'Do it yourself' is sometimes best

My little calendar entry for the day refers to an impatient litigant in Cook County, Illinois, back in 1915. Apparently, the Sheriff of Cook County had had problems attempting service of a civil complaint against a Dr. L.D. Rogers for medical malpractice. After waiting five months for the Sheriff's Department to serve the good doctor ('good' being the ultimate issue in question) the Plaintiff took service into her own hands and attached the complaint and summons to an adequately sized brick and hurled same through the glass front door of the Doctor's home. Service was perfected.

This reminds me of one divorce case in which I represented the plaintiff in which I attempted to serve the defendant by second original at an address in Alabama. When I was given the address by the plaintiff, she had no idea in which county in Alabama the address of the defendant was located. Having a legal necessity to have the correct Sheriff serve the defendant, I looked on the internet to determine in which county the address was located. Finding what I thought was the correct county in Alabama, when I sent the complaint for service by the Sheriff of the county in which it appeared the defendant's house was located, after several weeks, the Sheriff's Office sent it back to me with a note that the defendant's house was located in the adjoining county.

I then amended the complaint and sent it for service to the Sheriff's office of the adjoining county. After several weeks, they sent it back saying that the address shown on the summons was not located in their county, but was in fact located in the original county. So, I took the original complaint and sent it back to the Sheriff of the original county, who, after several weeks, told me that the address at which I wished to serve the Defendant was an abandoned burned home where no one was living.

I contacted my client who informed me that the house in front was, in fact, burned and abandoned, however, that the house which was located behind that house was the actual residence of the defendant.

I then contacted the Sheriff of said county and informed them that the defendant could be served at the house behind the house. They apparently went to the house behind the house, only to be told by the Defendant's mother that the Defendant did not live there. Apparently motherly love is strong enough to require some mothers to lie for their sons to the deputy sheriffs of their home county.

At this point, I consulted with my client who informed me that the defendant did indeed live with his mother and his mother was lying to the deputies. Before I could call the Sheriff's office back and tell them to serve the '__________' anyway, the defendant apparently had a change of heart and called me to volunteer to receive service of my complaint and acknowledge same for purposes of my civil suit.

It just took about six months to effectuate but I finally got the '__________' served. After a reasonable amount of time, thereafter, at least in comparison, we actually got my client divorced from her husband.

All in all, I think it would have been much more effective if my client had taken a cue from the lady in the story on my calendar and served her husband by brick. I don't wish to opine as to the legal effectiveness of self-service by brick. But I bet the emotional satisfaction was immense.

In the pot

Cindy and I are awaiting a final estimate and workout for the furnace. Meanwhile, I have arranged for an electrician to be dispatched for the problem with the switch. I hope all of this stuff will be resolved in the next few days. The fun elements of home ownership just never end.

Cindy and I will be rearranging the furniture back into the living room, dining room (which is now an extension of the living room) and the former den (which is now going to be the dining room. That will be the project for the weekend.

The floor looks nice and it just needs the furniture to be back in to complete the look. I suppose that I will also have to rearrange the configuration of the cable for the satellite and reconnect that with the new television. None of that will work until the switch is fixed in the switch panel.

Cindy wants me to get the new dining room ready for painting and furniture rearrangement. I am still a little dubious about this new arrangement, although the den furniture in the old dining room does not look bad. We need to get the other chair which is at Cissie's house.

I am truthfully tired with the present status of the house. I would love to get it all finished soon. I feel like I am a big pot and it is starting to boil. There are too many ingredients in the pot.

Old Colts

After running the blog for the benefit of my brother in law, Kevin, I thought I would include one for my brother, Frank. I look fondly on those days when Frank and I were playing little league football at Murphy Candler. Every thing was brand new and the organization was first class. My 115 pound team won the Bobby Dodd Bowl for the league championship, which was the first 115 pound team from the ACYA to win it all.

I suppose I should preface this by saying that I realize that a lot of people think that little league football shouldn't be taken so seriously. I will say that these years were just as important to my life as a lot of the ones that came later. I don't know how you quantify the value of a year when you are thirteen as compared to one when you are in your forties or thirties. In some sense, they are all important. But we accomplished quite a bit in our little blue and orange jerseys and orange helmets, particularly when I played for 'Coach Bob' (Robert Johnson) on the 115 Atlanta Colts. The year was 1969 and the future was all ahead of us.

