Archives for April 2016

Below is something I wrote in December of this past year.

LA

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Just some thoughts:

Once upon a time “He was someone’s child.”
 
All I knew about him was two things. One, the church where my wife and I attend had fed and provided a sleeping place for him the night previous and this morning  his name well they called him Alabama.
 
This six A.M.  morning as he sat in the passenger’s seat in the van I was driving taking him and the others back to the mission this morning he never stopped talking. “Man what kind of coffee is that your drinkin’ it sure smells good?”  “Hazelnut,” I replied. “Coffee, man coffee, I sure like coffee. I had myself three cups this mornin’. Nothin’ like a good cup of coffee to get your mornin’goin’ is what I’ve always said. Yes, sir a good cup of coffee.” He continued on as we drove through the dark morning making our way back to their morning destination.
 
Less than an hour later when I returned the van to where I do each time I then got in my car slipped in cd and this song by one of my favorite female singers, the Irish lady Mary Duff came on. I had to stop and listen. Then my morning friend Alabama came again to my mind. 

   
                                                                         “Someone’s Child”
 
                                He sits in the rain beggin’ for change as people pass him by
                         And once in a while he’ll get a nod or a smile and nickels and dimes
                      But when the sun goes down on his part of town and the cold wind blows
                                 He’ll make his way to a park in the dark where no one goes
                                                 Someone used to rock him on their knees
                                 And when he cried they’d sing him a lullaby till he was fast asleep
                                          They say he had his daddy’s eyes his mama’s smile
                        Oh they loved him so but that was long ago when he was someone’s child
                                The word on the street he had a degree and a big house in LA
                               But when it comes to his past don’t even ask he’s got nothing to say
                                        People frown and put him down and don’t seem to care
                                              That he down’s on his luck standing there
                         And from the flashing lights light up the night and the sirens scream
                           And as he breaths his last he drops a photograph that no one ever seen
           He had his daddy’s eyes….and his momma’s smile…he once was someone’s child

​On a lighter note a bit later as I sat alone in a booth at my coffee place having my second morning cup I was reminded of something a school principle said to me in my first year of teaching in late 1964. It would be my first class room experience with five classes of junior high kids.  I remember him saying that someday I would have this  little guy  giving me fits as I was trying to teach  making my life miserable, well just before you walk back there with all those thoughts of what you would like to do with or to him remember this one thing believe it or not…. “He is somebody’s little darlin’.”
 
Tomorrow is my biological mother’s birthday.  Once she was a pregnant unwed teenager in 1942 and knowing much of the story my coming on the scene created a great deal of havoc for her I am sure. I will always have a debt of thanks and appreciation for her.
 
Today I also say a word of thanks to my friend Alabama for riding shotgun with me this morning. Alabama you helped remind me of a valuable less I need to remember. That lesson is regardless of one’s current looks, status or whatever circumstance might be of their life everyone was…. 

                      ​                                                  “Once someone’s child.”

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December 15, 2015
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson

​“An unliterary man may be defined as one who reads books once only.
It is even better the second time around”
(C.S. Lewis)​

While I agree with Lewis about the re-reading of one’s favorite books, I also think it can be true of one’s favorite movies. Favorite films should be seen more than once. I don’t know how many times I have returned to some of my favorite movies such as “Hoosiers,” “American Graffiti,” “Mr. Holland’s Opus,” “Saving Private Ryan,” or “Inventing the Abbotts.” I could name others. Many others. 

Recently I found myself returning to watch the movie “Forrest Gump.” The first time I saw this movie I thought it was a good and entertaining movie, but wondered if it had any real social value. I guess I needed additional viewings. Forrest is the embodiment of an era in America, an age of innocence; and I think we would all agree that too much of America has now lost that innocence.

Forrest’s heart knew what his limited IQ didn’t. His moral compass never seemed to wavier. There are some great lines in the movie that quickly pass us by if we are not paying attention. “I’m not a smart man but I know what love is.”a good movie, entertaining,etc.  Now whoever said that smart and love went hand in hand. In fact, probably some of the least smartest things one has done in life had to do with love.

