Ready to Lead, Ready to Follow, Never Quit.....

Ready to Lead, Ready to Follow, Never Quit….  Those are the words that comprise the Navy SEAL’s

motto.  We were reminded this week that there are a group of men that are a cut above the rest that protect

our country in the most dangerous places in the world.  Saturday, May 7^th, 2011 we will honor one of these

elite men named Michael Murphy. It would have been his 35^th birthday.   A Medal of Honor winner, the

Navy will commission a ship with his namesake to forever honor a fallen hero.  I have provided the Marine

Color Guard for several of these ceremonies in the mid 1980’s and although there will be great pomp and

circumstance, I’m sure despite the Navy’s best effort it will be lacking in the gratitude Lt. Murphy truly

deserves.“The Protector” was his nickname.  He received the moniker when in Elementary School he was

suspended for fighting.  The fight was with several boys who were trying to “stuff” a special needs child into a

locker.  I imagine most men of Lt. Murphy’s caliber have a similar story in their past.  Lt. Murphy grew up

and graduated from Pennsylvania State University.  I understand that he had been accepted by several law

schools but instead chose to join the Navy to become a SEAL.  I would afford a guess that he felt “called” as

so many of our servicemen and women cite this as the reason they joined a branch of our military.  SEAL

school was in Lt. Murphy’s future and just like all of the other endeavors in his life, failure was not an

option.  

Lt. Murphy was eventually given the command of a SEAL team and 2005 found himself and 4 other Seals in

the Kunar Provence of Afghanistan.  Their mission was supposed to be one of observation and reporting of

target identification.  However, like most missions not everything went smoothly, 3 goat herders wandered

upon his team.  They were quickly captured and a discussion ensued as to their immediate future.  Lt.

Murphy argued successfully that they should not execute these three men.   They had no proof that they were

combatants and current he was under orders not to engage unless there was a clear danger.  Lt. Murphy

even put it to a vote and the men were released to be on their way.  One of the “men” was a 14 year-old-

boy and they all quickly disappeared over the hill.  Just minutes later the SEAL team was assaulted by over

100 Taliban fighters armed with AK-47’s and rocket launchers.  Though overwhelming outmanned the battle

raged for quite sometime.  Soon 3 of the team were wounded and their radio had been damaged beyond

repair.  Despite the danger, “The Protector” ran to an open area exposing him to enemy fire and used his

satellite phone to call for support.  Lt. Murphy did make contact with the Command Center requesting

support for his team.  Then the inevitable happened Lt. Murphy was shot and he dropped the phone.  The

lone surviving SEAL team member tells that Lt. Murphy then picked up the phone and gave his last words to

his command, “Roger out, Thank you.”   No, Lt. Michael Murphy, thank you. 

Grief is a long road.....

Hello folks, this is my first blog since my father's passing.  I don't have a great lesson in my words for you, not

that my blogs have ever had some great lesson to share.  I've struggled to come up with something to write

about at all. No, that's not totally true. I've had thoughts on occasion the last two months, something that has

caused me to be indignant, happy or sad that I would like to have shared with you, but I have not been able

to express them here. It has been as if someone has punched me in the stomach and whoosh; all the words

and thoughts have been expelled from me and I'm having a hard time catching my breath.  Sarah has been a

great comfort during this time as have my friends yet still for the first time in my life words do escape me.  It's

ironic that at a time where I want and almost need to find a great lesson, something to hang my hat on if I can

be so flippant, I am blank.  I feel reminiscent about life in general, reflecting on how things have played out

over time wondering if I have done my best, been as kind as I should have been (that answer is no), accepted

people for their strengths and not their faults in my life.  A road of "what if" with large billboards of memories

that trigger rushes of emotion that "jerk" me back to the present time.  It's as if I've nodded off while life

passes by and been startled awake by the realization.  I don't know when things will get back to "normal"  if

life can ever be called normal.  A friend posted on my Facebook that "Grief is a long road" and they are

mostly right.  I would say "Grief is a long hard road" and we all make the journey sooner or later.