At the beginning of the season, we had been drilled and practiced in preparation for the upcomping season by the coaches at Murphy Candler field, and we expected to win. The league had only been in existence for several years, but we already felt like there was a tradition to live up to. Some people might call this silly, but the main word that was emphasized when we practiced was 'Pride.' The coaches always exhorted us to play with pride. Even at that age, we tried to exemplify pride in what we did on the practice field. We took pride in being Atlanta Colts and being part of the organization. Of course, nobody told us that the coaches had met with our parents at the beginning of the season and talked about how small and slow we were and how they didn't expect us to win a lot of games. I found that out a long time after that season was a distant memory.

In 1969, we began our season with a practice game in which we beat the team from the Tucker Youth Organization 33-0. That would presage the rest of the season, as we won every game during the regular season, shutting out most of our opponents. The ratio of points scored by our offense to points allowed by our defense was amazing. We only allowed our opponents to score thirteen points in the entire season. When we got to the playoffs, we won those games too, rather handily. After the season was over, a team from Vienna Virginia came down to play us and we won that game.

Finally, we were able to travel down to Fort Myers, Florida to play the Fort Myers Rebels. That game was one of the most emotional games I ever played. Both teams were undefeated. Both teams were ranked very high in the national Pop Warner organization. Fort Myers had a good organization which later produced several pro football players start in their organization, including Deon Sanders.

We flew an Eastern jet from Atlanta to Florida and stayed with the families of the team members from Fort Myers. Before the game, we visited a lot of the sights around Fort Myers and southwest Florida. We saw alligators and otters and the laboratory of Thomas Edison in his home in Fort Myers. It was fun, but I was more interested in the game we were scheduled to play on that Saturday night. I always thought that part of the purpose of running us around Fort Myers was to wear us out and distract us from the preparation for the game at hand.

Finally time scheduled for the game arrived and we lined up to take on the Rebels. I played offense exclusively that year. Unfortunately, we only found ourselves inside their twenty yard line only twice in the first half. Both times we got a smell of the goal-line but our Pop Warner All-American quarterback threw interceptions into the end zone. On the plays we ran near the goal-line, I pulled in front of our quarterback as protection. In those situations, I remember thinking that the play was developing in a way in which our quarterback could just follow me into the end zone if he took a notion. Later in the half, I suggested this to our offensive coach. The coach told our quarterback, Brad Reese, to follow me into the end zone. Of course, Brad got caught from behind and we didn't score. [Brad later became a major 'head' at North Springs High School and gave up football.]

The first half ended in a scoreless tie. Their offense never progressed past the fifty yard line during the entire game. Toward the end of the third quarter, we were backed up inside our five yard line after a long punt. The offensive coach called a dive play up the middle, over my right hip, to get us a little breathing room. As we broke the huddle and approached the line of scrimmage, I noticed that the nose man and the middle linebacker were stacked over our center, Demming Fish. As the ball was snapped, I headed for the linebacker only to find that the nose man and the linebacker had stunted to their right, away from the play. I really didn't have to do anything but seal off the defenders, as Tommy Sheehan, our fullback, busted through the huge hole off my right hip and headed for the sideline and down the field toward our goal line.

This was the same play which had enabled Tommy to score during the Bobby Dodd Bowl several weeks before, and as I turned my head to watch his progress down the field, it seemed like that a score was inevitable. It looked like no one would catch him as he headed down the field. I remember running behind him at a distance, thinking this would be the time all night when we would finally get some points on the board. Alas, one of their defenders caught him from behind before he crossed the goal line and Tommy fumbled the ball, allowing a Rebel to recover.

That ended up being our last real chance to score during the ball game. I remember the final horn sounded and we shook hands with our hosts. The long season over, we trotted off the field and huddled together in the little visitor's locker room, underneath the stands. As our coaches briefly spoke with our parents outside, my teammates and I returned to the little boys we were and burst into tears in the locker room. Left alone in the lockerroom, we just sat on the wooden benches crying in our blue and orange uniforms. No one tried to undress. When the coaches entered the lockerroom, they sat stunned and watched us release the emotions which had welled up inside of us. Everyone realized that the end of a beautiful season had come to us with a whimper.

Oddly, I had the same experience after my last home game as a college football player against Emory & Henry College. We lost a game we should have won in front of fellow students, parents and fans. After the game, I sat in my locker and wept for the end of a long career.

When the Eastern jet returned our team to Atlanta after the tie in Fort Myers, we found that the national organization had voted us Number 2 in the nation to a Pop Warner team from Scottsdale, Arizona. How we yearned for a chance to play them, just one time. I have always had a thing about Scottsdale, Arizona, ever since.