“Simple doesn’t mean you don’t understand.” One of my most memorable years was after my retirement from the so called “real world;” I was on staff working with Special Olympic athletes. While some might think of them as simple, it was just not so, as they were some of the most perceptive people I have ever met.

Forrest’s mother (Sally Fields) often said “You gotta put the past behind you before you can move on.” Who among us has not needed to hear that line?

My favorite scene in the movie is when Forrest and his girlfriend, Jenny, are out walking and they come upon Jenny’s old house where she grew up. Almost immediately Jenny’s demeanor changed and she bent down to pick up rocks and began throwing them at her old house. She violently hurled rock after rock at the house until she was completely exhausted. Sobbing, almost out of control, she sank to the ground and placed her face in her hands. Forrest sat down next to her and then delivers what I think is the classic line of the movie:
​

​I have often thought about that line. If one lives long enough they can rest assured that in their life time there will be something in which they will never have enough rocks to throw.

He and Jenny married; and near the end of the movie Forrest is found sitting at Jenny’s grave looking at her grave stone. He picked a flower and said, “Jenny, I tore down that house.”

More than likely there will be a time (s) in our life when there weren’t enough rocks; and hopefully there will also be someone there who will help us tear down our houses.

As with good books, there are good movies that we may need to see more than once.

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February 2, 2014
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson

Below is something I wrote not too long ago. Interesting isn’ is it what ways kindness comes to another. 

LA
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Just some thoughts:

We have a good friend of ours who grew up in west Texas. He shared this story with us.

 In this small west Texas community lived Bill Edwards. Bill lived a few miles from town on a ranch. Unfortunately Bill was in the words of one of my old relatives, “He wasn’t right in the head.” Or as some came to describe him, “He was touched a bit in the head.” If you have any rural raising or rural roots seems most every small town or villages had such a character. In the small Indiana community where I grew up we had two that I have never forgotten. We had Tom and Duffy.

Bill lived out on this ranch and was able to function enough to see about himself but that was about all. Often he came to town to sell butter and eggs that he produced from his simple living. Bill did not drive and thus was often seen making his way walking to town.On the route that Bill walked ran a Greyhound bus. The bus ran nearly every day between Odessa and Lubbock. The policy of the Greyhound Company was there were only certain places where a driver was allowed to pick up or let passengers off the bus.  A driver was never to make random stops to take on or let off passengers. That was supposedly an absolute.

Shorty was a bus driver for Greyhound.  He worked for Greyhound for nearly forty years. Shorty would often see Bill Edwards walking along the road going to or from town. When Shorty would see Bill regardless of where he might be on his walk Shorty would stop his bus open the door and ask old Bill “You need a ride?” Bill would always climb aboard. Shorty knew how some might take advantage of Bill as often he would have money on him from his butter and eggs business. Most people knew of Bill’s situation. He would be easy prey for anyone wanting to take advantage or due him harm.

One of the favorite things of many of the locals especially the young when they would see ole Bill was to ask, “Bill, what’s you doin’?” Bill’s answer in his Forrest Gump speech, “Watin’ on Shorty, just watin’ on Shorty.” Bill could often be found in his journey from his ranch to or from town just, “Watin’ of Shorty.”

Who knows what was spared in Bill’s life because of a bus driver who paid attention to one “who wasn’t quite right in the head” A bus driver that failed to follow “company policy?”

You known sometimes in life there are situations in which maybe it’s best to make exceptions. Maybe even an exception to “company policy” and go with what your heart tells you to do.

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Keep on,
​Larry Adamson

Below is something I wrote in August of 2014. 

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Just some thoughts:

It was a very early summer morning and I had just left my nephew’s house. I had been in southwestern Indiana for a few days of golf, and just generally visiting some of the old haunts. I was about eight or nine miles south of Terre Haute traveling highway forty one when I came upon a small road sign that read: Pimento. Immediately I smiled. 

 The evening before I had taken a leisurely drive around some of the areas of my youth. A drive down Wabash Avenue. The strip as it was called in the late 1950s’. I drove past where once there had been three or four drive-in / car hop places, a teenage hang out called the Wassell’s Inn (2800 Wabash Avenue) and a few other places that once had significance in my life. Sadly the car hop places are no longer there. They are just boarded up buildings with weeds in the parking lots. Wassell’s is now a restaurant type place. I then drove by a couple old high schools, a couple gyms (basketball places), by an old baseball field and by a place once called the Toasty Shop near another old high school school. I ended my old memory jaunt driving some streets and by houses there in the south end of town where I once had so often found myself. 

