting so much out there. I mentioned it's a quick page turner, but I think it's also going to end up being a multiple times read for me. -S.G.
Just finished your book. Two sittings. It was such a pleasure to read and I thank you for sharing it. I hope you're having a good time basking in lots of affirmation over it! You really are an extraordinary guy who's had extraordinary experiences.
You probably didn't notice, but the night of your 'debut' when Amy was reading the piece about Mercy - I lost it. I was ugly crying on the back row. As God would have it, D.T. had just snuck in late and there was an empty chair right next to me. She basically held me while I wept over your eloquent, horrible, perfect, redeeming description of your story w/ Mercy. And - in light of their adoption of S. was deeply moved, too. Wow.
You've merely dented the surface w/ your tellings in this book. I do hope there will be another one (c'mon, admit it.. you're working on it, aren't you?). -C.M.
I just finished your book night before last... it was a great write. loved reading it. You made me laugh, you made me cry, and you even made me think... I want to be like you when I grow up. When does the next volume come out ; ) -L.H.
I love that U have always been who you are at whatever cost. You are an intense bright light in a world full of 10 watter's. I'm not surprised your book is having a great response. You have always said things that people wish they could say....or even think out loud. -S.S.
I continue to be humbled by these thoughtful words. And equally excited that the book is connecting with so many others. If you would like to read more reviews, or write one of your own, or order a copy (now available in Kindle format as well) go to:
Amazon
-or-
Wheatmark Books
-or-
Contact me directly if you would like to purchase a signed copy. : )
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The History of Cellblock 303 (Part 2)
303 was becoming “the place to be.” The Predator’s front office was getting more requests for individual game seats in 303 than any other section. 303 quickly became full of the most season tickets of any section in the whole building. Even out of town guests specifically asked to be assigned tickets there when they came in to visit.
Head Coach Barry Trotz refers to 303 as "the secret weapon of our home-ice advantage."
To help organize the chants even further, Hollingsworth created a series of Cheer/Taunt sheets that were distributed at every game so people knew what to yell. These began filtering all around the arena. Additionally, a 303 database was created via questionnaires, getting folks organized to assist with Viewing Parties for out-of-town games, Christmas Parties, the annual mid-summer Slap Shot Party (where everyone gathers to watch the infamous movie), Draft Day Parties, Sign-Painting Parties, etc.
Preds' broadcaster, Pete Weber, and the gang at one of the mid-summer "Slapshot Parties."
“When people have notable birthdays, hundreds of us will sign a card for them and sing Happy Birthday during a break in the action,” says Andress. “When folks were hospitalized due to injury or illness, we would send cards, and set up visitations.”
At the end of Season Two, Craig Leipold came up to our Section during one of the final games and started giving us the “I am not worthy” bow (made famous in Wayne’s World). During the on-ice ceremonies after the final home game that year, Leipold addressed the crowd saying, “I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to all of you this evening after an even better season of support than our first year. But then I looked up there (pointing to us), and thought it’s great fans like those in Section 303 that have made this whole journey worthwhile!”
Original Preds' owner Craig Leipold doing the "I am not worthy" bow to Cellblock 303 in 2000.
In Season Three we started Section303.com. Initially it was Joe Estep who skated with the puck. Then Chuck Schwartz came alongside as our first real webmaster. The site quickly garnered a reputation, and thousands of visitors were logging-on to find out what zaniness we were coming up with next. Hollingsworth helped compile literally thousands of chants, one-liners, taunts, riddles, nonsequiters, jokes, Top Ten Lists, etc. all based around an irreverent hockey humor theme that were catalogued on the site. One of the most requested sections features “The Hated Opposition” spotlighting the current team the Preds will be hosting next, replete with all kinds of taunts specifically for that team and city.
Bill Clement of ABC/ESPN said he had never heard a louder arena in his life. "You guys in 303 are crazy!" he declared.
Others have assisted in the 303 website along the way like Gordon Boulton, John McCloskey, and Win Barker. The current team of Jeremy Grover, Patten Fuqua, and Cody Holland do a stellar job with editorials, interviews, podcasts, photos, promotions, and even organizing road trips to watch the Preds play in other NHL cities. There is even 303 merchandise (shirts, hats, buttons, stickers, etc.) available there. The adjoining Cellblock 303 Facebook page has thousands of fans and is highly trafficked as well.
By the third season, with his marketing/PR background, Hollingsworth began setting up dozens of interviews and features on every local TV station, nearly every main radio outlet in the city, and every daily and weekly newspaper in the region. National media began to take notice as well, with mentions on ESPN, Fox Sports, NPR, ESPN The Magazine, Sports Illustrated, Sporting News, etc. Media would come and sit right in the midst of 303 to capture the whole ambience. The web site was getting hundreds of new visitors each day, with eventually people leaving messages from every state in the union and 22 countries.
Bill Daly, Executive Vice President and Chief Legal Counsel of the NHL is well aware of our shenanigans.
