Dad

 This coming Friday, October 4th, will be the 15th anniversary of the death of my dad.  Cancer took him at the age of 74.

I can never truly express what a great dad he was, what a great example he was (this goes for my mother as well).  But at one point, when he was still alive, I tried.

When I wrote for the Pocahontas Star Herald, I had a sports column called "Bits and Pieces."  I wrote about local, state and national sports.  Sometimes I even got on my soapbox and preached.  

I wrote the following piece in June 2006.  It was the week of Father's Day, and I wrote this for my dad.  I was fortunate, working for the Star Herald, to have a forum in which to express my thoughts and feelings.

With the anniversary of his death coming up this week, I have been thinking about him a lot and just how much I miss him.   I hope by reading this, it stirs up pleasant memories of your father.

-

June 15, 2006


Dear Dad,

You know Father’s Day is coming up this Sunday, so I thought I would say a few things that maybe I haven’t said, or of I did say them, I need to say them again.

First, let me say thank you for being a Dad that always encouraged me where sports were concerned, and never put me down or tried to make me something I wasn’t, or tried to push me.   You didn’t try to live your life through me.  You let me be a kid and enjoy the game.   I think the only rule you had, was if I started the season, I had to finish the season.   For that I am very grateful.

I have a lot of pleasant memories from when I was playing little league.   I remember how cool it was that you helped coach my little league teams.   I can recall that some of our games started at 6, and you would have to rush to the game, sometimes just meeting us there.   I loved having you around for those games.   I always thought I was pretty special in the eyes of my teammates because my dad was one of the coaches.

Another memory that I have cherished for the last 40 years was playing catch after dinner during the summer.  I was young and self-centered, and only thought about myself.   I didn’t even think about the fact that you had been at work all day, were tired, and might want to sit and rest awhile, or talk to Mom, or possibly read the paper.

I wanted to play catch you, and once the dinner dishes were done, I would beg you to come out back and play catch with me.  There I would stand by your chair, with two gloves and a baseball.  “Come on Dad,” I would say, “let’s go play catch.”  And you always did.   I know there were probably some times when there were pressing issues that needed your attention and you couldn’t, but in the mind of your 49-year old son, you always did.

We would go out back and play catch for 20 or 30 minutes.  Sometimes we would talk about the Cardinals, or my little league team, sometimes we wouldn’t say much at all.  You know, it really didn’t matter.  I was doing what I wanted to do, with whom I wanted to do it.

Do you remember that sometimes I would ask you to throw flies to me or throw grounders?   Remember I played second base, so I needed a lot of practice fielding ground balls.  I remember those times like they were yesterday.  Those are memories I never, ever want to lose.

How is it, that you were always able to get Cardinal tickets?   I loved going to the games and would not sleep the night before.  I remember going to a lot of “Bat nights”, where they would give out bats to the kids.   Barry and I would get our bats, and hold them tightly as we fell asleep on the way home.

I’ve tried to be a good Dad like you.   It has been tough, but every time Barclay and I are playing catch, which we do as often as we can, I think of all the times you played catch with me when I know you really didn’t want to, or you may have wanted to, but had other things you needed to do.    I didn’t understand that then, but I do understand it now.

But life is more than sports.  I realize that our children are precious, and we need to make time for them.  We have a responsibility to them, to love them, to be there for them, to encourage them.  Those are just some of the life lessons I learned from you on how to be a Dad. 

I am very proud of you and have always been proud to be your son.   I hope I have passed along some of the lessons you have given me to Barclay and Clayton.

I love you.  Happy Father’s Day!

Dalton

My Piece of the Rock

 As you may or may not know, depending on whether or not you are a baseball fan, the Oakland Athletics have played their last home game in Oakland.  Ever.  Due to anemic attendance and inability to work out a new stadium deal, the Athletics announced earlier this year they would be moving the franchise to Las Vegas, ironically following in the footsteps of the Oakland Raiders, who moved to Oakland a few years back.

For the most part, baseball was happy to get out of Oakland and leave the Bay Area to the San Francisco Giants.  The Giants have always been more popular and have a wonderful stadium on the San Francisco waterfront.  It also doesn't hurt that they have won three World Series is the last 15 years, so attendance is not an issue.

But the A's have a small problem in their planned move to the desert.  Las Vegas did not have a baseball stadium suitable for the Athletics or Major League Baseball, so they are going to build one.  As any contractor will tell you, it takes a while to build things and the intricacy of building a stadium adds time to the building process.