I guess the final episode for the 115 Atlanta Colts occurred when I played my last high school football game at North Dekalb Stadium in Chamblee, Georgia against Chamblee High School. The players I had played with on the Colts, for the most part, ending up playing for three high schools: Dunwoody, Peachtree and Chamblee. The first game of my Senior year in high school was played against Peachtree. Most of the local pundits thought we would lose to Peachtree. A junior quarterback for Peachtree, who would later find glory as a cornerback for Georgia on the National Championship team of 1980, was touted as 'The Wildcat Killer.' He didn't last the first half and we won that game 10-0, setting the stage for a lot of low scoring games during our final season.

We played Chamblee in our last game of the year. Coach Sparks and Coach Jackson decided to let my brother, Frank, a freshman, dress out for the game, so that we would have the experience of playing a game together. Frank had dressed out in a previous game, against Johnson High School in Gainesville, but the score in that game was so close that he never got put in the game. However, this game would be different.

Before the Chamblee game began, the captains and all of the seniors walked out to the center of the field for the final coin toss. Jeff Meadows and I led the rest of the seniors out for the toss. As I approached the Chamblee co-captains and their senior teammates, I realized that probably half of them were guys I had played with on Murphy Candler field. A slow, sly wink and a grin of recognition passed over most of the guys' faces as we shook hands.

Before the game, a newspaper sports writer had attempted to console our Head Coach and told him that it was a shame that we would miss a winning season by one game. Chamblee, who had a good team that season, was favored and the game started out as if the predictions that we would have a losing season this year would come true. Chamblee won the coin toss and chose to receive. They then drove the ball down our throats and scored a quick six points. As I lined up over center for the extra point, a feeling of dread crept into my heart. It felt like we might not win this one.

But suddenly, the ball was snapped and I found a gap to the left of center. Rushing in with my arms up, the kicked ball glanced off one of my hands and went awry. Chamblee 6, Dunwoody 0.

Chamblee then kicked off to our receiving team and our returner ran the ball back toward the center of the field. The offense drove for one first down but bogged down and had to punt. I followed the rest of the punting team out on to the field. Our punter stood in front of the huddle.

As we formed a huddle in front of the punter, the punter whispered, "Fake punt on snap. Fake punt on snap."

Our eyes widened as we broke the huddle and headed for the line of scrimmage. The punter barked out the signal. As our center, George Brown, snapped the football to the punter, Perry Winder, one of the personal protectors and our starting fullback, eased over to the right side of the protective formation. Suddenly, the linemen on that side of the formation broke to the right in front of Perry. I looked back over my shoulder to see the punter heave the ball virtually over Perry's head. Miraculously, Perry threw his hand up into the air and caught the ball one-handed.

With the catch, Perry began running down the sideline toward the goal. We had caught Chamblee flat-footed and very few of their players recognized what was going on. Perry eased across the goal line to be mobbed by the rest of us. The extra point was kicked and we were ahead, Dunwoody 7, Chamblee 6.

Several changes of possession later, we had stopped the Chamblee offense around their thirty yard line. As we huddled for the calling of the defensive signals, I looked over at Coach Sparks, who always took an inordinate time to signal the defensive alignment for my calling. Unbeknownst to me, Coach Sparks had decided to put my brother, Frank, into the defense, in a defensive alignment which would call for the two of us to be lined up, side by side, in the center of the defense. As I called the defensive alignment, I placed my hands on my brother's helmet and broke the huddle.

We turned around to face the Chamblee offense. Frank and I were side by side. As the ball was snapped into the quarterback's hands, the motion of the play went away from me. As the play developed away from me, I trailed the ball from behind. Suddenly, some excitement away near the ball occurred and defensive players began to jump in the air and signal a recovered fumble. As the referees also began signalling a fumble recovery for the defense, I caught a glimpse of the number 7 in the pile. I turned and ran back to our sidelines.

Since Jim Kefhauver, who wore number 7, played corner back on that side of the defense, I immediately assumed that Jim had recovered the fumble. I remember walking up to him after the play and congratulating him on the recovery. He had a strangely puzzled look on his face. Afterward one of the other players told me that Frank had been in on the play and had made the recovery. I quickly found my brother, number 70 that night, and hugged him for his bit of glory and good play. Later in the game Frank came in and I knew he was there and could enjoy the experience.

Later in the second quarter, Chamblee was driving for another score. With a second and long, their quarterback, Tommy Schrieber, who I had also played with at Murphy Candler, dropped back to pass. Skirting past the center, I began chasing Tommy around the backfield. The more Tommy tried to scramble to avoid the sack, the closer I got to him. Finally, he fell at my feet, and I pounced on him like a cat. As we picked ourselves up off the grass, Tommy slapped me on the backside, although I didn't realize it at the time. When the ball was placed by the referee for third down, it was Third and Forty Two. That was one of my favorite sacks of my career.