A funny thing happened to me...life: I'm just a fan.....

A funny thing happened to me...life: I'm just a fan.....

I'm just a fan.....

They were already 80 years old when I was born.  A venerable age by all accounts for anything, or anyone

for that matter in our relatively young country.  I don't believe it is recorded whether they were planted or they

like so many other oaks, germinated from the fallen acorn from one of their brethren.  They have survived

drought, flood, harsh winters and of course the tornadoes that plague our State every year. At one time or

another their acorns provided forage for wild deer, squirrels and other animals of the forest.  In recent years

their acorns have been collected, seedlings established and then sold to share their heritage. They grew

despite the invasion of men and their buildings, you might even say that a town was built around their very

existence as they sit in the geographical center of the "Loveliest Village on the Plains".  They have provided

shade during the Alabama summer and shelter in the sudden downpour of an Alabama spring.  I'd be willing

to bet that perhaps one or two young lovers have kissed beneath them for the first time and perhaps a

proposal or two has been offered and accepted beneath their massive limbs.  They look stately and wise, if

you believe in such, in the way that nature matures and shapes itself over 130 years.  They eventually became

the central place to gather in times of celebration.  A focal point for a town, a university, and yes, a State

where we all could meet to express our joy and pride from accomplishments and feats of athleticism that both

thrilled and inspired us.  We celebrated in a silly way, adorning their branches with long sheets of toilet paper

draped from them like streamers being dropped from a departing ship or being thrown from the windows of

buildings during a hero's parade.  We didn't build them, commission them like a piece of art or even plant

them for the purpose they serve.  They have emerged as an icon to longevity, diversity, adversity and triumph.

Today those beloved trees are dying.  A man poisoned them out of spite over a football game.  The assertions

I have heard is that he is crazy and I have no doubt that is true, it doesn't change the fact that it was done

over a silly game.  The State of Alabama has built two world class institutes of higher learning that also

happen to have football teams.  One has been forever successful and certainly the pride of Alabama for many

years.  One has become more prominent over the last 20 years, reaching the ultimate goal just this year in

football circles.  They have inspired us to become fans, a rivalry emerged that at one time was healthy and in

good fun has turned tragic and ugly.  I'm going to admit here that I'm as guilty as anyone else in the insanity.  I

stomped around mad for days over a comment made by an Alabama fan, I've blocked people's comments on

Facebook, and made inflammatory comments on other people's Facebook page as well.  Today it stops for

me.  Today I vow to just be a fan again.  I will no longer wish for others to lose to feed my ego.  I will no

longer celebrate when teams do poorly or lose a recruit to a rival school.  I will celebrate when Alabama or

Auburn plays and wish both the best.  I will be proud of either as they bring acclaim to a place I proudly call

my home.  I will congratulate my friends when their team wins and be encouraged by the efforts of my team

when they lose.  Please don't get me wrong, I will always be an Auburn fan.  My 10 year-old son who in his

heart truly believes he will play college football will be strongly encouraged by his father to go to Auburn.

Where he will be going soon is to Toomer's Corner, I want him and his sister to see the oaks before they die

and  I hope he will  learn from me that traditions are important, that the spirit of competition inspires us to be

our best and that football is just a game played on Saturdays.

The breeze, the bay and a memory.....

I am always amazed by how incredibly connected our senses are to memories of an event or a place.

Especially our olfactory sense seems to link them together.  Yesterday while getting a towel out of the

bathroom closet I caught a whiff of the coconut scented tanning oil that we have stored there for future use.

Immediately, memories of Panama City Beach came flooding into my mind.  They were so clear and vibrant it

was almost like I was there in that instant.  My family had a 28 foot camper that we parked at Venture Out a

community of campers mixed with an assortment of mobile homes for some of the locals in that area.  We

went every summer for 3 or 4 years when I was in high school.  It backed up to the bay and was directly

across from Captain Anderson's restaurant and the Treasure Ship that had recently been built at that time.

