This past weekend ended up being a weekend where Cindy and I stayed around the house and straightened up the downstairs and really didn't leave the house, with the exception of when I walked the dog, went to the grocery, and went to church. Cindy didn't leave the house at all. When I got to the end of the weekend, I wished I had got some physical exercise outside. It was a pretty day with highs in the 60's and sunny. Now it is much cooler and is supposed to get wet by the end of the week.
Next weekend is the poetry seminar for which Cindy bought me a ticket to attend. The seminar will be at the Margaret Mitchell house in Atlanta. I am excited about the prospect. I wonder a little bit about where and how the seminar is conducted.
This is seminar week for me. I have a legal seminar on Thursday. Then I have the poetry seminar on Saturday. I ought to set up another seminar for something else and just make it a total learning experience.
Bill Day is trying to set up a time to go fishing on Friday. That would probably turn out to be a fly fishing seminar. That would be three seminars in a row. Of course, it is supposed to be very cold by the end of the week and even some frozen precip. I don't know how that would work out for fishing. I don't think he is contemplating going ice fishing.
There was good football this past weekend. A couple of the teams which I was pulling for to pull off upsets against the favored teams won, i.e. San Diego against Indianapolis and New York against Dallas. Its not that I really support either of those teams. I just like pulling for the underdog most of the time.
I was thinking about that yesterday afternoon. The teams that I like and support have narrowed over the past years. I used to pretty much like all of the teams in the SEC and several of the teams in the midwest. Over the years, however, I have narrowed my support to mainly the teams for schools for which I have a connection.
I don't even really like to watch football when I don't have a team involved which I care about. Yesterday, I watched the two games I referenced above and both games were good tight ballgames in which the underdog ultimately won. I used to like the Colts and the Cowboys, but my support for them has dwindled over the years.
I used to be a big Cowboys fan back in high school and college. I can pinpoint when my ardor for them began to dissipate. At the end of the 70's and beginning of the 80's the Falcons brought Leeman Bennett in as coach. He immediately had an effect on the team. All of a sudden the team was playing at or near the top of the NFL. In 1980 [Good brother Frank reminded me that the Falcons were beaten by the Cowboys in 1980, not 1982. Frank reads my blog to correct my memory. Thanks, little brother], the Falcons had the best record in football. The team drew a byeweek because of their superior record. In the second round, the team was to play Dallas in Atlanta.
At the beginning of the game, the Falcons went out to a lead on the Cowboys. Unfortunately, the second half was not kind to the Falcons. By the end of the game, Dallas had won by a couple of points, scored in the final minutes. Dallas ended up losing to the Philadelphia Eagles in the NFC championship game the following week, a team which the Falcons matched up with very well and had beaten every time they played in the past. I am convinced that the Falcons would have played in the Super Bowl that year and won. The whole history of the franchise could have changed.
Meanwhile, the Cowboys found success in the 90's but the team wasn't as fun to watch as back in the 70's. I just never really regained my love of America's team.
Meanwhile, the Falcons have played like the tide, vacillating highs and lows, from year to year. Most of the time, it was poor. They had their moments. I still think they should have won the Super Bowl in 1998. I think they left their game on the streets of Miami. Still, that victory over Minnesota was superb. Morten Andersen is still the best. I was so glad when the Falcons brought him back this past year and the year before. All the young kickers they had were pretty miserable. Meanwhile, Morten Andersen had lost some yards on his leg, but could still put them out there consistently on the short and medium range kicks. It was kind of like having your own private George Blanda.
When I was a teenager, the Oakland Raiders had George Blanda as their kicker. George had played for Bear Bryant at Kentucky, graduating around 1948. He had played for the Bears for a long time, then played in the old AFL for Houston and Oakland. In 1970, he had won three football games in a row as a kicker and as a backup quarterback. I remember my dad saying that it was nice to have a player in the league who was about your age. As George Blanda was dad's contemporary NFL player, I guess Morten Andersen is mine.
The Great Dane, that's a good hero to support in your middling years.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
A morning in divorce court
The older I get the more some things become a little easier. This morning was a good example. I had a divorce case in Superior Court in front of Judge Edwards. The defendant in the case was unrepresented and had failed to appear at mediation or respond to our efforts to settle this case. The reason why my client had come to the conclusion that it was necessary to file for divorce was because her husband had left her and her five children, quit his job and had habitually spent more time in the ATL than at home with his family. She was working alone to support the family. No longer had his income to help with the effort. In her frustration, she had finally decided to file for divorce.
A few more details. I had first dealt with this couple when I had assisted them with a habitat house, which, of course, is a program where the local chapter builds, sells and finances houses to deserving low-income families, for no interest, at cost. Part of the reason the wife's decision to file against her husband came so slowly was because she was afraid without his income that she really couldn't afford to be without him or to hire me to effectuate it.
Into this milieu comes the local representative for Habitat, who calls me to see if I won't file the divorce case for next to nothing. Being the soft touch that I am, I agree to file it for $100.00.
Then comes the hard part. Trying to find this husband, when he is basically living from place to place. Even later, when he came back home, at night, periodically to sleep in the house, it was still going to be difficult to have him served. As the summer continued, my ability to get him served and get the case finished was a problem.
In the middle of this, my client is coming to my office, or calling me to find out what is going on. Without service, I can't start the process. She is not going to give me anymore money. Then my Habitat rep is calling to find out what the status is.
Then a break. The defendant is arrested and is sitting in jail trying to make bond. Now I can have him served easily. Maybe we can even get the divorce finished before he ever gets out. But at least I can get him served.
So I file the documents. Service is effected. The clock is ticking. I contact the ADR office to get mediation set up or get a release from mediation. Then he gets out of jail; no big deal, we set up a date for mediation.
The day for mediation comes. He calls me on the way to mediation. I tell him he has to show up. He says he can't. He says he can be there in thirty minutes. We arrive at the mediation office and he informs them that he can be there in an hour.
Finally, my client shows some grit and says, "no." Mediation is ended. He has to pay the whole bill on the mediation.
Now we can set it down for a final hearing.
The day arrives and I meet with my client and fill out a support affidavit and child support documentation. We go to court. He is finally present. The case is called. I present the additional documentation to the judge. I begin my case.