On this morning, as most summer mornings, I had the top down on my convertible; it was just a very pleasant early Indiana morning. Just about that time I was approaching the highway sign  that read Pimento, which was the actual area where I had lived growing up, a song came on from  a Bobby Vinton cd  I was playing on my car player. I smiled as I listened to the lyrics of the song he was singing, and I got to thinking… hum…
​

HOW OLD?
​

How old are you before you regret the things you never done

You lose and you win you start over again it goes on and on

How old are you before you regret the things you never done

​
How long do you wait before it’s too late—you think the night is young?

 Life is a game it’s never the same till you’re dead and gone

Sooner or later it ends and all you can count on are your friends

You laugh and you cry life rushes by and it’s the only one

 
How old are you before you regret the things you never done?   

​Now there’s a question for you… how old is one … before they regret? You got any answers?

I wish I had….. 

That thought stayed with me for a considerable distance as I drove on toward Tennessee

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August 12, 2014
Keep on,
Larry Adamson

You ever have a movie that was one of your favorites but was seldom mentioned by others? Probably so. One such movie for me is the one I reference below. I wrote the following in January of 2014.

LA
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Just some thoughts:

Do you have a favorite movie that would seldom rank as a favorite with anyone else? 
 
Probably so. For some reason it appeals to you, but you have never heard anyone else speak of the movie. 
 
One such movie for me is “Inventing the Abbotts.” It appeals to me for numerous reasons. It came out in 1997 and is a coming of age, teen romance movie set in small town America in the late 1950s’. I won’t go into the story, but I just like and identify with the movie. I feel it says much more than what many others might think. Some great lines from the movie were spoken by the mother of the two teenage boys. One such saying: 

“There are different kinds of love.
Some people you love no matter what.
And others you love if the situation is right.
To me, the best kind of love is the ‘no matter what’ kind.”
 
(Helen Holt – the mother of the two teenage boys, Doug and Jacey Holt)

​Hum, “Some people love you no matter what and……. some people love you if the situation is right.”
 
Did you ever find yourself the recipient of both? 

“Some love you no matter what and some love you if the situation is right.”
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January 16, 2014
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson

Just some thoughts:

​Kids: Jill, Jay and Jennifer (and grand kids, if interested):
​

Sixty-six was still a narrow two-lane highway

Harry Truman was the man who ran the show

The bad Korean War was just beginning

And I was just three years too young to go

Country music hadn’t gone to New York City yet

And a service man was proud of what he’d done

And Hank and Lefty crowded every jukebox

That’s the way it was in ’51

​
There’s so much about the good old days I’d love to tell

And there’s folks around I know, still remembered well

Slow dancin’ close together when a ballad played

‘Cause a thing called, Rock and Roll was yet to come

It was a big year for drive-in restaurants, Carhop

And that’s the way it was in ’51

 
Hank and Lefty crowded every jukebox

Oh Lord, that’s the way it was in ’51
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  (Merle Haggard)
​

In 1951 I was nine years old. I was about the age of our grandson Luke. Route sixty-six was the major highway from Chicago to Los Angles and yes much of it was still two lanes. A few years later your grandparents and I drove that highway to southern California to visit your Uncle Daren and his family. We did this about five or six times in the coming years. Nearly 2300 miles one way by car and no air-conditioning. 

Harry Truman was our President. Just to the left of where I am currently sitting is one of my favorite family relics. It is a picture of my Uncle Byron, your great uncle, taken with President Truman in the oval office. In my personal opinion, Truman was one of the best president’s we ever had.  Oh, how this country could use that kind of integrity and leadership in the oval office today.  During the time of the Korean War, your Uncle Daren wasn’t too young, as the song says, to go to war. He was just eighteen and was in the Air Force stationed in Pusan, Korea for a year. Daily I walked to our rural mailbox, and almost every day there would be a letter from him, and I’d also place one in the box for the carrier to pick up to be mailed to him. There were no emails, texting, or tweeting back then. I will never forget the day your grandparents and I drove in an old 1954 Chevy panel truck to meet him on his return from Korea at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. That’s a story of its own and maybe another time.