The Preds management approached the group about hanging a huge banner above the wild bunch with some sort of whacky nickname. The core guys kicked a bunch of things around…but it was actually Bryan Shaffer, the then-Game Operations Manager for the Preds, who came up with “Cellblock 303.” They liked it, and with their approval, he came up with the design. The franchise paid for and hoists the banner before every home game. “We couldn’t be prouder, or more humbled by the gesture,” says Hollingsworth.
There are lots of characters in the Cellblock like “The Perv,” “The Librarian,” “The Duke of Rebuke,” “Flag Boy,” “A Boy Named Sioux,” “Red Beard,” “School Marm,” “Wild Bill,” “The King of Pop,” and so on. But one of the most famous cellmates had no intention of ever being so. 82 year-old Eudora Hunter faithfully attended every game with her son, Charles.
“For the first two seasons, I would notice her sitting there like a statue, with this shy little grin in the midst of all our chaos,” recalls Hollingsworth. “I kept thinking to myself what on earth can we do to get her involved? Then it dawned on me that she could become our own Larry “Bud” Melman (an odd little old man that used to make regular appearances on David Letterman). So, I asked Eudora one night if I gave her a silly sign, would she be willing to hold it up? Then I would have Tom, one of the roving in-house TV cameramen, come over and get a shot of her for the jumbotron.
Eudora Hunter, alongside her son, Charles, displaying one of her vintage signs.
The first sign I gave her was “Mike Watt Is a Hottie” (he was a call-up from Milwaukee who had Tom Cruise-like good looks). When that image was shown on the big screen, the arena erupted into laughter. I knew we had something good going with this. So, every game I would come up with another silly saying for her to hold up stone-faced for the camera. Some of the most hilarious were, “I let the dogs out;” “Fear the Mullet!” “If it wasn’t for hockey, I’d still be married;” “I be getting’ all up in yo grille;” “The more you disapprove, the more fun it is for me;” “Puttin’ on the foil, Coach;” “I like the cut of his jib;” “Chaos, panic, and disorder…my work here is done;” and “He looked a lot better in the chat room.” There were hundreds of ‘em. Her popularity grew with each passing game. Kids would come up to get her autograph…it was great,” recalls Hollingsworth.
Eudora Hunter signing an autograph for a young Predhead in early '03.
Eventually, the Predator management even incorporated her into television spots, having her play the recurring role of a fictional version of Scott Hartnell’s grandma in the “Smashville” campaign in the 2001-02 season. Sadly, Eudora passed away in the fall of 2003. The section honored her empty seat the remainder of the season with flowers and mementos. Many attended her funeral. Even Predators front office staff paid respects at her internment.
The shrine at Eudora Hunter's seat (303, F-1) showing the love we all had for her.
Some of the originals in 303 have moved to other cities. A few have moved down to “better” seats (although most 303ites would argue that there’s any place better) when they became available. But it remains the #1 most requested section for season tix and individual game purchases. There are always new members of the 303 family coming into the fold, and it has spilled over into other areas of the upper deck. “The N.B.P. Posse” is now made up of thousands of others in 303’s extended family. “In fact,” says Andress, “we think 303 is really more a state of mind than a location.” This is well evidenced by how the entire arena joins in on many of the chants now throughout each game. “There’s something quite amazing about hearing 17,000 people yell “you suck!” in perfect unison at an opposing goalie,” laughs Swartz.
“What started off as three bozos wanting to have a way to blow off some steam and laugh at a game has evolved into a real part of the Nashville Predators tradition…and we couldn’t be happier or prouder,” concludes Andress.
Perhaps when the Predators win the Cup, they'll engrave "303" in with the player names (we can dream, can't we?)
Head Coach Barry Trotz refers to 303 as "the secret weapon of our home-ice advantage."
To help organize the chants even further, Hollingsworth created a series of Cheer/Taunt sheets that were distributed at every game so people knew what to yell. These began filtering all around the arena. Additionally, a 303 database was created via questionnaires, getting folks organized to assist with Viewing Parties for out-of-town games, Christmas Parties, the annual mid-summer Slap Shot Party (where everyone gathers to watch the infamous movie), Draft Day Parties, Sign-Painting Parties, etc.
Preds' broadcaster, Pete Weber, and the gang at one of the mid-summer "Slapshot Parties."
“When people have notable birthdays, hundreds of us will sign a card for them and sing Happy Birthday during a break in the action,” says Andress. “When folks were hospitalized due to injury or illness, we would send cards, and set up visitations.”
At the end of Season Two, Craig Leipold came up to our Section during one of the final games and started giving us the “I am not worthy” bow (made famous in Wayne’s World). During the on-ice ceremonies after the final home game that year, Leipold addressed the crowd saying, “I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to all of you this evening after an even better season of support than our first year. But then I looked up there (pointing to us), and thought it’s great fans like those in Section 303 that have made this whole journey worthwhile!”
Original Preds' owner Craig Leipold doing the "I am not worthy" bow to Cellblock 303 in 2000.
In Season Three we started Section303.com. Initially it was Joe Estep who skated with the puck. Then Chuck Schwartz came alongside as our first real webmaster. The site quickly garnered a reputation, and thousands of visitors were logging-on to find out what zaniness we were coming up with next. Hollingsworth helped compile literally thousands of chants, one-liners, taunts, riddles, nonsequiters, jokes, Top Ten Lists, etc. all based around an irreverent hockey humor theme that were catalogued on the site. One of the most requested sections features “The Hated Opposition” spotlighting the current team the Preds will be hosting next, replete with all kinds of taunts specifically for that team and city.