As I near the end of my presentation, the judge asks me about a prayer for attorneys fees. I look through my pleadings. There is none. I turn to my client. "Do you want your husband to pay my attorneys fees?"
"Yes."
"How much in attorneys fees did you pay me?"
She gets a very shy look on her face, "How much?"
"Yes, how much did you pay me."
"A hundred bucks?"
"And you want the court to order him to pay my fees?"
"Yes?"
I turn to the judge, "That's our case, your honor."
The judge turns to the defendant, "Do you have any questions for the plaintiff?
The defendant looks up, "Sir?"
A cloud of consternation crosses the judge's face, "This is the time when you can ask the party any questions. Now, you can't testify. If you want to testify, that will happen later."
The defendant's eyes drop to the table in front of him, "I don't guess I have any questions."
The judge looks at me, "Do you have any other evidence?"
"No sir."
"Good. Now, Mr. ________, you filed an answer and you said your wife shouldn't get a divorce. I want you to know that if she wants a divorce I will grant her one. Now, what do you want to tell me."
The defendant is staring at the table in front of him for an answer of some sort. "Well, judge, I just want you to know that I have been taking care of those children and we have been working together...."
The judge cuts him short, "When was the last time you had a full time job?"
"October 2006."
"And what are your prospects for getting another job at this time?"
"Well, I've been working on preparing to get a job."
The judge looks at him critically, "Preparing to get a job? What does that mean?"
"Well, I mean, I am getting ready to get a job."
"Do you have any other place to live at this point?"
"No sir."
"And you didn't appear for mediation and you owe the ADR office $200.00. Is that not right?"
"Well, I couldn't make it to the mediation."
"You had an opportunity to work this out and you didn't take advantage of it, did you?"
The defendant was silent.
With that the judge turned to me. "Tom, you might want to write this down."
"Yes sir."
"This is a temporary order...." and with that the judge lowered the boom on the defendant.
I motioned my client down from the bench. Her eyes were wide. "What is happening?"
"Lets go to my office and I will explain."
With that my day in court basically came to an end. Now if I can just get the defendant to pay my fees.
A few more details. I had first dealt with this couple when I had assisted them with a habitat house, which, of course, is a program where the local chapter builds, sells and finances houses to deserving low-income families, for no interest, at cost. Part of the reason the wife's decision to file against her husband came so slowly was because she was afraid without his income that she really couldn't afford to be without him or to hire me to effectuate it.
Into this milieu comes the local representative for Habitat, who calls me to see if I won't file the divorce case for next to nothing. Being the soft touch that I am, I agree to file it for $100.00.
Then comes the hard part. Trying to find this husband, when he is basically living from place to place. Even later, when he came back home, at night, periodically to sleep in the house, it was still going to be difficult to have him served. As the summer continued, my ability to get him served and get the case finished was a problem.
In the middle of this, my client is coming to my office, or calling me to find out what is going on. Without service, I can't start the process. She is not going to give me anymore money. Then my Habitat rep is calling to find out what the status is.
Then a break. The defendant is arrested and is sitting in jail trying to make bond. Now I can have him served easily. Maybe we can even get the divorce finished before he ever gets out. But at least I can get him served.
So I file the documents. Service is effected. The clock is ticking. I contact the ADR office to get mediation set up or get a release from mediation. Then he gets out of jail; no big deal, we set up a date for mediation.
The day for mediation comes. He calls me on the way to mediation. I tell him he has to show up. He says he can't. He says he can be there in thirty minutes. We arrive at the mediation office and he informs them that he can be there in an hour.
Finally, my client shows some grit and says, "no." Mediation is ended. He has to pay the whole bill on the mediation.
Now we can set it down for a final hearing.
The day arrives and I meet with my client and fill out a support affidavit and child support documentation. We go to court. He is finally present. The case is called. I present the additional documentation to the judge. I begin my case.
As I near the end of my presentation, the judge asks me about a prayer for attorneys fees. I look through my pleadings. There is none. I turn to my client. "Do you want your husband to pay my attorneys fees?"
"Yes."
"How much in attorneys fees did you pay me?"
She gets a very shy look on her face, "How much?"
"Yes, how much did you pay me."
"A hundred bucks?"
"And you want the court to order him to pay my fees?"
"Yes?"
I turn to the judge, "That's our case, your honor."
The judge turns to the defendant, "Do you have any questions for the plaintiff?
The defendant looks up, "Sir?"
A cloud of consternation crosses the judge's face, "This is the time when you can ask the party any questions. Now, you can't testify. If you want to testify, that will happen later."
The defendant's eyes drop to the table in front of him, "I don't guess I have any questions."
The judge looks at me, "Do you have any other evidence?"
"No sir."
"Good. Now, Mr. ________, you filed an answer and you said your wife shouldn't get a divorce. I want you to know that if she wants a divorce I will grant her one. Now, what do you want to tell me."
The defendant is staring at the table in front of him for an answer of some sort. "Well, judge, I just want you to know that I have been taking care of those children and we have been working together...."
The judge cuts him short, "When was the last time you had a full time job?"
"October 2006."
"And what are your prospects for getting another job at this time?"
"Well, I've been working on preparing to get a job."
The judge looks at him critically, "Preparing to get a job? What does that mean?"
"Well, I mean, I am getting ready to get a job."
"Do you have any other place to live at this point?"
"No sir."
"And you didn't appear for mediation and you owe the ADR office $200.00. Is that not right?"
"Well, I couldn't make it to the mediation."
"You had an opportunity to work this out and you didn't take advantage of it, did you?"
The defendant was silent.
With that the judge turned to me. "Tom, you might want to write this down."
"Yes sir."
"This is a temporary order...." and with that the judge lowered the boom on the defendant.
I motioned my client down from the bench. Her eyes were wide. "What is happening?"
"Lets go to my office and I will explain."
With that my day in court basically came to an end. Now if I can just get the defendant to pay my fees.
Friday morning
Last night a band of rains came and it is supposed to be cooler today. I think, however, that most of the cool temperature came to latitudes which are further north than here. It appears that we have a couple more days to go before we get something approaching Winter weather.
In the AJC they had an article about the sprouting of early Spring flowers, like crocus, iris and hyacinth, a good month before they are ordinarily due. I haven't seen these species yet but that doesn't mean they are not there. I might just have to walk around the yard on Saturday morning and take a look.
I would like it to cool off. I think I heard that it is supposed to cool off at least by Sunday.
Apparently, Tex was frightened by the thunder last night and barked enough to awaken Cindy, though not me. He barked enough so that she got up and brought him into the bedroom. He hid under the bed and pooted in the bathroom. He must have really been frightened. What a big baby.
I have a divorce client coming in this morning, and I am expecting her now. However, when I spoke with Patti last night she had said she would be up here around 8:45, which is a little too late for comfort. Besides, I wanted to get her here early so we could prepare a support affidavit. Oh well.
Bobby Burns said, "The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley." We'll see what Judge Edwards thinks.
He is a stickler.
In the AJC they had an article about the sprouting of early Spring flowers, like crocus, iris and hyacinth, a good month before they are ordinarily due. I haven't seen these species yet but that doesn't mean they are not there. I might just have to walk around the yard on Saturday morning and take a look.
I would like it to cool off. I think I heard that it is supposed to cool off at least by Sunday.
Apparently, Tex was frightened by the thunder last night and barked enough to awaken Cindy, though not me. He barked enough so that she got up and brought him into the bedroom. He hid under the bed and pooted in the bathroom. He must have really been frightened. What a big baby.
I have a divorce client coming in this morning, and I am expecting her now. However, when I spoke with Patti last night she had said she would be up here around 8:45, which is a little too late for comfort. Besides, I wanted to get her here early so we could prepare a support affidavit. Oh well.
Bobby Burns said, "The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley." We'll see what Judge Edwards thinks.
He is a stickler.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Playing football with Frank
I don't know if I have written about this before, but I was thinking about the only time that my brother, Frank, was allowed to dress out on the same team as me and play at the same time in a football game. Frank is three years younger than me and there was rarely a time when we were roughly the same age and could play together on the same team.
During our little league years, the leagues were divided up by age and weight. Being three years younger than me, Frank was never in a position where he was old enough or heavy enough to play with me. It was only when I was a senior in high school at Dunwoody and Frank was a freshman where he became legally eligible to play on the same team as myself.
You may remember that there have been several significant brother acts in football over the years. When I was younger, the Selmon brothers at Oklahoma and the Hannah brothers at Alabama were notable. There were three Selmon brothers who played at Oklahoma, although the oldest was too old to have played with his younger brothers. Apparently, the Hannah brothers at Alabama had titanic fights with each other when they were little. I remember how big John Hannah was at Alabama and later with the New England Patriots. His little brother, Charlie, was about the same size. That must have been something.
When I was a senior at Dunwoody, Coach Jackson and Coach Sparks decided to dress Frank out for the Johnson High School game in Hall County. Unfortunately, the score of the game was so tight that the starters stayed in the game for its entirety. I know that I only came off of defense for one play when Coach Jackson wanted to yell at me for knocking the ____ out of the punter and being called for roughing the punter.
I will never understand why Coach Jackson did that the way he did. In that game, I had noticed that the Johnson punting formation had a lot of space between the blockers. The snapper had his head between his legs. I felt that if I tried I could probably blow past the personal protectors and block a kick. At the end of the second quarter, and holding onto a 7-0 lead, we held Johnson's offense on downs and they lined up for a punt. On the snap, I blew past the blockers and threw my body in the air toward the punter. My uncle, who was at the game with Mom and Dad and Aunt Meg, thought that the ball went right between my hands as I soared toward the punter. As the ball soared downfield, I slammed my helmet into the chest of the punter. A yellow hankie fell to the ground and the punter got up and said, "Way to go, 65." I realized what had happened and walked back to the huddle, fifteen yards downfield from the previous down.
On the next play, I was so upset with myself that upon the snap, I threw the center to the side and grabbed the quarterback for a five yard loss. I jumped up and stormed back to the huddle for the next play. As I looked to the sideline for the defensive signal, my breath snorting out of my nostrils like a bull, Chris Eidson came in from our sidelines and told me he was taking over for me on the next play. I trotted over to the sidelines to receive the comeuppance Coach Jackson thought I deserved. I never was quite clear why he wasted the sense of self-criticism and anger that I had worked up inside me by taking me out. I was a senior; I knew what I had done.
The same thing had happened in the second game of the season. When I was a junior, I had played both ways and all the kicking teams. Basically, when I came on the field for the opening kickoff, I didn't come off until the end of the game. Except for halftime. I was in the best physical shape I have ever been in in my life.
But when I was a senior, Coach Jackson decided that he wanted me to only play on defense. So, in my senior year, my former life as an offensive guard came to a halt in favor of Tim Evans. Despite this, in the second quarter, Coach Jackson put me in the game for a series. Without having practiced all of the plays with the first string, some of the plays had been changed between my junior and senior year.
On second down, Rik Smith called a play which had been drawn differently in my junior year. The play when I was a junior called for me to pass block on my side of the line. Unbeknownst to me, the play had been changed to require me to pull out in front of the bootlegging quarterback as protection on the pass.
Rik called the signals, the ball was snapped, and I jumped back to block. As Rik faked a running play to my side, he turned to get smashed by the defensive end on the opposite side, who had no one blocking him at the time time.
We returned to the huddle and one of the linemen whispered to me that I was supposed to pull and block the guy who had made the tackle. As that piece of information melted into my brain, Rik called a screen pass to my side.
We broke the huddle and I was trying to listen for the signals through the inner monologue of self-loathing I was running from the previous play. The ball was snapped. We held for three counts, then ran over to the right flat. Rik threw the ball to Gary Defillipo behind me, and I slammed my body into the cornerback and safety who were coming up to make the tackle. As the two defenders went flying out of bounds from my block, Gary cut past me and ran about forty yards down the sideline, to be tackled by the free safety inside the ten. As I trotted down toward the new huddle, Tim Evans returned to the huddle to take my place.
When I got to the sidelines, Coach Jackson grabbed my arm and blistered my ears for missing the block on the bootleg play the play before. There wasn't anything to say.
At any rate, the Johnson game came and went, we won on a missed two point conversion by Johnson in the fourth quarter, 7-6. After the game, we celebrated messing up their Homecoming game, only to find the hot water in the visiting lockerroom showers had been turned off. It didn't matter. We later went to the Golden Rule restaurant and ate fried chicken and peas and mashed potatoes and greens and drank sweet tea. I remember Mr. Burns, the vice-principal, asking me if I thought I got fifteen yards' worth out of that punter. Under the circumstances, I was willing to agree that I did.
But Frank didn't get into the game that night. It would be later in the last game when Frank would get in the game with me. Ironically, when he got into the game, I didn't even know he was in the game until after the play was over. It was only later in the game, when the decision was no longer in doubt, that Coach Sparks put Frank back into the game and we were able to play together as the team we were.
That is a fond memory. Too bad there weren't any other games when we could have played together. Of course, I went off to W&L and Frank finished his football career at Dunwoody. I will say it is nice to know that for almost ten years, only a Baynham wore the number 65. Even that changed after awhile, when someone else was allowed to wear 65 other than Frank or me.
I guess neither Frank nor I made enough of a splash to make anyone remember the Baynham brothers at Dunwoody High School.
During our little league years, the leagues were divided up by age and weight. Being three years younger than me, Frank was never in a position where he was old enough or heavy enough to play with me. It was only when I was a senior in high school at Dunwoody and Frank was a freshman where he became legally eligible to play on the same team as myself.
You may remember that there have been several significant brother acts in football over the years. When I was younger, the Selmon brothers at Oklahoma and the Hannah brothers at Alabama were notable. There were three Selmon brothers who played at Oklahoma, although the oldest was too old to have played with his younger brothers. Apparently, the Hannah brothers at Alabama had titanic fights with each other when they were little. I remember how big John Hannah was at Alabama and later with the New England Patriots. His little brother, Charlie, was about the same size. That must have been something.
When I was a senior at Dunwoody, Coach Jackson and Coach Sparks decided to dress Frank out for the Johnson High School game in Hall County. Unfortunately, the score of the game was so tight that the starters stayed in the game for its entirety. I know that I only came off of defense for one play when Coach Jackson wanted to yell at me for knocking the ____ out of the punter and being called for roughing the punter.
I will never understand why Coach Jackson did that the way he did. In that game, I had noticed that the Johnson punting formation had a lot of space between the blockers. The snapper had his head between his legs. I felt that if I tried I could probably blow past the personal protectors and block a kick. At the end of the second quarter, and holding onto a 7-0 lead, we held Johnson's offense on downs and they lined up for a punt. On the snap, I blew past the blockers and threw my body in the air toward the punter. My uncle, who was at the game with Mom and Dad and Aunt Meg, thought that the ball went right between my hands as I soared toward the punter. As the ball soared downfield, I slammed my helmet into the chest of the punter. A yellow hankie fell to the ground and the punter got up and said, "Way to go, 65." I realized what had happened and walked back to the huddle, fifteen yards downfield from the previous down.
On the next play, I was so upset with myself that upon the snap, I threw the center to the side and grabbed the quarterback for a five yard loss. I jumped up and stormed back to the huddle for the next play. As I looked to the sideline for the defensive signal, my breath snorting out of my nostrils like a bull, Chris Eidson came in from our sidelines and told me he was taking over for me on the next play. I trotted over to the sidelines to receive the comeuppance Coach Jackson thought I deserved. I never was quite clear why he wasted the sense of self-criticism and anger that I had worked up inside me by taking me out. I was a senior; I knew what I had done.
The same thing had happened in the second game of the season. When I was a junior, I had played both ways and all the kicking teams. Basically, when I came on the field for the opening kickoff, I didn't come off until the end of the game. Except for halftime. I was in the best physical shape I have ever been in in my life.
But when I was a senior, Coach Jackson decided that he wanted me to only play on defense. So, in my senior year, my former life as an offensive guard came to a halt in favor of Tim Evans. Despite this, in the second quarter, Coach Jackson put me in the game for a series. Without having practiced all of the plays with the first string, some of the plays had been changed between my junior and senior year.
On second down, Rik Smith called a play which had been drawn differently in my junior year. The play when I was a junior called for me to pass block on my side of the line. Unbeknownst to me, the play had been changed to require me to pull out in front of the bootlegging quarterback as protection on the pass.
Rik called the signals, the ball was snapped, and I jumped back to block. As Rik faked a running play to my side, he turned to get smashed by the defensive end on the opposite side, who had no one blocking him at the time time.
We returned to the huddle and one of the linemen whispered to me that I was supposed to pull and block the guy who had made the tackle. As that piece of information melted into my brain, Rik called a screen pass to my side.
We broke the huddle and I was trying to listen for the signals through the inner monologue of self-loathing I was running from the previous play. The ball was snapped. We held for three counts, then ran over to the right flat. Rik threw the ball to Gary Defillipo behind me, and I slammed my body into the cornerback and safety who were coming up to make the tackle. As the two defenders went flying out of bounds from my block, Gary cut past me and ran about forty yards down the sideline, to be tackled by the free safety inside the ten. As I trotted down toward the new huddle, Tim Evans returned to the huddle to take my place.
When I got to the sidelines, Coach Jackson grabbed my arm and blistered my ears for missing the block on the bootleg play the play before. There wasn't anything to say.
At any rate, the Johnson game came and went, we won on a missed two point conversion by Johnson in the fourth quarter, 7-6. After the game, we celebrated messing up their Homecoming game, only to find the hot water in the visiting lockerroom showers had been turned off. It didn't matter. We later went to the Golden Rule restaurant and ate fried chicken and peas and mashed potatoes and greens and drank sweet tea. I remember Mr. Burns, the vice-principal, asking me if I thought I got fifteen yards' worth out of that punter. Under the circumstances, I was willing to agree that I did.
But Frank didn't get into the game that night. It would be later in the last game when Frank would get in the game with me. Ironically, when he got into the game, I didn't even know he was in the game until after the play was over. It was only later in the game, when the decision was no longer in doubt, that Coach Sparks put Frank back into the game and we were able to play together as the team we were.
That is a fond memory. Too bad there weren't any other games when we could have played together. Of course, I went off to W&L and Frank finished his football career at Dunwoody. I will say it is nice to know that for almost ten years, only a Baynham wore the number 65. Even that changed after awhile, when someone else was allowed to wear 65 other than Frank or me.