Country music had not gone Hollywood yet, so there wasn’t any smoke or rope swinging, folks as we see today. The Hank and Lefty referred to are Hank Williams, Sr. and Lefty Frizzell. They did crowd most jukeboxes, or at least the one that I remember at Bert and Finn’s Truck Stop, south on Highway 41 a few miles in between Farmersburg and Shelburn. Sadly Williams died at age twenty-nine. He died in the back seat of a Cadillac on New Year’s Eve in 1953 on the way to do a show in Canton, Ohio.

 The first time I heard Hank Williams sing I was sitting in my grandpa’s driveway. Sometimes late on hot summer nights Uncle Harold would go out to his car and turn the car radio on and he would let me sit and listen with him. Sometimes he would listen to KMOX out of St.Louis broadcasting the Cardinal games. Other times he would dial in WSM out of Nashville, Tennessee and we would listen to a late night DJ. What I remember most about Uncle Harold is he had tattoos on both arms, a wooden leg as he had lost part of a leg in the war. He liked to smoke. I can still see that red circle on the pack of cigarettes that said Lucky Strikes. Sometimes he “rolled his own.” He would take out a tin of Prince Albert tobacco and roll his own cigarette. He could do the whole procedure with one hand. He had my complete attention when doing such. Quite fascinating to a small boy.

Uncle Harold was my dad’s youngest sister’s husband. To be honest I am not sure what number husband he was. Years later I would learn there was a count and learn much more family history as Uncle Harold and Aunt Boots got considerable billing. But at the time I was too young to know or note much. I did like those radio times and Harold still remains somewhat of a mystery to me even all these years later.  As for Lefty Frizzell he lived on many more years, but each year he lived more problems came his way. I often see his brother David perform around town now.   

Yes, there are still some folks around I know that remember those days well, but they, like me, are aging and leaving us much too soon. Rock-n’-roll had yet to really come in full form. For most of us rock-n’- roll came on about 1954-55. Many of us from that time associate that music with Sun Records out of Memphis and folks like Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Johnny Cash. And to think, the other night as I was sitting in a Nashville honky tonk, Cash’s son, John, was sitting next to me.

One of the first drive-in restaurants I can remember was what we called a root-beer stand. It was located on the north side of Sullivan, Indiana and called The Pine Mug. Yes, there were car-hops, and the jukebox was always playing loud. You could get a chilled mug of cold root beer for a nickel, yes five cents. Along with the root beer you often saw some neat cars and pretty girls.  Interestingly enough, it was at a drive-in restaurant in 1962 where your mother and I first met. That’s another story for another time. There was a lot good about those days, and it was a special time to be a kid growing up in Indiana. Even at my young age, the basketball and the music bug had already bitten me, and it has never left.

What will you tell your kids about your “1951?” Sometime share with them what it was like for you when you were a kid. They might even have a bit of trouble believing you were ever once a kid. If that’s the case, then send them my way, I can certainly attest to that fact, because I do remember when you were kids.

To others, if you remember what it was like in your ’51, have you told your kids about that time?     

There’s so much good about the good old days to tell.
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December 6, 2013
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson 

Below is something I wrote nearly six years ago. My three favorite baseball players of all time were Nellie Fox, Red Schoendist and Stan Musial. All three Hall of Fame players but I think hall of fame off the field as well.

LA
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​Just some thoughts:

This past week I pulled up to a stop light, and on the bumper of the car in front of me was a sticker that read, “If you want to be remembered, do it with style.”

As I drove off, I wondered about how so many folks today think that is true. I somewhat understand what the sticker is saying and meaning, but I also think much of what people think today identifies with those words. I am afraid too much of today’s society has come to equate style with substance. Style is not always with talent. The flair, the far-out is style, and thus style is good. Can you sing? Paint your ears green or make your hair look like you left your finger in the wall socket, who cares? You have style, thus popularity.