Across the street was the beach. Memories flood my mind fragmented and picked from many days spent

there happy, carefree and lazy.  I do not recall a bad day spent there.  I do remember walking in the ocean

around knee deep as the tide came in at night, flashlight in one hand, crabbing net in the other and catching the

next nights boil.  Riding my bike with several of the local residents of the park to St. Andrews State Park to

fish off the jetties for anything we could catch.  Swimming across the bay stopping in the middle to rest on the

sandbar always amazed by how quickly the ocean changed from shallow to deep.

I  remember the red dress that the girl wore the night we went out for the first time during one summer.  I do

not recall her name though.  She was tall, tanned, blonde and way out of my league.  Her father was career

army and they were taking a summer before leaving to live at Ft. Dix in New Jersey. Our first stop was the

Treasure Ship where we sipped Virgin Pina Colada's in tall keepsake glasses which only cost 3 dollars more

per drink. A local strummed a guitar and sang Jimmy Buffet, James Taylor, Christopher Cross and Paul

Simon songs in the background as we talked and laughed.  I must have been 16 that year because I can

remember driving my parents big tan hideously uncool Buick LeSabre with her sitting next to me. I don't even

know if they still put bench seats in the front of cars anymore but if you've never driven with your arm around

a pretty girl with one hand on the wheel and the radio softly playing while she rests her head on your shoulder

you know why they should still make those seats.  We ended that night at the pier that ran out into the bay.

Legs dangling into the water, feeling them floating up and down in time with the sound of the water lapping at

the posts.  A quarter moon hung in the sky, shedding light enough to make the water ripple with a glow that

allowed you to hear the distant boats passing but not enough to see anything but their lights move in and out of

the bay.  The warmth of her hand in mine as we sat mostly in silence watching the boats and listening to

someone's radio pour out tunes from somewhere close by.  A slight breeze blew  across us bringing the rich

smell of the beach, salt water, and the faintness of her coconut tanning lotion. It seems now like a complicated

symphony had been written to fill every sense to complete a memory. After leaving the pier I drove her back

to our trailer and walked her across the street to hers. She kissed me on the cheek, sweet, innocent, perfect.

A week later they left for her father's new duty station.  I think she hugged me and we both promised to write.

We never did of course, and I've never seen her again.  I don't think I've really thought about it again since it

happened and it all came back by opening a closet door and smelling coconut sun tanning oil.  Sweet,

innocent and perfect.......

The 5 Steps of Facebook Withdrawal....

Recently my wife sweetly pointed out that perhaps I am consumed by checking my Facebook account.  I denied that this was true.  She then pointed out that an addicted person always denies their addiction.  I then announced that with my super willpower that I would not log onto Facebook for one week.  I lasted 5 days.  The following is my account of what will now be known as the 5 Steps of Facebook Withdrawal.  I have have assurance from the scientific community that it will be published in a really, really, really, important journal soon.

Step 1.  Anxiety.... It started innocently.  I logged off my computer, discontinued my email notifications and logged off my android phone.  That wasn't so hard I thought. I promptly went to bed thinking this is a breeze.  Woke up the next morning, took my shower, got dressed, poured a cup of coffee and ate my bowl of gluten free rice chex. I sat down and booted up the computer, immediately my promise came to mind.  No logging on to Facebook today.  My palms instantly got sweaty and a small wave of anxiety rolled through my body.  "No big deal, who cares that I'm not on Facebook today?"   Off to work, whistling as I left the house.

Step 2.  Denial.... Funny how little things disrupt your day.  I own a smart phone, generally in layman's terms it means that the phone I own is smarter than me.  I usually keep my Facebook logged in during the day and on occasion I will check it at work just to make sure that nothing important has happen, oh say in the last hour or so.  "Oh well, I'll just be in the dark today" I nervously chuckled.  Actually, come to think of it the laugh was more maniacal than whimsy.  Later in the day I picked up my phone to call about an appointment I had made and instead of touching the phone button I touched the Facebook icon which instantly opened to the log in screen. There's that maniacal laugh again.

