07
Nov 24

I’m grading, so you get the simple version of the day

I made a Christmas present today. Can’t be talked about. You never know who reads this stuff. And another present arrived. Ssssh, don’t tell anyone.

Christmas? I am in no way prepared for the Christmas season. I never really am. But it doesn’t seem like that time of the year should be sneaking up on us. It never really should. But all of this happens every year.

If I wrote about that today, what would I do in the next six weeks? I should get back to grading, anyway.

I started the week with 148 items to grade, and I’ll finish those up tonight. It’ll be a fury. Or a flurry. It’ll probably be fuzzy.

Let’s return to the Re-Listening project. In the car, I am playing all of my old CDs in the order of their acquisition. And I’m writing about them here, occasionally, to pad out days like today. These aren’t music reviews, because who needs that. But they are sometimes a good excuse to dredge up a memory or two. They’re always an excuse to put some good music here.

And this good music is from Will Hoge. He’s from Nashville, and he fits the overlapping areas of Americana and country these days, but his debut was pure blue bar rock ‘n’ roll. He had a band that almost made it, then toured the South as a solo act with a supporting band. Dan Baird stood there and played guitar next to him, so it was basically a coronation. Carousel came out in 2001, and this song broke speakers all over alt rock stations.

I loved it immediately, it was the frenetic pace, the driving rhythm section, the desperate way he was screaming out the lyrics. Hey, it was 2001, but it was five or six years before I picked up this record.

It’s a debut album, which is great, but also limited. He was still growing into his craft. And I’ve yet to see him live, but it looks like a good time.

Here’s the title track.

Somehow, this was one of those CD mixes, one with a provenance I’ve forgotten. But whoever made this did me a real solid, or maybe I knew what I was doing, because there are five live Will Hoge tracks tacked onto the back, including this phenomenal Bill Withers cover.

He’s got a peppy little version of “Mess Around” that apparently no one has ever uploaded to the web. I’m not saying this version of the song being online would solve the web’s problems, but we can’t disprove it, either.

And there’s a sweaty bar version of one of the other key songs from this record, one I didn’t share earlier because I wanted to put it right here, in a live version worth hearing, in all of its clangy, brassy, Telecaster glory.

Since then Will Hoge has put out 13 more records, and I’m going to introduce his music to a relative soon, because some things just need to be passed down.

One day I’ll even get to see him play. He is doing some touring right now, just not close by. (Update: Turns out he was here about three weeks ago, and I had no idea. Come back, Will!)

The next time we return to the Re-Listening Project, we’ll go all the way back to 1992. This was a CD I picked up to finally replace an old cassette and I guarantee you that every time I’ve listened to it, I’ve wondered why I waited so long to do that. It’s going to be a great listen.


06
Nov 24

Incomplete stories on two wheels

It was 80° on Nov. 5th, we have had three-tenths of an inch of rain since the end of August (and all of that in September).

The farmers are merely moving dust around in their fields. Nothing weird at all, here.

That was early in my ride today, and it looks over processed, but it’s an over-processed sort of day, isn’t it? Later in that same ride, when the colors were softer, and the breeze just a tiny bit cooler, and my legs a bit more tired and the sun challenging me to a race …

I’d gone down a road I usually come up, where I was passed by a giant ambulance and, soon after, almost watched a minivan almost drive itself into a head-on collision. I turned right instead of going all the way down that road, cutting across to another road that I went up this afternoon, rather than going down, as I usually do. I crossed a busy intersection and then had one long straight shot with a little breeze at my back. And then I took the longest, most sensible route home.

We won’t have too many more seasonably warm days this fall, best to eek every second out of it if you can. Anyway, that was today’s ride. Let’s talk about what I found on a different ride.

We return once again to We Learn Wednesdays, where the historical markers search continues, because from time-to-time I ride my bicycle around looking for them. This is the 53rd installment, and the 85th marker in the We Learn Wednesdays series. And we’re at the Friends Burial Ground.