I guess neither Frank nor I made enough of a splash to make anyone remember the Baynham brothers at Dunwoody High School.
Birthdays and numerology, TB style
Today is Kate's birthday. She is twenty two, or one year past full adulthood. Unfortunately, Kate is at school today and has three (?) classes to attend before she can celebrate in full. I am not sure how Kate will celebrate in full. I understand there is a party in which the participants are to dress up like clergy or tarts. That is the rumor. Her mother says Kate intends to dress like Brittany Spear's little sister. I guess since Brittany is now officially a 'former celebrity', she is no longer fair game. That means that her little sister is the official celebrity-hog in the family. Perhaps their mother needs to take this post over since she is the official creator of the mess in the first place.
The official sports figure for the number twenty two is Dave Debusschere, a former forward for the New York Knicks back in the sixties and seventies. He was the other forward with Bill Bradley, later a Senator from New Jersey.
I often sit in front of Deal or No Deal when they show it at night and designate sports figures for the numbers. Some of the numbers don't have names, but most do. Here is a list of my numbers and designated names for the ones I know.
1 Ozzie Smith
2
3 Babe Ruth
4 Brett Farve
5 Harmon Wages or Paul Hornung
6 Bill Russell or Al Kaline
7 Mickey Mantle, of course
8 Yogi Berra
9 Ted Williams
10 Fran Tarkenton and Walt Frazier
11 Randy Johnson, first quarterback for Falcons
12 Joe Namath, Kenny Stabler, and I think, Steve Sloan
13 Frank Ryan
14 Craig Morton
15 Bart Starr
16 Len Dawson
17 Don Meredith
18 Dave Cowens
19 Lance Alworth and Lance Rentzel
20 My number in high school basketball ("Tuna")
21 Dominique Wilkins
22 Dave Debusschere
23 Michael Jordan
24 Mike Flynn (my favorite point guard for Kentucky)
25 My number in the one year I played receiver in football
26 Herb Adderly
27 Juan Marichal
28
29
30 Dan Reeves
31 Jimmy Taylor and William Andrews
32 Jim Brown
33 Duane Thomas
34 Herschel Walker, not Bo Jackson
35 Phil Neikro
36 Macarthur Lane
37
38
39 Larry Czonka
40 Bill Bates (for getting run over by Herschel as a senior for UT) and Gale Sayers
41 Phil Villipiano
42
43 Cliff Harris
44 Hank Aaron
45
46 Craig Baynham
47 My first number in college
48
49
50 Greg Brezina
51 Dick Butkus
52
53
54 Chuck Howley
55 Lee Roy Jordan and Greg Lilly (my roommate and teammate in college)
56
57 Jeff Van Note
58 Jessie Tuggle
59
60 Tommy Nobis
61
62
63 Fuzzy Thurston
64 Jerry Cramer
65 My number in high school football (also Frank Baynham's number)
66 Gene Hickerson
67
68
69
70 Frank Baynham, while playing with me against the Chamblee Bulldogs in my last high school football game (a victory) and only football game in our careers in which we both played at the same time.
I could try to go on from here but it would be silly. I think if I thought about it I could come up with a few more. I am also sure that some of my friends could help me with this.
The official sports figure for the number twenty two is Dave Debusschere, a former forward for the New York Knicks back in the sixties and seventies. He was the other forward with Bill Bradley, later a Senator from New Jersey.
I often sit in front of Deal or No Deal when they show it at night and designate sports figures for the numbers. Some of the numbers don't have names, but most do. Here is a list of my numbers and designated names for the ones I know.
1 Ozzie Smith
2
3 Babe Ruth
4 Brett Farve
5 Harmon Wages or Paul Hornung
6 Bill Russell or Al Kaline
7 Mickey Mantle, of course
8 Yogi Berra
9 Ted Williams
10 Fran Tarkenton and Walt Frazier
11 Randy Johnson, first quarterback for Falcons
12 Joe Namath, Kenny Stabler, and I think, Steve Sloan
13 Frank Ryan
14 Craig Morton
15 Bart Starr
16 Len Dawson
17 Don Meredith
18 Dave Cowens
19 Lance Alworth and Lance Rentzel
20 My number in high school basketball ("Tuna")
21 Dominique Wilkins
22 Dave Debusschere
23 Michael Jordan
24 Mike Flynn (my favorite point guard for Kentucky)
25 My number in the one year I played receiver in football
26 Herb Adderly
27 Juan Marichal
28
29
30 Dan Reeves
31 Jimmy Taylor and William Andrews
32 Jim Brown
33 Duane Thomas
34 Herschel Walker, not Bo Jackson
35 Phil Neikro
36 Macarthur Lane
37
38
39 Larry Czonka
40 Bill Bates (for getting run over by Herschel as a senior for UT) and Gale Sayers
41 Phil Villipiano
42
43 Cliff Harris
44 Hank Aaron
45
46 Craig Baynham
47 My first number in college
48
49
50 Greg Brezina
51 Dick Butkus
52
53
54 Chuck Howley
55 Lee Roy Jordan and Greg Lilly (my roommate and teammate in college)
56
57 Jeff Van Note
58 Jessie Tuggle
59
60 Tommy Nobis
61
62
63 Fuzzy Thurston
64 Jerry Cramer
65 My number in high school football (also Frank Baynham's number)
66 Gene Hickerson
67
68
69
70 Frank Baynham, while playing with me against the Chamblee Bulldogs in my last high school football game (a victory) and only football game in our careers in which we both played at the same time.
I could try to go on from here but it would be silly. I think if I thought about it I could come up with a few more. I am also sure that some of my friends could help me with this.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
A hot day in August, revisited
I have been corrected by Cindy about the relative temperatures and humidity on the day that we got married. I suppose it is the nature of such an occasion that it causes the participants to forget what really happened. All I remember was that Cindy was beautiful and I was dashing and everyone seemed to be having fun until the photographer decided he had to take us out away from the band and the music and the dancing and everyone having fun and take some pictures. Photographers are a little myopic. Of course, they have their job to do. I suppose.
At any rate, I stand by my statement that the people from the southeast look more crisp and bouyant than the ones from California in our wedding pictures. Then there is John, without his coat, a look of weariness on his face, and the bridal veil perched on top of his head. And I direct your attention to the pictures of the people who all went to Dunwoody High School together or my friends from W&L. Don't they look more collected and calm than the groups of Californians? I think so.