Step 3.  Self Affirmation.... Do you remember Stuart Smiley on SNL?  Everyday he'd look in the mirror and repeat, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and doggone it, people like me"  In this step you must move pass the need for constant affirmation.  The day begin as usual but I noticed that I wasn't as cheerful as usual, that my cereal didn't taste quite right, "I'll need to note that on Facebook" I thought, "I feel certain other peoples cereal didn't taste good this morning and they'll like my status"  Wait, I can't post my status. Am I the only one who had a crappy bowl of cereal this morning?  How will I know that I'm normal?  How will I know that people "like" me?"  I decide to look in the mirror and repeat, "I'm good enough, I'm smart.........

Step 4.  Hallucinatory state.... This occurs about day 3 continuing into Day 5.  Did my computer just flash the Facebook log in screen?  No, No, I'm still on yahoo.  I swear it my laptop was closed when I walked out of the room and now it's opened to the log in screen for Facebook.  I look at Sarah.  She looks a little evil.  I think maybe she's taunting me over there on her Macbook laughing and smiling at all her friend's posts from today.  Did she just wink at the screen?  I ease myself out of the room slowly hoping that she's unable to smell the fear in my sweat. I'm sweating alot so I don't go to my computer.  I don't because the keyboard might get soaked and ruined.  I'll call my kids, that's what I'll do they'll comfort me.  Wait who put my phone on the Facebook log in screen?  Why is my Facebook icon flashing?  Why won't my phone let me make a call?  Has Sarah done something to it too?  I wonder if Sprint is in on this?  I wish I could talk to Mark Zuckerberg right now he'd make them stop.  My hands are shaking now, I have the stench of desperation around me.  People are looking at me strange now all the time, whispering posts I"m sure.  Thoughts keep running through my mind.  I keep getting an error message over and over telling me my thoughts are limited to 420 characters.  "Mark Zuckerberg is Satan" is going to be my first "post" I feel certain.  Why has my boss suggested I take some time off?  I think my friends will have some "comments" about his attitude.

Stage 5.  Bliss..... I log in on my phone.  I get an error message three times.  Has my account been deleted?  No, no I've just misspelled my email address.  Must be my shaky hands.  I'M LOGGED ON!  WOOHOOO!!!!!!!    Pure Bliss!   The world is right!  I lasted 5 days.  I mean that's a business week right?  I have great willpower.  I think I'll post that right now.....

The Greatest Show on Earth!

Step right up folks.  Be amazed! See "The Greatest Show on Earth.  Three rings of excitement, intrigue,

mystery, and drama.  All right before your very eyes.

In the first ring, see the young man!  Daring, exciting, full of vigor and youth.  See him attempt great feats of

daring.  See him from his childhood adventures, throwing his first football, making his first tackle and growing

in leaps and bounds.  Watch him as goes on his first date, tastes the lips of the girl in his first kiss and feel his

sorrow in his first heart break!   See him as his mother hugs him goodbye and his father shakes his hand as he

goes off to the Marines. Feel the passion, the uncertainty, and experience the fear that fills him for the first time

in his life. Feel his despair and the warmth of his tears as he carries his sister's coffin to her grave.

Look now to the second ring!  Examine his ascent into manhood.  His father at his side, the best man at his

wedding.  Don't look away before his first child is born!  Watch him giving cigars away and proudly showing

photographs of her to anyone that he can stop for a moment.  Imagine his misgivings as he experiences so

many firsts! Mortgages, sick kids, career decisions and finances.  Imagine the joy and madness that

accompanies the birth of three more children.  Breathe deep his hopes and plans for a future for them all!

Gaze now on the third ring!  Dreams, aspirations, great sadness with hope are the stars. See his unrealized

dreams fade before him.  Watch as aspirations are replaced by reality, circumstances both within and outside

of his control.  See his marriage fail and the sadness, grief and madness that accompanies divorce.  Watch his

hopes soar as his runs his first marathon, meets a childhood friend and falls in love again for the first time.

Experience the melancholy as his children enter college, throw their first football and make their first tackle.

Swell with pride over his children's accomplishments and be encouraged in his belief that everything will work

out if you just keep the faith.