We’ll talk about the tree in the next installment. The burial ground dates back almost to the beginning of the white settlement. (A few Dutch had set up nearby, but they got outnumbered pretty quickly.) The English Quakers showed up in 1675, even before William Penn arrived. This was Fenwick’s Colony. A cavalry in Cromwell’s army in England, a Quaker convert and a lawyer, Fenwick advertised this place, “if there be any terrestrial “Canaan” ’tis surely here, where the land floweth with Milk and Honey.”

We learned about Fenwick earlier this year (here and here) and when people back in England learned about his vision, they started pouring in.

It’d take another decade or so for the settlers to build their first meeting house, but the people were firmly rooted. Some of the old names on these markers still have descendants around here. And a lot of the local names are repeated here in the stonework. There are more than 1,000 markers here now sitting behind this low brick walk alongside one of the busy modern downtown streets.

There have been three dozen interments here this century, the most recent in 2020. She was from right nearby, and had worked at Penn State for a quarter of a century. She started as a secretary and eventually became an assistant dean.

Not all of the notable stories are deep in the past.

The next time we return to the marker series, though, we’ll go back to the 17th century one more time, and we’ll learn about that Salem Oak. If you have missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.


05
Nov 24

New month stuff to distract you, also a new front page look

It occurred to me yesterday that this is the first presidential election cycle since 1996 when I haven’t spent all day and all night in a newsroom or at a campaign watch party.

So all day I’ve just been doing … normal stuff. Is that what everyone does?

My first election as a cub was a midterm election, where I interviewed a man immediately after he found out he was elected to Congress. You could hear the excitement and hope in his voice. He would become a two-term governor. I also interviewed a man who became a senator, who told me I asked too many questions and hung up on me. I spent some time at a watch party where a mayor spent part of her evening hitting on me. (She’d had a few beverages.)

My first presidential election I spent in the studio, and at two watch parties. A woman who was running for local office, who’d spent the entire campaign deliberately not speaking to me, lost that night. It was fun to catch her eye at the end. But I was also trying to localize the Bush-Gore race. That night I took a brief nap in my car before going back inside the studio to go back on the air the next morning.

I was in the studio for the 2004 election, but I don’t really have any strong memories about the night. By 2008 I was back on campus, and I had to convince the students I was working with that it might be a good idea to talk to people on campus about their votes and hopes, and report on their reactions to a historic night. I’d been on that campus for a little over two months at that point, and it was eye-opening.

In 2012, the initiative in that same campus newsroom was better. They were also putting to bed their paper on that Tuesday night, so they were excited, and it was another long night. All of these were long nights.

In 2016, on a different campus, in brand new facilities, someone got the bright idea that we should try the new equipment, all of it, at the same time, and turn that into a showcase. And, fortunately, most of it worked.

By the time of the 2020 election, we were used to all of that new production equipment, but we were working in a Covid environment, which didn’t make the day any shorter, just still-surreal.

And now I’m filling my day in other ways, which is satisfying.

Anyway, the normal stuff was very normal. I have a lot of grading to do this week. It’s all piped into a CMS and that interface helpful tells you how many documents I have to work your way through. Seeing those numbers pile up, it feels like having a headache in a dream. It’s a disembodied feeling, and you know it is supposed to hurt, but you can’t feel it, which somehow makes it more daunting.

So I have 148 things to read and assess. Most of those 148 things require feedback. You want that to be useful. And since I’m forever saying the word “substantive” it should be feedback that has some significant use to it. In truth, the feedback is a lot of fun. You can make all sorts of connections, try to help students make the next leap, introduce a new concept or two if a student is interested in it. And if a student is interested in it, I find that the feedback might be the most fun part of running a class. It just takes time and care. This batch take three or four more days to get it all in. And then the next round will roll in Monday night.

I’ve also done the monthly cleaning of the computer, deleting a bunch of files I no longer need, updating some templates and updating some statistics.

Oh, and I also updated the images on the front page. They look a lot like this.

Go check them out. We’ll wait here for you.

Those are from Monterey Bay, California. I took those on a March afternoon, while we were waiting for our lunch order to be called. It was quiet, but busy, and the waves were also busily doing their job, and also quiet. At least in my memory, now. It was a beautiful afternoon. We’d driven up the Pacific Coast Highway a bit to be there, in that old cannery-turned-tourist town, and we were about to go visit the aquarium.