As the game continued to progress, we scored to go go up 28-6, but Chamblee never got any closer to scoring for the rest of the game. The last two plays of the game were a screen pass and a sweep to the weak side, my side. On the screen, I smelled the play happening, and shadowed the fullback out into the flat. When the quarterback threw the ball he threw it way over our heads. I just barely got a hand on it as the ball sailed off toward the sideline. On the last play of the game, the Chamblee coach ran their tailback on a sweep toward my side. As we stretched the play out to the sideline, I finally tackled the tailback into a pool of standing water on the home sideline. As I heard the horn sound, I looked up and realized that I had tackled Eddie Jackson, who I also had played with on that 115 pound Colt team, and who would go on to play college ball at North Carolina State.

After the game was over, all of the guys I had played with in little league football gathered around to talk about old times and future plans. It was a delightful moment to catch up with a lot of those guys and remember the team we had once been. I suppose our parents were in the stands, enjoying the moment as well. I hope so.

So I remember the following members of the 115 Atlanta Colts, who met together again on a football field in Chamblee, Georgia, in November 1974, and hope I don't leave anybody out:

Eddie Jackson, Tommy Schrieber Bud Schrieber, Cody Canaro, Geene Geeslin, Frank Hovey, Blake Mitchell, Micky Maynard and myself. There may have been others, but I would have to have a program from that night to get everyone. Later that night, one of the local Atlanta news channels showed a clip from our game and apparently were kind enough to mention my name.

Some might marvel at my ability to remember that much. I don't know; I have always been able to remember those plays like they happened last week. It was a sweet time. And on those fields on those days, we were all winners.

Thanksgiving buddies

My brother Frank sent this picture along with a number of other pictures of dogs (and cats!) dressed up for Halloween. This particular picture was my favorite. The dog and the cat both look so chummy and happy to be dressed up like a Pilgrim and his Native American guest.

I include this picture and this particular blog in this entry for my sister, Susan and her husband, Kevin. Kevin is in surgery today. Hopefully, he is out and everything is looking good. I will call Susan later. Anyway, over the several years that Susan and Kevin have been married, Kevin has evinced a real problem with cats. Coincidentally, Kevin is a Boxer afficianado (I mean the dog breed). In Kevin's mind, dogs are cool and far superior to cats. Of course, there is no dog breed, no matter how large and vicious, that could overcome the largest cats in the world. Think of a great dane, pitbull, Irish wolfhound mix and pit that uber-dog against a Bengal tiger. I don't care how mistreated the dog, I take the tiger, anytime.

I would even grant you the wolf as a cousin of the dog, if you want to use a wolf. I still pick the tiger. I see canine bits spread out all over the ground.

Anyway, I include this picture, because of the expression on the dog's face and the air of comradery in the picture. I remember the relationship between my Brittany, Molly and Violet, our cat. I remember how Molly keened in the rain, when I buried Violet's body next to the dog pen. It is strange, but dogs and cats do get along sometimes. What do you think, Soul Brother Kevin?

Secrets and Miracles

When Cindy and I were first married, I think both of us wanted a medium sized family, maybe three children, just like what we had when we were both children. Unfortunately, those plans did not come to fruition, but we have one very special little girl, who has passed on into womanhood and is on the verge of being on her own. We couldn't do any better than Kate and I am very happy she is my daughter and very proud.

When Cindy and I were first married, as I said, we thought we would have a larger family. Within a year of our wedding, Cindy had to go into the hospital for surgery. At the end of her outpatient surgery, the doctor told us that Cindy might thereafter have problems with having babies. I can remember hearing those words and not really allowing them to sink into my consciousness. I was confident that that would not be the case.

Several years later, Kate came into the world. I can remember standing at the head of the operating table, holding Cindy's hands, and watching as the doctor took Kate and passed her over to the attending nurse. The nurse cleaned her off, wrapped her in a warm blanket and placed the package in my arms. I remember her ice blue eyes staring unblinkingly out of the blanket and her perfect little round face. I guess everybody feels this way, but she seemed like she was the perfect baby. No wrinkles, a little puffy, all of her toes and fingers, a little red fringe on top of her head. She didn't even cry.

Later, they took her from me to check her out and they graded her out a 10 on the apgar scale, just a perfect little person. I ran out through the halls of the obstetrics wing into the waiting area outside and almost ran over my mother and mother in law waiting outside the door. I was so excited that I went to the payphone and called everyone I knew, waking up quite a few of them, it being after 1:00 o'clock a.m. on a Friday morning by the time I was able to call. Nobody seemed to mind.