Ladies and Gentlemen, don't look away for even one moment.  Life......... it's the "Greatest Show on Earth!"

The Legend of Linthicum Hill

Every town has a legend.  A story retold again and again passed down from generation to generation.  Usually

it's of a heroic deed, perhaps a touchdown pass in the state championship football, or  the final strike in

the state baseball championship or maybe it's rescuing someone from a burning building.  Alas, I think for my

generation it's Linthicum Hill.  Maybe we should call it the Sled Ride on Linthicum Hill.

It was 1982, I don't remember the exact date as it's been 28 years since the legend was born.  Some men are

destined for greatness others have greatness thrust upon them, some of us are just plain unlucky I suppose.  I

would fall into the latter class.  It had snowed in Tarrant on that fateful day and had left the streets with a thin

sheet of ice on them and just enough snow to cancel school and send us all in a frenzy.  When it snowed

everyone would head to Linthicum Hill in our little town.  Linthicum Hill was the Mount Everest of Tarrant

City.  It was a monster hill.  I don't know the exact height of Linthicum but I consider it one of my greatest

accomplishments as a kid that I rode my bicycle all the way up the hill without having to get off and push.

I know many of my friends that could not do that.  I can tell you that it was so long and so steep that my

friend Allen and I "popped wheelies" in his father's wrecker while driving up the hill.  He would put it in first

gear, pop the clutch and the front two wheels would come off the ground.  Let's for argument's sake say

the hill was a quarter mile in length and steep enough to touch the sky.   Anyway, back to that fateful day and

our hero, yours truly.  When it snowed everyone gathered at Linthicum Hill to watch the bravest of brave

sled down the hill achieving speeds of Olympic magnitude only match by those crazy men that get on that

little sled called a luge.  I (the hero please remember) was a senior in high school and thus endowed with

levels of testosterone and stupidity that leave medical researchers shaking their heads in disbelief.  It was

considered brave to sled by yourself on a real wooden sled with the metal runners and the faux steering

board that gave only the slightest ability to steer during your run.  If sledding by yourself was considered

brave then sledding with someone was considered, well stupidity I mean courageous beyond belief.  I think

it was Scott Clements who suggested the fateful ride, he on the sled and me on top and we would start at the

very top of Linthicum Hill with a push from our friends (or so I thought at the time).  The beginning went well

and we began to pick up speed.  I swear at one point that we begun to go so fast that I saw a portal to

another dimension open up in front of the sled.  Unfortunately, what reality was there was a truck.  Apparently

someone had tried during the snow to go up the hill in a truck, couldn't get up the hill, slid down the hill and

parked on the side of the road.  We failed to take into account the velocity, trajectory, distance and weight

in our calculations on the sled run in which we were currently on at the time of the ride.   Really, what we

failed to take in to account is that the manhole cover was warmer than the rest of the street and when the

runners of the sled hit it, it changed our trajectory.  Yes, you guessed it.  We were headed for the truck.

Now, if you have followed this through you have deduced that the person on top of the first person on the

sled is the one that might hit the truck about bumper high you would be correct.  I cannot explain to you what

the word stop really means.  Many of you will mistakenly think that you know what the word stop means.

You will assume that you have hit the brakes, that watching Fred Flintstone push his feet to the ground

while driving or you have run into a door frame when not paying attention will have experienced what stop

really means.  I am here to tell you that you are wrong, incorrect, have a negative assumption of the word

stop.  The word stop can only be experienced if you are going down Linthicum Hill on a sled with another

person at about a hundred miles per hour with everyone watching and I mean everyone that you know is

watching and then hit a truck parked at the bottom of the hill.  That is the true meaning of the word "stop"

and if you do not experience this you will never, ever, ever know what stop means.  Trust me on this one.

People will tell you they were at Super Bowl 12, that they were at the Sugar Bowl when Barry Kraus

stopped Penn State from scoring or they were there when Bo Jackson scored over Alabama to break the

ten year domination over Auburn, people in Tarrant City will tell you they were there the day Mike White

ran into a truck sledding down Linthicum Hill.  Legends are born this way........