That is the third or fourth set of photos I’ve put on the front page from that trip. And, it turns out, I took more photos from that beach than I realized. I could run another set easily enough. In fact I might! I saved those photos of sand and rocks and water until now, to get us through a bit of the colder weather that will be here, eventually, though it felt like a warm summer day here today.

I also need to add some new buttons to the front page. I’ll get to it at some point, when the grading gets done.

Since we’re in a new month, I updated my chart for the year’s bike mileage. This means nothing, but I think about it a lot. After each ride I update the spreadsheets — plural, because why just look at a little data when you can consider it in more than one way. This chart is the main way I consider my progress.

And as you can see from the lines, what I’ve actually done, in that blue line, is well above where I was at the same point last year, which is the red line. That green line is just an arbitrary number I use as a linear measure.

I wonder at the end of each month how legitimate this is. On those last few days I compare the miles again, and compare it to earlier iterations of that same month in previous years. And there’s a list where I have ranked the months I’ve ridden the most. And so near the end of October I saw that the month was my most productive October ever — humble though my productivity be — and it had a real shot to become the second most productive month of all time. There was no way I was going to catch February 2024. At the same time, September 2024, January 2023 and November, 2023 were all ready to be knocked down a peg. And so I started riding with that in mind. It seems disingenuous, somehow. To my brain, that is. The parts of me doing the work would argue it’s quite real.

Like I said, this means nothing.

Anyway, I went out this afternoon for an easy 20-mile ride. And because of the time change I was racing daylight to get home.

That photo is timestamped 4:43 p.m. Bring on the solstice, so the days get longer again.

Though this day and night have been plenty long. So much grading still to do …


04
Nov 24

Did a democracy

We voted on Friday. Our polling place is in the annex of a small Methodist church four miles away. But we did early voting, because you can do that here. You can do that here for almost 10 days, something like 96 additional hours. Each county is required to put up and staff, I think, at least three early voting locations. The more populous counties, of course, have many more.

All of the early voting precincts we could use were almost equidistant, so we drove the 10 miles down to a rural fire department.

The town blocked off roads to minimize traffic for voters convenience. There is a sign out front offering you assistance in 10 languages, as required by law.

There is a row of three or four folding tables with the polling staffers doing their job. “What is your name?” and such. Lists are consulted, signatures compared. They give you an oversized hotel key card. Behind you are four voting machines, arranged in such a way that, at first, you don’t think you’ll have any privacy. When you get there, though, you realize that someone would have to come over to be awfully neighborly to see your votes.

You plug in that card, you work through the touch screen — vote, vote, vote — you verify your votes on the screen, and again on a printed receipt. You take the card back to the desk, and that is when they give you your sticker.

They also have mail-in voting here. They have drop box voting with each county again required to prominently locate three of those bins.

It’s a wonderful feeling to vote. It’s a refreshing thing to do it in a place where the state actually makes it easy for their residents, all of them, to vote. Though I do miss filling in those bubbles. And, just once, I want to vote somewhere behind a current, where you pull a lever. Touching one more touch screen doesn’t feel especially empowering, but that’s the least of it.

I’ve been telling my students for weeks about the several processes available for them to record their vote. Trying to encourage them to do so because politics, we know, are interested in them. And because, we know that they are now a part of one of the two largest voting demographics in the country. I’ve been giving them info on how to do so to cover three states, because we could easily have people from just over the border in these classes. Some of them will vote. Hopefully all who are eligible. Some of them are probably voting for the first time, and we are all tasked with being mindful of encouraging that process. It should be a powerful thing, using your voice, weighing in on the national conversation, and it’s nice to encourage people to use their voice so I’ll do it one more time.

Go vote!


01
Nov 24

The 1954 Glomerata, part nine

Doing something a little different for this week’s installment of the 1954 Glomerata. Usually, of course, I put a few of them here. And they’re seldom ever the posed photos. But we’re just going to look at one photo this week, one that’s worth concentrating on for a few moments. So let’s dive in.