Bill Clement of ABC/ESPN said he had never heard a louder arena in his life. "You guys in 303 are crazy!" he declared.
Others have assisted in the 303 website along the way like Gordon Boulton, John McCloskey, and Win Barker. The current team of Jeremy Grover, Patten Fuqua, and Cody Holland do a stellar job with editorials, interviews, podcasts, photos, promotions, and even organizing road trips to watch the Preds play in other NHL cities. There is even 303 merchandise (shirts, hats, buttons, stickers, etc.) available there. The adjoining Cellblock 303 Facebook page has thousands of fans and is highly trafficked as well.
By the third season, with his marketing/PR background, Hollingsworth began setting up dozens of interviews and features on every local TV station, nearly every main radio outlet in the city, and every daily and weekly newspaper in the region. National media began to take notice as well, with mentions on ESPN, Fox Sports, NPR, ESPN The Magazine, Sports Illustrated, Sporting News, etc. Media would come and sit right in the midst of 303 to capture the whole ambience. The web site was getting hundreds of new visitors each day, with eventually people leaving messages from every state in the union and 22 countries.
Bill Daly, Executive Vice President and Chief Legal Counsel of the NHL is well aware of our shenanigans.
The Preds management approached the group about hanging a huge banner above the wild bunch with some sort of whacky nickname. The core guys kicked a bunch of things around…but it was actually Bryan Shaffer, the then-Game Operations Manager for the Preds, who came up with “Cellblock 303.” They liked it, and with their approval, he came up with the design. The franchise paid for and hoists the banner before every home game. “We couldn’t be prouder, or more humbled by the gesture,” says Hollingsworth.
There are lots of characters in the Cellblock like “The Perv,” “The Librarian,” “The Duke of Rebuke,” “Flag Boy,” “A Boy Named Sioux,” “Red Beard,” “School Marm,” “Wild Bill,” “The King of Pop,” and so on. But one of the most famous cellmates had no intention of ever being so. 82 year-old Eudora Hunter faithfully attended every game with her son, Charles.
“For the first two seasons, I would notice her sitting there like a statue, with this shy little grin in the midst of all our chaos,” recalls Hollingsworth. “I kept thinking to myself what on earth can we do to get her involved? Then it dawned on me that she could become our own Larry “Bud” Melman (an odd little old man that used to make regular appearances on David Letterman). So, I asked Eudora one night if I gave her a silly sign, would she be willing to hold it up? Then I would have Tom, one of the roving in-house TV cameramen, come over and get a shot of her for the jumbotron.
Eudora Hunter, alongside her son, Charles, displaying one of her vintage signs.
The first sign I gave her was “Mike Watt Is a Hottie” (he was a call-up from Milwaukee who had Tom Cruise-like good looks). When that image was shown on the big screen, the arena erupted into laughter. I knew we had something good going with this. So, every game I would come up with another silly saying for her to hold up stone-faced for the camera. Some of the most hilarious were, “I let the dogs out;” “Fear the Mullet!” “If it wasn’t for hockey, I’d still be married;” “I be getting’ all up in yo grille;” “The more you disapprove, the more fun it is for me;” “Puttin’ on the foil, Coach;” “I like the cut of his jib;” “Chaos, panic, and disorder…my work here is done;” and “He looked a lot better in the chat room.” There were hundreds of ‘em. Her popularity grew with each passing game. Kids would come up to get her autograph…it was great,” recalls Hollingsworth.
Eudora Hunter signing an autograph for a young Predhead in early '03.
Eventually, the Predator management even incorporated her into television spots, having her play the recurring role of a fictional version of Scott Hartnell’s grandma in the “Smashville” campaign in the 2001-02 season. Sadly, Eudora passed away in the fall of 2003. The section honored her empty seat the remainder of the season with flowers and mementos. Many attended her funeral. Even Predators front office staff paid respects at her internment.
The shrine at Eudora Hunter's seat (303, F-1) showing the love we all had for her.
Some of the originals in 303 have moved to other cities. A few have moved down to “better” seats (although most 303ites would argue that there’s any place better) when they became available. But it remains the #1 most requested section for season tix and individual game purchases. There are always new members of the 303 family coming into the fold, and it has spilled over into other areas of the upper deck. “The N.B.P. Posse” is now made up of thousands of others in 303’s extended family. “In fact,” says Andress, “we think 303 is really more a state of mind than a location.” This is well evidenced by how the entire arena joins in on many of the chants now throughout each game. “There’s something quite amazing about hearing 17,000 people yell “you suck!” in perfect unison at an opposing goalie,” laughs Swartz.
“What started off as three bozos wanting to have a way to blow off some steam and laugh at a game has evolved into a real part of the Nashville Predators tradition…and we couldn’t be happier or prouder,” concludes Andress.
Perhaps when the Predators win the Cup, they'll engrave "303" in with the player names (we can dream, can't we?)
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