And then there is the picture of Uncle David. The Marlboro Man, reinvented. If that ain't cool, I don't know cool.
Anyway, it was fun, despite the heat and humidity. And I think I may have to call the National Weather Service to find out what the temperature and humidity was on Balboa Island on August 6, 1983. That may be the only way to resolve this issue.
At any rate, I stand by my statement that the people from the southeast look more crisp and bouyant than the ones from California in our wedding pictures. Then there is John, without his coat, a look of weariness on his face, and the bridal veil perched on top of his head. And I direct your attention to the pictures of the people who all went to Dunwoody High School together or my friends from W&L. Don't they look more collected and calm than the groups of Californians? I think so.
And then there is the picture of Uncle David. The Marlboro Man, reinvented. If that ain't cool, I don't know cool.
Anyway, it was fun, despite the heat and humidity. And I think I may have to call the National Weather Service to find out what the temperature and humidity was on Balboa Island on August 6, 1983. That may be the only way to resolve this issue.
Memories and lessons
We have received more news concerning the young woman who was abducted along the trail up Blood Mountain in Union County, then killed, apparently in Dawson County, her personal items and dog scattered along a trail back to Dekalb County, and her body left to rot in the hills of Dawson County. Listening to the reports, my thoughts caused me to remember where I was on the day after her abduction on New Year's Day, 2008.
On January 2, 2008, I was driving through North Georgia, conducting foreclosure sales throughout the region. I had started with my back against the brick wall of the Rockdale County Courthouse, trying to avoid the January wind whipping through me, crying a foreclosure notice to no one but myself. Having completed the task, I drove on to Winder in Barrow County, where the old courthouse had a few people standing in the cold and wind waiting for a cry-out. Having completed the ritual there, I headed on to Gainesville.
At the spot appointed for cry-outs in Gainesville, there were several people dressed in coats, hats, gloves and balaclavas. I skipped over ice collected on the sidewalks to get to the steps, and wished I had listened to my wife and wore my topcoat, hat and gloves. I had three cry-outs in Hall County, and I was cold and hungry. Fortunately, the people congregated for the sale were pleasant. Nevertheless, I persevered and finished the cry-outs without incident.
With that, I walked gingerly back to my car and headed the car out and around the streets of Gainesville, trying to find the route which would take me to Blairsville and Union County.
As I maneuvered around the streets in Gainesville, I finally found signs pointing me toward Blairsville. I drove on north up the appointed highway toward Union County. As I drove, I crossed over fingers of the dwindling waters of Lake Lanier. Boathouses and pleasure boats had been moved down from their original moorings to spots to which the waters had receded.
Once past Lake Lanier, I drove through White County and its county seat of Cleveland. As soon as I entered White County, I began to see the remnants of snow from the night before. Wherever I saw trees and hills providing protection from the rising sun, I found the remaining frosting of the Winter precipitation. I encountered some traffic as I approached the square in Cleveland, and I wondered where everyone was going on the day after New Years. Most everywhere else I had been seemed partially deserted with the holidays. I puttered toward the town center of Cleveland and I passed the sign for 'Babyland General', where the cabbage patch babies are born, and the old-fashioned, original White County courthouse on the square in the center of town. Its red brick was still decorated for the Christmas holidays.
Pressing past the square, I drove on up through northern White County and into Union County. I knew these roads quite well, having traveled them as a young attorney in Toccoa and having driven them recently two summers ago when Cindy, Kate and I stayed in the Days' cabin just north of Vogel State Park. As I drove up toward Blood Mountain and down the hill past Vogel State Park and on toward Blairsville, it occurred to me that the route was quite different from my previous trip in the summer of 2005. Back then, Friday and Saturday had found us maneuvering through a late summer rain shower to and from the cabin. Everything was quite green and the temperature was around 75 in the cooler mountains. We really enjoyed that trip and the Days' cabin, and we even spent some time in Vogel State Park looking around on Saturday. On Sunday, Kate and I took advantage of the sunny weather and hiked up Blood Mountain to the stone shelter at the top of the mountain, which had been built by the CCC in the Thirties. On a trip ordinarily slated for around six hours, up and back down, Kate and I completed the trip in three. At the time, we had thought that we had trudged up and down the mountain at a reasonably slow rate, but as it turned out, we had halved the trip from the normal time.
As I drove around the curvy mountain road, I looked at the thermometer in the car, registering the outside temperature. At one point it read fifteen degrees. That was to be the lowest temperature I would notice on my journey, but it would never rise above the freezing point. The roads were covered with gravel left by the Department of Transportation to dry out the ice and snow which had fallen the previous evening. There were some cars on the road, but most of my time was spent trying to avoid any ice and slush I might encounter on the road. I drove on past the entrance to the trail up Blood Mountain and remembered how pleasant it had been when Kate and I had hiked up the mountain in the summer of 2005.
I drove down past Vogel State Park and tried to look down to the lake and the cabins set along the evergreens along the western shore of the lake. I remember thinking it would be nice to rent a cabin and stay for a weekend at Vogel with a fireplace to provide comfort against the cold Winter evening. With the temperature, I figured the availability of such cabins might be pretty high. Back in the summer of 2005, all the cabins had been taken.
I finally made it to Blairsville, skidding down one street on ice and slush, as I searched for the Union County courthouse. Finally finding the courthouse on a hill north of the town center, I looked for the clerk's office to gain information on where the sales were to be cried out at the courthouse. A young man was very helpful in directing me to the front of the courthouse. His mountain accent was downright lyrical and quite unusual from the southern dialect I am used to.
As I left Blairsville, I headed west toward Blue Ridge on the Southern Highlands Parkway. Coming in to the old town of Blue Ridge, one town in those mountains which I had never visited before this day, the check engine light came on, and I wondered where the nearest garage providing car service might be found. At the same time, I realized that I was short cash for such an expenditure, should the car need repair. I pulled in front of the courthouse and cried my last foreclosure sale of the day and then pulled out to drive around town, looking for a garage.
In the center of town, which was perched along and above the railroad tracks and an old wooden train station, now used for other purposes, I found a BP station. I read a sign saying they did repairs on vehicles, so I pulled around and into the station. Hopping out of my car, I went into the office to encounter several people discussing the cold weather, the snow and other things which might be ordinarily discussed in a service station. Several canvas chairs were set out for the use of the waiting patrons.
I told the attendant that my 'check engine' light had come on and that I had little money to pay for repairs. I also informed him that I was from Griffin and that I could contact my wife if money was needed for repairs. The attendant assured me that we could work something out if that proved necessary. As he went out to work on an oil change on another car, I sat down in one of the cloth chairs and began a conversation with a local patron of the service station. He assured me that he had known the guys who worked there since they were born. We also discussed the weather and the temperature and he told me about a recent trip to Vogel with his family when the temperature had dropped precipitously and they had had to make do in the cold late November weather.
One of the mechanics arrived from lunch at this point and he took an electrical gauge over to my car and began plugging same into my car. After several minutes of watching the gauge, he pulled the wires from the car and returned to the warmth of the office. Smiling benevolently, he informed me that the thermostat was stuck with the cold and that it needed to be replaced. I asked him if I could drive home with the thermostat in the state it was in. He informed me that I could. I then asked him how much his services would cost. He told me not to worry about it. I voiced my appreciation and told him that I had never been to Blue Ridge, but that I sure appreciated their hospitality.
Leaving Blue Ridge, my ride back to Griffin was warmed by the memories of the area, the sweetness of their mountain accents and the hospitality I had found at every stop. I finally made it back to Griffin around 5:00 o'clock in the afternoon, filled with the pleasantness of my travels, despite the gloominess of my errands.
At that point in the day, it was unknown to me that as I drove up, into and through the mountains, past Blood Mountain and Vogel State Park, a frantic search was already taking place for a young woman from Buford, a recent graduate of the University of Georgia. This young lady had hiked up Blood Mountain on New Year's Day with her dog as her only companion. Unfortunately, as it has now become apparent, she encountered an older man, walking his dog on the trail, whose intent was far from honorable.
As I think on it now, I can assume that my journey up to Blairsville took me right past the scene of the abduction of this young woman and possibly past the white van holding the abductor and his prey, as he drove south along that highway from the scene of the crime. He apparently took her down to Dawson County, just south of Blood Mountain and ultimately took her life. Her life ended on a wooded trail somewhere in Dawson County, three days later.
There is a further coincidence involved in this story. Apparently the abductor lived in his van in a parking lot near the ball fields where I spent my youth at Murphy Candler Park in Dekalb County. He apparently was homeless, other than his van, and spent his days near the parents and the kids who frequented the park and the baseball and football fields situated there. The thought of such an abductor living in such proximity to the innocent youths is frightening.
It is ironic that when you least expect evil, and where you least expect it to occur, it rears its head from the darkness and strikes. Now my thoughts of the beauty and peacefulness of the mountains in that area are forever scarred with the thought of that young woman and that evil man taking her, holding her against her will, and taking her life in those soft, green mountains. Those same mountains had always been the receptacle of such peace and happiness in the past.
It does remind me of James Dickey's "Deliverance" and the evil which the main characters in the book encountered up in the mountains of North Georgia. In the book, the businessmen from Atlanta went up into those mountains to find the rest and peace and beauty of the mountains before the beauties of the area were destroyed by the plans of the state of Georgia to build a hydro-electric plant. While they indeed found that beauty, they also found the evil inherent to mankind, which has no boundaries.
My dad took my brother and me to see that movie back when it came out in the 1970's. Afterward, he told us he didn't want to see any other such movies. I always thought that he, perhaps, didn't want to be reminded of the evil which can hide in even the most beautiful of places. I thought that he wanted the mountains of the Southern Appalachians to remain a place of pristine beauty and innocence. I don't know. We never really talked about it afterward.
The lesson? There are thorns on the stem of every rose. We must always remember that.
On January 2, 2008, I was driving through North Georgia, conducting foreclosure sales throughout the region. I had started with my back against the brick wall of the Rockdale County Courthouse, trying to avoid the January wind whipping through me, crying a foreclosure notice to no one but myself. Having completed the task, I drove on to Winder in Barrow County, where the old courthouse had a few people standing in the cold and wind waiting for a cry-out. Having completed the ritual there, I headed on to Gainesville.
At the spot appointed for cry-outs in Gainesville, there were several people dressed in coats, hats, gloves and balaclavas. I skipped over ice collected on the sidewalks to get to the steps, and wished I had listened to my wife and wore my topcoat, hat and gloves. I had three cry-outs in Hall County, and I was cold and hungry. Fortunately, the people congregated for the sale were pleasant. Nevertheless, I persevered and finished the cry-outs without incident.
With that, I walked gingerly back to my car and headed the car out and around the streets of Gainesville, trying to find the route which would take me to Blairsville and Union County.
As I maneuvered around the streets in Gainesville, I finally found signs pointing me toward Blairsville. I drove on north up the appointed highway toward Union County. As I drove, I crossed over fingers of the dwindling waters of Lake Lanier. Boathouses and pleasure boats had been moved down from their original moorings to spots to which the waters had receded.
Once past Lake Lanier, I drove through White County and its county seat of Cleveland. As soon as I entered White County, I began to see the remnants of snow from the night before. Wherever I saw trees and hills providing protection from the rising sun, I found the remaining frosting of the Winter precipitation. I encountered some traffic as I approached the square in Cleveland, and I wondered where everyone was going on the day after New Years. Most everywhere else I had been seemed partially deserted with the holidays. I puttered toward the town center of Cleveland and I passed the sign for 'Babyland General', where the cabbage patch babies are born, and the old-fashioned, original White County courthouse on the square in the center of town. Its red brick was still decorated for the Christmas holidays.
Pressing past the square, I drove on up through northern White County and into Union County. I knew these roads quite well, having traveled them as a young attorney in Toccoa and having driven them recently two summers ago when Cindy, Kate and I stayed in the Days' cabin just north of Vogel State Park. As I drove up toward Blood Mountain and down the hill past Vogel State Park and on toward Blairsville, it occurred to me that the route was quite different from my previous trip in the summer of 2005. Back then, Friday and Saturday had found us maneuvering through a late summer rain shower to and from the cabin. Everything was quite green and the temperature was around 75 in the cooler mountains. We really enjoyed that trip and the Days' cabin, and we even spent some time in Vogel State Park looking around on Saturday. On Sunday, Kate and I took advantage of the sunny weather and hiked up Blood Mountain to the stone shelter at the top of the mountain, which had been built by the CCC in the Thirties. On a trip ordinarily slated for around six hours, up and back down, Kate and I completed the trip in three. At the time, we had thought that we had trudged up and down the mountain at a reasonably slow rate, but as it turned out, we had halved the trip from the normal time.
As I drove around the curvy mountain road, I looked at the thermometer in the car, registering the outside temperature. At one point it read fifteen degrees. That was to be the lowest temperature I would notice on my journey, but it would never rise above the freezing point. The roads were covered with gravel left by the Department of Transportation to dry out the ice and snow which had fallen the previous evening. There were some cars on the road, but most of my time was spent trying to avoid any ice and slush I might encounter on the road. I drove on past the entrance to the trail up Blood Mountain and remembered how pleasant it had been when Kate and I had hiked up the mountain in the summer of 2005.
I drove down past Vogel State Park and tried to look down to the lake and the cabins set along the evergreens along the western shore of the lake. I remember thinking it would be nice to rent a cabin and stay for a weekend at Vogel with a fireplace to provide comfort against the cold Winter evening. With the temperature, I figured the availability of such cabins might be pretty high. Back in the summer of 2005, all the cabins had been taken.
I finally made it to Blairsville, skidding down one street on ice and slush, as I searched for the Union County courthouse. Finally finding the courthouse on a hill north of the town center, I looked for the clerk's office to gain information on where the sales were to be cried out at the courthouse. A young man was very helpful in directing me to the front of the courthouse. His mountain accent was downright lyrical and quite unusual from the southern dialect I am used to.
As I left Blairsville, I headed west toward Blue Ridge on the Southern Highlands Parkway. Coming in to the old town of Blue Ridge, one town in those mountains which I had never visited before this day, the check engine light came on, and I wondered where the nearest garage providing car service might be found. At the same time, I realized that I was short cash for such an expenditure, should the car need repair. I pulled in front of the courthouse and cried my last foreclosure sale of the day and then pulled out to drive around town, looking for a garage.
In the center of town, which was perched along and above the railroad tracks and an old wooden train station, now used for other purposes, I found a BP station. I read a sign saying they did repairs on vehicles, so I pulled around and into the station. Hopping out of my car, I went into the office to encounter several people discussing the cold weather, the snow and other things which might be ordinarily discussed in a service station. Several canvas chairs were set out for the use of the waiting patrons.
I told the attendant that my 'check engine' light had come on and that I had little money to pay for repairs. I also informed him that I was from Griffin and that I could contact my wife if money was needed for repairs. The attendant assured me that we could work something out if that proved necessary. As he went out to work on an oil change on another car, I sat down in one of the cloth chairs and began a conversation with a local patron of the service station. He assured me that he had known the guys who worked there since they were born. We also discussed the weather and the temperature and he told me about a recent trip to Vogel with his family when the temperature had dropped precipitously and they had had to make do in the cold late November weather.
One of the mechanics arrived from lunch at this point and he took an electrical gauge over to my car and began plugging same into my car. After several minutes of watching the gauge, he pulled the wires from the car and returned to the warmth of the office. Smiling benevolently, he informed me that the thermostat was stuck with the cold and that it needed to be replaced. I asked him if I could drive home with the thermostat in the state it was in. He informed me that I could. I then asked him how much his services would cost. He told me not to worry about it. I voiced my appreciation and told him that I had never been to Blue Ridge, but that I sure appreciated their hospitality.
Leaving Blue Ridge, my ride back to Griffin was warmed by the memories of the area, the sweetness of their mountain accents and the hospitality I had found at every stop. I finally made it back to Griffin around 5:00 o'clock in the afternoon, filled with the pleasantness of my travels, despite the gloominess of my errands.
At that point in the day, it was unknown to me that as I drove up, into and through the mountains, past Blood Mountain and Vogel State Park, a frantic search was already taking place for a young woman from Buford, a recent graduate of the University of Georgia. This young lady had hiked up Blood Mountain on New Year's Day with her dog as her only companion. Unfortunately, as it has now become apparent, she encountered an older man, walking his dog on the trail, whose intent was far from honorable.
As I think on it now, I can assume that my journey up to Blairsville took me right past the scene of the abduction of this young woman and possibly past the white van holding the abductor and his prey, as he drove south along that highway from the scene of the crime. He apparently took her down to Dawson County, just south of Blood Mountain and ultimately took her life. Her life ended on a wooded trail somewhere in Dawson County, three days later.
There is a further coincidence involved in this story. Apparently the abductor lived in his van in a parking lot near the ball fields where I spent my youth at Murphy Candler Park in Dekalb County. He apparently was homeless, other than his van, and spent his days near the parents and the kids who frequented the park and the baseball and football fields situated there. The thought of such an abductor living in such proximity to the innocent youths is frightening.
It is ironic that when you least expect evil, and where you least expect it to occur, it rears its head from the darkness and strikes. Now my thoughts of the beauty and peacefulness of the mountains in that area are forever scarred with the thought of that young woman and that evil man taking her, holding her against her will, and taking her life in those soft, green mountains. Those same mountains had always been the receptacle of such peace and happiness in the past.
It does remind me of James Dickey's "Deliverance" and the evil which the main characters in the book encountered up in the mountains of North Georgia. In the book, the businessmen from Atlanta went up into those mountains to find the rest and peace and beauty of the mountains before the beauties of the area were destroyed by the plans of the state of Georgia to build a hydro-electric plant. While they indeed found that beauty, they also found the evil inherent to mankind, which has no boundaries.
My dad took my brother and me to see that movie back when it came out in the 1970's. Afterward, he told us he didn't want to see any other such movies. I always thought that he, perhaps, didn't want to be reminded of the evil which can hide in even the most beautiful of places. I thought that he wanted the mountains of the Southern Appalachians to remain a place of pristine beauty and innocence. I don't know. We never really talked about it afterward.
The lesson? There are thorns on the stem of every rose. We must always remember that.
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