After they relocated Cindy to one of the patients' rooms, I finally went home to my parents' house and slept for a couple of hours. The next morning, I awoke, ate a quick, small breakfast and drove to Perimeter Mall to buy a little bear for Kate, thinking that a bigger bear might frighten her. Later that morning, I drove to the hospital and bought some flowers for Cindy and arrived in the hospital delivery ward.

I stopped and checked on Cindy and then trotted down to the nursery to see if I could catch a glimpse of Kate. This was fairly easy, since Kate was the only one holding her head up from her bassinet, looking around the room. As my father-in-law said, she was 'exceptional'.

As she grew older, she became more and more special to me. I couldn't help but wonder what the next one would be like.

But the years went by and no more siblings were born. Time dragged on and we began to lose the confidence that we would have a big family. We wondered just what God had in store.

Several years later, Cindy, Kate and I were visiting Cindy's parents in California. One afternoon, Cindy, her mother, Kate and I were wandering around a department store. As the ladies looked for outfits and dresses, I followed Kate as she toddled around, touching the fabric. As my wife and mother-in-law wandered semi-consciously through the multiplicity of dresses their attentions focused on the wares, I kept a step behind the kid. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an older gentleman lurking nearby. Something about his bearing caught my eye. I immediately noticed that he had focused his gaze on Kate.

Suddenly, he took a cautious step closer to Kate. As he did so, I interposed my body between Kate and his line of sight. Without a word or a glance at me, he suddenly turned and beat a path out of the ladies' dress department. I grabbed Kate and watched his back as it disappeared through the store. I wondered how close we had come to losing the kid.

Without a doubt that was the most anxious moment I have ever had concerning Kate. As time has worn on, I have come to realize that Kate has always been our little miracle. I don't know what might have happened if I had not been aware of the stalker's presence in the department store, but I am glad I was able to preserve our little miracle.

Steps

I passed down South Eighth Street, from Taylor, and saw all the mothers lined up in their cars, waiting to pick up their children from First Baptist Kindergarten. It has been a long time since I was dropping Kate off at the First Baptist Activity Building for kindergarten. She shared a class with a lot of her friends, children who shared classes with her for twelve more years. A whole generation of children. Kate was in Miss Daisy Smith's kindergarten class. Miss Daisy had a gentle hand with those children and could control them with a quiet voice or a movement. That was a time. It seems like it was the end of an era. Perhaps it was. There is a sadness as if a part of me will no longer be there. Soon, Kate will graduate from college and be off to other adventures, and our little girl will be far from us.

I would hope that she wants to go out for greater and grander adventures. I would hope that she has the confidence that would allow her to step out without hesitation. I would hope that she knows that she can make it. But I also hope that she would want to come back to us, at least to visit, and know that we are always there for her, if she needs us. And I would hope that she is happy with what journey is laid out before her.

Pray, with confidence.

Workman-like efforts

By reading my blog for any length of time, one can probably surmise that I write whatever comes to mind and that I don't wait for the muse to hit me. This is good sometimes and bad others. It means that a lot of rather mundane stuff gets noticed. But it also means that my writing button gets pushed enough to allow my literary engine to get its creative oil changed on a regular basis. Hopefully, the end result of this is that my writing gets better, more regular and, ultimately more interesting.

Today started very cold and while it is warmer, we have probably already come close to the high for the day and I anticipate another cold night. Willie Ethridge, the carpenter, is working on the last of the flooring and the installation of the molding for the rooms. By the end of the day, if he doesn't blow out another switch on the electrical switch panel, we should have a completed floor in the living room and former dining room.

Cindy wants to change the den into the new dining room and broaden the dining room into an enlarged living room. Willie says he is going to get some putty and finish off the living room where the cracks are showing between the flooring so that it looks uniform. I wanted to do that and am quite pleased that he wants to take care of that himself.

Cindy has found someone to come out and give us a reasonable quote for the heater and it looks like we might be able to get that completed by the end of the week. I will have to get an electrician out to work on the switch panel. It never ends. You just get a break from the break-downs now and then. I suppose that we will be able to get the house in relative order by this weekend.

I am looking forward to getting everything set up in the living room so that we can enjoy the space and the look of the room. I know it already looks tons better and I won't miss the carpet in there. Particularly since that carpet was saturated with moisture, pet smell, mold, dustmites, etc. from over thirty years of use.

Everybody knows that I will get the good out of anything I own before I give it up. No throw away culture for me. Its natural. I come by it honest.

I suppose I should go back to work and finish up the title upon which I was working. Its always something.