The Athletics have said it will take three years to build a stadium in Las Vegas.  But having burned their bridges in Oakland, they need a place to play for the next three years (at least).  In another ironic twist, the Athletics are going to head up I-80 an hour or so and for the next three years call Sacramento home, playing in the stadium of the Sacramento River Cats, home of the Giants Triple-A club.  One last parting shot at San Francisco.

Earlier this morning I was on Twitter, or maybe it was Instagram, I really can't remember, and it really doesn't matter.  But what is relevant is the video that I watched, which conjured up memories of an event that happened to me some 19 years ago.

The video was taken after the A's last home game.  A member of the grounds crew had a shovel and was shoveling dirt and putting it in the cups, baggies, hats, whatever would hold the soil, of the Oakland faithful who wanted to take part of the Oakland Coliseum home with them.  I would imagine the treasured dirt from the infield or batter's box will find a place of honor in an individual's library or den or man cave. 

Flash back to December 2005.  The St. Louis Cardinals have had a new stadium under construction and are going to move into it in time for the 2006 season.  Thus 2005 would be their last season in "Old" Busch Stadium before moving next door to "New" Busch Stadium.  Do you follow me?

A week or two after Thanksgiving Marilyn and I went to the old hometown to do some Christmas shopping.  It was an easy 200-mile drive from our home in Pocahontas, Arkansas heading north on US 67.  The trip generally took about 3 hours and 45 minutes.

While in the Gateway area, I told M I wanted to go downtown and see what was left of old Busch Stadium.  After all, I grew up there, probably going to (I am not exaggerating) 300 or so games in its 39-year history.

When we arrived, a chain-link fence surrounded what once held Busch Stadium.  There was only a sliver of the upper/lower deck still standing.  The rest was a dirty pile of rubble.  The rubble was a lot of dirt, rock and piles of concrete which once made the stadium.  I got out of the car and stood next to the fence.  Several men my age stood near me.  We acknowledged each other's presence with a simple nod.  No words were spoken.  We simply went back to our solemn, gaze, each alone with our thoughts of what we had witnessed over the past 39 years.

After being transfixed by the scene in front of me, my concentration was interrupted by a construction worker in his yellow vest and white hard hat, who wandered into our area on the other side of the fence.  The other side where this baseball temple once stood.

To this day I do not know where the courage came from, but I called out to the worker.  "Sir," I was able to get out, "sir, could I have one of those pieces of concrete?"  I meekly pointed to one of the 30 or so pieces nearby.  He stopped, looked at me and they at the pile.  He shrugged, and said, "sure, I guess."  He actually asked which one I wanted; I mumbled it didn't matter.

He reached down and picked up a nice chunk of concrete that was flat on one side and handed it to me.  "Will this do?"  I held it in my hand as if it were the Holy Grail.  "Yes, thank you," was all I could get out, never taking my eyes off the prize I was holding.

Then a funny thing happened.  The other four or five men standing near me, who had been watching me with a hint of jealousy and awe suddenly found courage.  "Can I have one too," they asked, almost in unison.  Dutifully, not saying a word, the worker picked up the cherished pieces of childhood and handed one to each of my newfound brothers.  Smiles suddenly appeared on our faces.  We were all, in a word, "giddy," because none of us expected to leave this hallowed ground with anything but memories.

For 19 years now my piece of Busch Stadium sits proudly on a shelf of a bookcase in our library at home.  One man's rubble is another man's treasure.

Kings, Presidents and Other Relatives

 I would imagine most of us know very little about family beyond our great-grandparents or perhaps our great-great-grandparents.  It's not that we aren't interested, it's just that many families don't keep good records, even going back a couple of generations, nothing was known about those who came before.

Fortunately, I don't have that problem.  My mother's maiden name was Dalton.  Yes, that is how I got my first name.  It's a southern thing, giving the mother's maiden name to the first-born.  In this case, me.  But back to the Dalton's, one thing about them, they love history and more specifically, genealogy. 

My Grandpa Dalton's oldest brother, Lawrence Dalton, for decades wrote a history piece for the local paper, the Pocahontas (AR) Star-Herald.  That is the same paper I went to work for 35 years after his death.  He also wrote a book in 1948 entitled "History of Randolph County."  