This is the ninth installment of our glance through the Glomerata. (Find ’em all — Part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven and part eight.) All of them will wind up in the Glomerata section (eventually). You can see others, here. Or maybe you’d like to click through to see all the covers. I wouldn’t blame you. They’re quite handsome. The university hosts their collection here.

This is the official portrait of the 1953 football team, coached by Ralph “Shug” Jordan in his third season in the top job at his alma mater. And he had these guys going the right direction. They finished the season 7-2-1, their best season in almost two decades, and an appearance in the Gator Bowl — the school’s second bowl in a row, and just their third bowl game ever.

But the guys on the team, that’s what’s important here.

The guy on the left side of the front row is Fob James. He would become a construction engineer and an entrepreneur, making and selling physical fitness equipment, ballasts and counterweights. He became a politician, a two time governor of Alabama, first as a Democrat from 1979–1983, and then as a Republican from 1995 to 1999. (The times were changing around him, and he changed parties quite a few times in his long career.)

In his first term, the state had financial troubles. (This would somehow be a recurring theme.) He did a bit of education reform, and worked on the state’s mental health system, and overcrowded prisons. He cut state spending by 10 percent, and laid off a bunch of state employees. What money he could put his hands on, he put toward K-12 education over higher education, which was controversial — any choice he made there would be. He also integrated the government, which is a mind-boggling sentence for 1980. He nominated the first Black man for the state Supreme Court. (Justice Oscar William Adams Jr. would serve from 1980 until 1993. I believe there have only been two more Black justices since then.)

In his second term, now in the ascendant Republican party, he governed as a tough-on-crime, staunch conservative. He revived chain gangs and presided over seven executions. He defended Roy Moore and the display of the Confederate flag. He once again bolstered primary education through a series of reforms. But the state was fighting all sorts of revenue problems, and he refused to take federal money. Eventually the state’s board of education went around the governor and took the money anyway.

He gutted higher education. Meanwhile, he also blew $25 million in appealing a federal judge’s ruling in a 15-year appeal that required Alabama to improve two historically black public universities. It was a devastating series of events.

But enough about Fob. Lets look at some of these other guys.

We learned about George Atkins, #78, a few weeks ago. He became a coach, and the second most impressive athlete in his marriage.

Joe Childress, #35, was from a sleepy south Alabama town, was a two-time All American, and made it to the big time, playing for nine seasons in the NFL, a Cardinal from 1956-1965. He was a coach on the Houston Oilers staff for five years, and eventually landed in the securities business. He was diagnosed with cancer, and fought it for several years until he died in 1986, at just 52 years old. The next year he was posthumously inducted into the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame. He and his wife, a hometown girl, had four children. She remarried, and passed away in 2018.

Bobby Freeman, #24, was nicknamed Goose. After his college playing days he was a third-round NFL pick, but that was after he signed a deal with a Canadian Football League team for a two-year deal that paid him about $88,000 in today’s money. When he signed with the Browns, his dueling contracts became a legal issue. He went to training came in Cleveland, not Winnipeg, and they took him to court. He lost the court case, which became historically important, and it kept him out of football for two years, then the former QB became a defensive back in Cleveland, Washington, Green Bay and Philadelphia. He coached at his alma mater (some people do get to go home again) for 10 years. Freeman died in 2002, survived by his wife and five children. Before she passed away in 2022 she counted 23 grandchildren and 29 great-grandchildren in the family they created.

Chuck Maxime is the guy on the far left of the second row, #77. He played college ball for four years, including on the championship team. He was down from North Dakota, and I’ve no idea how that happened. When he hung up the pads he became a teacher and coach in Mobile, staying on with the Murphy Panthers for his while 34 year career. He and his wife and four sons, nine grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. When he retired, he just followed his grandchildren, which sounds like a life fulfilled. They give out a memorial award to local coaches in his name, and that ain’t nothing. He died in 2011, at 80.

Frank D’Agostino, #67, was an All American tackle. He played with the Philadelphia Eagles, his hometown team, in 1956. He was with the New York Titans in 1960. He died, in Florida, in 1997.