I just finished reading a book on the life of Stan Musial. Who was Musial? Well, Stan Musial was an outstanding baseball player, member of the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York and equally great as a person in the eyes of many people. He played in the majors for twenty-two years, 1941-1963, all with the St. Louis Cardinals. If you go to a game today in St. Louis, you will see his statue just outside the ballpark.

A writer recently acknowledged that the name and image of Musial has faded. Mays, Williams, Mantle and DiMaggio, not so, but Musial, yes. Musial was not colorful in the sense that he never ran out from underneath his baseball cap, never married a Hollywood movie star as did DiMaggio and never spit at reporters as Williams did. He wasn’t a womanizer. In his twenty-two years in baseball he was never thrown out of a game. His name only appeared in the box score of his team. Sadly, some say his reputation has diminished in recent years because he was uncontroversial. “I just tried to stay within myself,” he once said.

Musial went to bat 10,972 times and played in over 3,000 games. My old grandma lived with us for six years and used to say to me as she stood by the sink washing dishes, “Larry, if you will show up, keep your mouth shut and do as you are told,  in most cases you’ll get along alright in life.” Musial, well he did more than just show up.

The next time you see or hear of something crazy and people call it talent and say that’s style, stop and think a minute. Far too often folks equate flair with talent. If you ever have to choose between style and substance, I would suggest you always take the latter.

In my opinion Musial had both. I liked his style, and he certainly delivered substance.

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July 9, 2010
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson

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Do you remember high school letter jackets? Below is something I wrote in July of 2010 nearly six years. They did have their influence but I wonder where all those letter jackets are today?

Larry Adamson

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Just some thoughts:

 Isn’t it interesting what we are sometimes impressed with?
 
My 50th high school reunion was in May and over the past few months I have been in contact with former various classmates now scattered throughout the U.S. There were twenty-seven of us, and of that number, I think twenty-one of us were in school together all twelve grades.
 
I had an email from one of my classmates that I have not seen since graduating in 1960. She mentioned a guy she had a date with and commented that for the life of her, she could not figure out why she went out with him. Then she said something that struck a chord with me, and if you were in school in the late ‘50s, her statement made perfect sense. “I guess I went out with him because I was impressed with his car and he wore a letter jacket.” Excellent explanation; no further information needed.
 
Letter jackets and class rings were two big items during those high school years. Letter jackets were often presented at an athletic banquet or at an all school assembly. I remember receiving mine as if it was yesterday. That letter jacket meant more to me at that time in my life than if I was honored to receive a green jacket in the Butler Cabin at Augusta. Anything Billy Payne, the Master’s Chairman, might have done would not have matched the feeling I had upon receiving my high school athletic letter jacket. To a teenage boy his letter jacket was definitely “an instrument of influence.”  I might add that generally you didn’t wear your jacket more than a day or so, as it would probably be worn by some pretty little cheerleader or one’s girl friend. There was a good chance she might have already had your class ring.
 
Sadly, like some other things from that time period the jacket lost its staying power; and certainly its power and influence would be dated. Today I wonder how many even know where their jacket is; maybe hanging in the very back of their closet or in a box in the attic, if they kept it at all.  
 
Sometime back my good friend and classmate, Mike Brinkman, penned a little ode about letter jackets.

Years ago high school girls cared for wearing
A much too large jacket if bearing
Her guy’s high school letter
It made her feel better
But since “Women’s Lib” few are caring

​Fifty years have come and gone, but I wonder if we still aren’t too easily influenced by things that only have a value for a short period of time, and soon its value fades and passes on.

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July 2, 2010
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson

​Just some thoughts:

Children, they do pay attention. Often more than what we might realize.

A group of 4th grade students this past week were given a writing assignment. They had not previously been told they were going to do such. The instructions were “write an essay on someone from your past.” Pretty heady assignment to a group such as this. No pre-notice they were going to do such, no chance to receive instructions from a parent. One youngster titled her writing, “How My Great Grandma Inspired Me.”
           

 “Many people from the past inspire me, but there’s one person that inspires me most, that person was strong, brave and she persevered-my great grandma.”

This was her opening paragraph. This letter was written by Barbara’s and my nine year old granddaughter Delaney.  Delaney Margaret. When I, we read the letter…well you can imagine our reactions, our thoughts. Our grand kids are no more important than yours… so you also  know the picture don’t you.