The second brother in line, Clarence, loved baseball.  I can remember many summer afternoons sitting at his house in Pocahontas listening to him tell me stories of Dizzy Dean or Babe Ruth.  Jimmie Foxx and Bill Terry.  The third brother, Acel, was just a natural-born storyteller.  Easily the best in the family.  One cautionary tale, I was told always take what Uncle Acel says with a grain of salt.  Some in the families would have different versions of the same story.  I think of what Mark Twain once said, "Never let the facts get in the way of a good story."

My grandpa, Kermit, was fifth of the six brothers, and he too would entertain me around the charcoal pit with stories of his growing up in Randolph County, Arkansas.   Unfortunately, my grandpa Dalton passed away when I was 15.

We have moved on a couple of generations.  Two of my cousins, Frank Dalton Jr. and his sister, Jenny Ito are both heavily involved in genealogy.  Beverly Dalton, the wife to another one of my cousins, did hours weeks and months of research on the Dalton's, and even though she passed away several years ago, her work is preserved in several volumes and is being closely guarded by her grandson Nate Dalton.

I cant't ignore the Sullivan line.  My great-grandpa Sullivan was a blacksmith in Murfreesboro, Ark.  His blacksmith shop was in a dog trot about 50 feet behind his house.  I can recall him sharpening saws and knives and saws, Just doing anything a blacksmith did.  When I was growing up, we had hanging on the wall in our family room, a large cast-iron skillet, close to two feet in diameter.  My grandpa made it for deep camp.  When he had a free minute, I would sit on the anvil in his shop and learn about my ancestors in Pike County.

The point being in all of this, my passion for genealogy research comes naturally.  In retirement, it has become my hobby.

Ok, I apologize for the long intro.  But I felt it was important to share that my interest in the subject is not a passing fancy.  It is deeply embedded.

In addition to family research that I have used and added to, I also subscribe to ancestry.com, as well as the Mormon genealogy site, familysearch.org.  Both have tremendous resources and an abundance of information.  In fact, ancestry.com tells me I have shared DNA with over 115,000 people, just in their data base.

Because of their easily accessed files and data, I have been able to fill in most of my family tree going back close to 500 years.  As I am filling in my tree, I am only using direct lines.  At this point, not worrying too much about adding additional brothers and sisters.  At some point I may do that.  

Think about this.  we have two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents, and 16 great-great-grandparents.  Every generation it doubles.  If you go back 15 generations, you have 32,768 sets of grandparents.  Go back two more generations, you now have 131,072 sets of grandparents!  This is mind-boggling.  But it sets up the point I'm about to make.  

Let's go back to the year 1500.  The world population at that time was approximately 500 million.  However, the population in Europe, where all of my ancestors came from, was only 61.6 million.  So, if you have 131,072 grandparents, that is 0.02 percent of the European population, or 1 in 50.  So, if you had 500 people in your little English village, statistically, 10 of then would be your grandparents.

Now, I told you all of that to tell you this.   According to the Mormon genealogy website, I am related to a lot of famous people.  But seeing the math in the previous paragraph, chances are pretty high you are as well.  Most of us are of European descent, and the statistics say the farther back you go, the more grandparents you have, and the smaller the population, thus the more in your ancestry tree.

There is one big caveat in all of this.  The info is only as good as the person who recorded it.  Many records are verifiable some are a bit spotty.  You have been warned.

Given all of this information, my own research has verified I am related to two former mayors of London, three kings of Scotland, countless Lords/Dames, people who lived in Castles and even an Earl or two.

Other research says I am related to 27 presidents with George Washington being the closest, first cousin, ten times removed.  Second cousin to James Monroe and James Madison.

Moving to Europe, I'm apparently related to Queen Victoria, Marie Antoinette, Winston Churchill and Princess Diana, which means I am also related to the future King William.

My famous relative list also includes aviation pioneers Wright Brothers, Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart and Neil Armstrong.  Also listed are authors Edgar Allen Poe, Henry David Thoreau, Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen, Robert Louis Stevenson, Mark Twain and Agatha Christie among others.  I'm proud to be related to Helen Keller, whose house sits about a mile away from where I am now.  John Lennon, George Harrison and Elvis are also in my crowded tree.  Incredibly, Family Search says I am also related to Brigham Young and Joseph Smith.

Now whether I am related to all those people doesn't really matter.  The ones in my direct blood line are the important ones.  It is a fun hobby, to learn about your ancestors and what they did for a living, the hardships they endured.  So many of my ancestors fought in the Civil War and Revolutionary War.  I'm grateful to know that.

We all have a story, and it is exciting to see where the research leads us.

A Parable

Unless you are a long-time member of the Churches of Christ, this story, this parable will have very little meaning to you.  In fact, it probably wont make any sense at all.  But if you are, as Patrick Mead would say, part of "our tribe," this will make a lot of sense.

As you may or may not know, Jesus frequently told stories (parables) to make a particular point easier to understand.  We have all heard or read the parable of the Prodigal Son, or the Good Samaritan.  The following is my feeble attempt to write a church-related parable.

-----

I have always been pretty conservative by nature.  My cars of choice have been Fords or Chevys.  Nothing special or fancy, but something dependable, something comfortable.  My parents drove the same type of car, my grandparents, even most of my aunts and uncles.  Sure, there might be a Chrysler or Dodge in there.  Still a conservative car, but one with an extra feature or two

For most of my life it never once entered my mind to get a different car.  Why should it?  I was happy with what I was driving and no desire to change,  Ok, I admit I might look at one of the sports cars from time to time and might even wonder about them, but that was not who I was, or so I kept telling myself.

But as I aged, or matured if you will, I started reading about these new cars.  Cars that would still take you to the preferred destination of your dependable vehicle, but these vehicles had something extra, something tangible, accessories if you will, accessories the guardians of the old conservative cars said would never have any role in their old, comfortable vehicles, "It's our tradition," they would say, "to drive these cars just like or daddies did.  If it is good enough for them, it is good enough for me."

Slowly these other vehicles started to intrigue me.  I would talk to my friends about them.  Some, shared my curiosity.  Some might look at me as if I confessed to mass murder and walk away shaking their heads, wondering where I went wrong.

Over time some, actually more than some, traded in their old, tired vehicle for the one with all the accessories.  You know what, lightning didn't strike them.  The newer vehicle was comfortable and still got them to their destination.  They were still part of the tribe, but others dismissed them, saying they could no longer drive together, or park in the same lot.

I recently test-drove one of these newer vehicles and I must say I liked it.  The ride felt quite comfortable despite the new accessories.  I was happy.  But that is not to say I didn't have questions; I have one for sure I need to do some more study on.  I reminded myself that traditional vehicles, while comfortable and mostly dependable, having one of them as my vehicle of choice was not the law.  Nowhere could I find in the traditional car care book that I was restricted to one type of vehicle.

I am instructed, no matter what I drive, to love it, and be obedient to it, not to do any crazy driving.  I may take another test drive.  It may be exactly what I need.

Spoiled or Fed Up?

 I have been a St. Louis Cardinal baseball fan my entire life.  Our family moved to the St. Louis area when I was two, and I spent my growing up years there.  I haven't lived there since 1995, so I have been gone for almost 30 years.

Still my allegiance to the Birds on the Bat remains.   In the 10 years I have lived in Alabama, I have subscribed to MLB TV each year so I can continue to watch the Cardinals on a nightly basis.  Yes, I have to admit, I still live and die with the Redbirds.

I have to admit Cardinal fans are spoiled, and I put myself in that category.  As members of Cardinal Nation we are used to winning baseball.  In my lifetime the Cardinals have been consistently good.  In my 67 years, the Cardinals have been to the World Series 10 times and won four of them.  How many teams can you name who have won 10 pennants in the last 67 years?  Two.  The Yankees with 18 and the Dodgers with 12.   Here is another way to look at it.  In my lifetime, since 1957, the Cardinals have only finished under .500 17 times.  Perhaps the most amazing stat of all is they have not had back-to-back losing seasons since 1958-59.  Something they could do this year!

I write all of that to say this.  We are spoiled, I am spoiled.  To watch the Cardinals the past two years has been tough.  It has been infuriating.  It has been disheartening, and I point the finger directly at the front office.  Executive V.P. John Mozeliak and his staff have let this happen on their watch.

The drafting of high school and college players has gotten worse and to go along with that, the talent assessment of players under team control is lacking.   How many players in the last 10 years have the Cardinals traded that have gone on and done extremely well elsewhere.  Let's name the obvious ones.  Zac Gallen, Sany Alcantara, Adolis Garcia, Randy Arozarena, Jack Flaherty, Lane Thomas, Tommy Edman, Tyler O'Neill.  Who will be next?  Nolan Gorman?  Lars Nootbaar?  Alec Burleson?  There seemingly refusal to own up to the disaster that has become the Cardinals is alarming.

My suggestion?  Cleans house, starting with Mo, the GM, and field manager Oliver Marmol and his staff.  A sense of complacency and lack of urgency has infected the entire organization.

Yes I am spoiled.  But I am also angry and fed up

Ordinary people

Good morning to all of you.  I don't have to tell you that today is 9/11, one of the most memorable days in our nation's history.

There are a few dates that stand out, where just the mention of them reminds of the events that happened that day, whether good or bad.  Regardless, they live forever in our mind and will forever.

July 4th, December 7th, and of course today, September 11th or as we so often refer to it, 9/11.

As I was finishing my coffee this morning, I was on my phone.  I had just finished talking to my mother and was checking email.  I noticed I had a message on Instagram and checked it.  There were two Messages from my good friend Allison Blair.  The first message was a video she had forwarded, the second just contained two words, "Must watch."

It has been written that 9/11 we saw the worst of humanity and at the same time the best of humanity.  What our Canadian friends did in handling hundreds of jumbo jets that were not being allowed in the United States, and the wonderful citizens of Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, Prince Edward Island and others did in taking thousands of people into their homes, people they had never met, is extraordinary.  For three days they housed them, fed them, and gave them a place that was safe.  Ordinary people doing extraordinary things.  As Americans we will always be grateful.

But the video Allison sent was about another aspect of 9/11 and is no less incredible.  Once again, this time ordinary Americans rose to an immediate need, an immediate cry for help, and did a most extraordinary thing.

After the two planes hit the World Trade Center and following their subsequent collapse, lower Manhattan became an island.  The highways were closed, the subway had stopped, the tunnels to Long Island were closed, every airport in the United States was shut down.  Citizens were pretty much on their own.

Many people, in trying to escape the immediate WTC area headed south, to the banks of the Atlantic and Hudson River.

In the video, the Coast Guard puts out a plea for help.  Anyone with a boat please come to a designated spot, to help carry the distressed citizens to safety.

More than 150 vessels responded.  Tugboats, FDNY fire boats, ferries, commercial vessels, and scores of ordinary citizens in their private vessels all responded immediately to the Coast Guard cry for help.

Over the next nine hours, it is estimated that between 500,000 and one million individuals were evacuated from Lower Manhattan.  From a Staten Island ferry capable of hauling 6,000 souls, to rubber dinghies that carried three.  It was the largest evacuation since Dunkirk.  In fact, history tells us it took nine days to evacuate 350,000 at Dunkirk,  In New York, it took nine hours.

I hope you have opportunity to watch the video.  It is narrated by Tom Hanks and is about 15 minutes.  Not long.  In their own words, ordinary people recalling a day when they did something truly extraordinary

Welcome back

Hey Kids.  Have you missed me?

A few years ago, 13 to be exact, I started a blog, this blog.  I entitled it, "Baseball, God and Tacos."   three of the most important things in my life, but not necessarily in that order.   I wrote about 20 blogs then got tired of it and let it die.  Now I think it is time for resurrection.

So, beginning with this brief column, my blog has been revived.   

As you know I wrote for the Pocahontas Star Herald for 15 years.  I left that job 10 years ago when my wife Marilyn and I moved to Alabama.  To be honest, I was ready to move on.  Being a reporter is a busy job.  Well most of the time, with day-to-day activities, ball games, meetings, deadlines, well sometime those work weeks went from 40 to 50-55.

I dont miss the day-to-day aspect of the job.  I'm 67 years old and frankly too old for that.  But I do miss writing, it is something I think I have a little bit of talent doing.  Many of you were kind enough over the years to say so too me.   So by returning to the blog, I hope to once again satisfy my urge to write.

Honestly I dont know if I will write weekly, several times a week, or once a month.  Just whenever the mood strikes me, and whenever something crosses my mind that I want to write about.  I cant use the excuse I dont have any time., because I am retired, that's all I have is time.

So maybe some of you will subscribe to this, maybe some of you won't.  Doesn't matter.  Well yes it does, I hope you like it.

Have a great rest of your Thursday, there's a pork steak in the fridge left over from yesterday that has my name on it.

Be nice to each other.

Dalton