Ted Neura, #61, joined the Air Force, and became a captain. He was killed in a plane crash in the Mekong Delta area of Vietnam about a decade after this photo was taken. He was just two months or so from coming back home to his wife. They buried him in Alabama with full honors, and he had been the Distinguished Flying Cross, Purple Heart, Bronze Star for Valor and the Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters. He was just 31, but had a son and daughter, and nine siblings, including a teammate in that photo.

Johnny Adams, #47 lettered for three years. It looks like he lived a nice quiet life, with a full family, until he passed in 2015. They still write about his days on the high school gridiron on local Facebook pages. What high school players get remembered 80 years on? Folk heroes, that’s who.

Joe Neura, #83, was Ted’s brother. While Ted died young and his buried in Alabama, Joe passed away at 59, having returned to his native Ohio.

Jimmy Long, #55, was, the year after this photo, a team captain. After school, briefly served in the Air Force, mustering out as a captain. He would become an engineer at Alabama Power for more than three decades. He spent 15 years calling high school football, was a deacon and led Sunday School classes for 40 years. He and his wife of 50 years raised three daughters, and they gave the Longs five grandchildren. He passed away in 2006.

Quarterback Vince Dooley is on the third row, #25. Playing for Shug Jordan wasn’t challenging enough, so he became a Marine. When his time in the Corps was done, he coached at Auburn for about eight years, first as the QB coach, and then as head coach of the freshman team. And then Georgia called, and the boy from Mobile became a legend in Athens, where he coached for 25 years, winning a national championship, six conference championships and retiring as the second-winningest coach in SEC history. He flirted with political campaigns, but ultimately stayed on as the athletic director until 2004. He wrote a handful of books, served on the board of the Georgia Historical Society. He’s in the Georgia Sports Hall of Fame in 1978, the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame in 1984, the College Football Hall of Fame in 1994 and the Marine Corps Sports Hall of Fame. His name is on the football field at Georgia. Vince Dooley’s goodness and awesome character is just about the only thing Auburn and Georgia fans can agree on these days. Somehow, they share him. He and his wife had four children. He passed away in 2022, at 90.

Jack Locklear, #89, was one of the best centers of all time. They called him Black Jack, because he knocked out a lot of opponents. He was drafted by the Cleveland Browns, spent eight years in the NFL, then went back home to Alabama and coached high school football, baseball and track. He won a state championship in track. He served on the local Board of Education and helped build a high school. He ran a bunch of restaurants in northeast Alabama over the years. He and his wife had a son and two daughters. He died, at 80, in 2012.

Bobby Duke wears the number 45 here. He was a three-year letterman, briefly became a high school coach and athletic director, and then took an Air Force commission, serving in the criminal counterintelligence and fraud investigations unit. He retired 22 years later as the director of fraud investigations for the USAF. Then he served for 18 or so years as an executive of a paper company in south Alabama. He and his wife of 51 years had four daughters, seven grandchildren and two great-grandchildren when he passed away at 75, in 2007.

Ed Baker, #81, Baker, was another Mobile boy. He followed his bachelor’s degree with a master’s at Southeastern Louisiana University. Eventually he became a head football coach at five different high schools in Alabama and Florida, and then a ran a semi-pro team. After all of that he still had the energy to run a vocational technical school for 21 years. He had three children and seven grandchildren. He was 80 when he died in 2011.

Ordwell Warren, #54, played end for Auburn. He served in the Army after school, moved to Florida in 1971 and sat on a local school board there for 22 years. He and his wife had two sons and two daughters, 11 grandchildren and eight great-grandkids.

Jim Lofton, #56, was Vince Dooley’s roommate. For decades people told the story that Lofton didn’t know who Dooley was. But they told the story because the two men remained lifelong friends. Lofton joined the Army right after high school, a peacetime paratrooper. Playing on a base football team, he began to get noticed by college coaches. He became a storied Georgia high school coach for almost 50 years, and a multi-time high school coach of the year. His day job was as an English teacher. His wife and his whole family called him Coach. He won 250-plus games, a state championship, and Dooley wrote the foreword to his first book. Lofton was the kind of guy who was the quiet center of the places he worked and lived, maybe he was the Disney movie waiting to happen. Everyone turned to him for mentorship, a shoulder, a small loan. He and his wife were married for 62 years. He died at 85, with five sons, 24 grandchildren and a huge family besides. He was 85 when he died on New Year’s Day, 2015.

Jim Pybrun, #50 on the top row, played football here, but baseball was his better sport. He was drafted by Washington, but he eschewed the NFL and signed with the Baltimore Orioles. He was remembered as one of the school’s best two-sport athletes — Pyburn, Frank Thomas, Bo Jackson head that impressive list — and perhaps the player of the decade, which is impressive considering they won a national championship in 1957. He played three years as a third baseman and outfielder, got sent to the minors in 1957, hung up his spikes in 1958. A few years later he worked for his old pal Vince Dooley, coaching defensive line, linebackers and defensive backfield over a 16-year run at Georgia. He was inducted into the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame and died at 78, survived by his wife, two sons and three grandchildren.

David Middleton, #21, was another multi-sport star, lettering in football, track and basketball. On the football team, he was an end, a wide receiver and a halfback. (Imagine one guy playing all three of those positions today.) He was also an SEC champion in the 100 meter dash. He ran a hand-timed 9.6! He met his wife on the plains, and then played football for the Detroit Lions. Over a seven year career he led his team in receptions three times, won an NFL championship and caught a touchdown in a 59-14 blowout of the 1957 NFL Championship Game. While he was playing football he was also somehow going to medical school. He worked as an OB/GYN in Michigan. On Christmas Eve in 2007 he fell, and died a few days later from his injuries. He and his wife had three children and three grandchildren.

Next to him is Millard Howell Tubbs, #20. He was a star in high school and in college, where he was a quarterback and a center fielder on the baseball team. And this is why all of this is important. This is the first sentence of the second paragraph of the man’s obituary, “Bubba is best remembered for ending the long losing streak to Georgia Tech and never losing to Alabama in either sport.” He went to work at Air Engineers, Chevrolet and then worked at General Motors for 36 years. His wife, two children and a grandchild when he died in North Carolina in 2014.

M.L. Brackett, #60, played for three years in the NFL with the Bears and the Giants. He was Shug Jordan’s first ever recruit at Auburn, played four years there, after a high school career under a coaching legend. He played in that first sudden death overtime NFL Championship Game in 1958, which featured Vince Lombardi and Tom Landry as the coordinators. His obituary is full of little tidbits like that, along with plenty of dropped names. He was an umpire for 30 years, worked at a steel firm for 22 years, and was married for 57 years. They had three children and two grandchildren when he passed away at 81 in 2015.

Don Rogers, #64, was a bookend on the offensive line, opposite his brother, George Rogers. After football and graduation, Don fulfilled his ROTC obligations with the Air Force. He left the service as a captain, became a drug rep and later started a home building company with his brother. They built hundreds of homes around Birmingham. He reffed high school football for years. He and his wife spent almost 65 years together, raising a big family of three kids, seven grandchildren and 11 great-grandkids. He died just last year, aged 91.

And that’s his brother, George, #62, on the right side of the back row. They have remarkably similar life stories. Where Don married a hometown sweetheart, George married a college sweetheart. That might be the biggest difference between the two. George is remembered as a state champion in football, a track star, he was drafted by the Green Bay Packers, but went into the Air Force and reserves. He, too, went into pharmaceutical sales, and for the same companies as his older brother. Then they had that construction company. George also took on some other work, but he also called high school football games like his brother. He was incredibly active in his church. He and his wife were married for almost 56 years when he died, she, his four children and seven grandchildren survived him in 2011.

So that’s a governor, a hall of fame coach, a bunch of service men and a handful of professional athletes, and future community leaders, and I only looked up half of that team. But what a team! What a collection of young men.

And also Fob James.

All of these will wind up in the Glomerata section (eventually). You can see others, here. Or maybe you’d like to click through to see all the covers. The university hosts their collection here.