You know so often we think our kids aren’t paying attention. They don’t get it we often say to ourselves.  That’s not always true. I think many times their quiet little minds are taking in much more than what we ever thought they do.  Family story telling is important. (You will notice in her essay stories had been shared thus her referencing WWII). Our children are paying more attention to what happens around them that includes our attitudes and actions.
                                    
 One of the best things we can spend on children is our time. 
 
April 7, 2016
Larry Adamson

How My Great Grandma Inspired Me

Many people from the past inspire me, but there’s one person that inspires me most, that person was strong, brave, and she persevered – my great grandma.

When she was young, somebody very close to her had to go off to war.  She had to live alone, doing work and many things on her own.  As she got older, she became very sick and couldn’t even get out of bed.  She was strong though, and stayed strong until the age of 95.  

My great grandma’s name was Margaret. My parents gave me the middle name Margaret because they admired her and also thought she was strong and brave.  

In conclusion, I think that my great grandma was strong and kept on going. So she inspires me to do what she did today.

– Delaney Margaret Holaday
2016

 Below is something I wrote in 2013. I read of the old coach’s passing on that day and thought about the matter of winning and losing. As I said I did not know Coach Porter but I did see his teams play. I don’t think one would associate the word “loser” with Coach Porter.
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Just some thoughts:

Some years after his retirement and nearly forty years as a very successful Indiana high school basketball coach he sought to seek out members of what had been his least successful high school team. A team many thought had great potential but ended up winning only two games and losing eighteen. 
 
The year had been one of great frustrations and disappoints for not only him, but his players and his community. The team started the season by losing the first few games by very small margins and his thinking was “we are going to get better as the season progresses.” It did not. The players accepted the season for what it was and the coach often wondered what the players, the kids thought years later about this experience.  Did they consider it a waste, how did losing make them feel? His curiosity continued with him and thus he took it upon himself years after his retirement to return to this community and find a number of the players from that team. The players were now well into their adult years, they were parents and member of their communities.  One of his players in this later years sit down when ask by his old coach if playing on a team that only won two games affected him in a negative way these many years later said:.

“No, not at all, playing on a high school team is great and you look back on it every day,
    the rest of your life, and remember all the good times. Losing is a part of the game and
      you have to learn to accept it. I would play again, it was great and I learned to play with
      others and get along with others. I definitely would want my child to have the same possible 
        experiences.”             

(​No Nets to Cut Down”—David Porter)
​​

I had to smile after reading and I thought back to my high school playing days. In the four years I played basketball we never had a winning season and I think one of those years we had a similar season winning only three games and losing seventeen. But I like the interviewed player in no way considered it a waste of time or a negative experience. The experiences proved life learning lessons.
 
I think sometimes today our society equates far too much the words of success and winning. If winning is not present then no success. Not so. I believe much of the success of athletics is in the process, the experience of participating. Losing does not take away the value of attempting. I think “winning” in the minds of too many is multiplied beyond its value.  The successful writer Pat Conroy once said “you learn much more when losing than when winning.” I believe there is some validity in that statement.
 
In the past few weeks I have attended a young man that I know high school wrestling matches. In the last three I have seen the young man has lost all three. Two he was been penned and the other by points. In seeing me the other day he thanked me for my note I had written him encouraging his participation and my coming to see him. He also appeared a bit “sheepish” and embarrassed with his performance. I immediately assured him that I was so pleased to see him participating  in this program and how I thought each time I had seen him wrestle he had improved.
 
Everyone and especially our young people need to be assured that winning is not everything and in no way is winning an assurance of success and losing in no way a sign of failure.
 
To quote this old basketball coach after his meetings with former players:

               “We play the game because it is a great game, filled with victories and defeats–
                    happiness and sadness. It teaches life, and that’s why we play the game.”
                                                 
(No Nets to Cut Down—David Porter)  

​The old Indiana high school basketball coach David Porter died today July 2, 2013 at the age of 94. I did not know Coach Porter but I did see his teams play a few times. 

                                              There are some defeats more triumphant than victories
                                                                            (Montaigne)
 
I think those communities where Coach Porter taught and coached and all those young men who once played for him regardless of the record were better for participating.
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July 2, 2013
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson