I've been thinking it's about time I was in touch with you again. What have you been thinking? What's happened to the time? Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
In May 1969 the Chicago Transit Authority released their debut album including the popular song "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" It is a song with an attitude - an attitude personified by many young people of the day. Being seventeen with a sharp wit, it was (and is) a song I liked. The tune penetrated my mind and the lyrics captured my spirit. By the way, the group Chicago Transit Authority shortened their name to Chicago after this initial album.
As I was walking down the street one day
A man came up to me and asked me what the time was that was on my watch, yeah
And I said
Does anybody really know what time it is?
(I don't)
Does anybody really care?
(care)
If so I can't imagine why
(about time)
We've all got time enough to cry
(Oh no, no)
It's interesting how the present can run smack dab into the past when you least expect it. Some would say that it is funny. Others might find such circumstances odd. I simply find such instances interesting opportunities for provoking thought. For instance, in early April Kathryn and I were in St. Petersburg, Florida for a bank meeting. I have had a life long yearning to attend a spring training baseball game in an intimate setting and was a bit miffed to find myself in St. Pete on the weekend following the close of the spring training season. In addition my schedule would require us to fly back to Mountain Home on the opening day of the regular baseball season with the New York Yankees in St. Pete to play the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. By coincidence the visiting Yankees were staying at the same hotel as we and arrived the day before our planned departure.
Prior to dinner on our final evening in St. Pete, Kathryn and I were sitting in the lobby of our hotel with banker friends from Nebraska and Vermont discussing everything under the sun. It was mentioned that the Yankees were also staying in the hotel. No one had seen any of the team members, but consensus was that no one was sure any of the players would be recognized except for Alex Rodriquez and Derek Jeter. We are of a different generation. But I am a baseball fan and routinely watch televised games just as I did when I was a Little Leaguer, so I was thinking I would know several of the players if I were to see them around. A few minutes into our conversation, I recognized Hideki Matsui, the Yankee outfielder from Japan, strolling through the hotel lobby area. He doesn't speak English and I don't speak Japanese, so only a nod of acknowledgement was exchanged. But then I saw another gentleman I remembered. I popped up from my seat and approached a fond memory with my hand extended. When Mel Stottlemyre's hand clasped mine in a courteous handshake, I was transformed into a fourteen year old awestruck fan.
All of a sudden I was in Stan & Biggie's Restaurant in St. Louis on the eve of the 1966 All Star game. My dad and I were introduced to a table full of major league all-stars by Stan Musial. At the table was Mel Stottlemyre who was in his third year pitching for the New York Yankees. He graciously autographed a complimentary photo of Stan Musial given to restaurant patrons. Others at the table (Rocky Colavito, Jim Bunning, Tony Kubek, Johnny Keane) also autographed the Musial photo for me. The next day Mel Stottlemyre pitched two shutout innings for the American League in a game won by the National League 2-1 in ten innings and I smiled. Back in the present I'm looking at that autographed keepsake which hangs in my office at home. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
During my brief visit with Mr. Stottlemyre in the lobby of the Vinoy Resort in St. Pete, I recounted that moment from 1966 and voiced my appreciation to him for being especially kind to an excited fourteen year old boy who had interrupted his dinner. He expressed relief that it was a good memory I recalled and not one when he may have brushed aside an autograph seeker. I introduced him to my wife and friends and we enjoyed a laugh about that experience 38 years ago before once again going our separate ways. As we walked to dinner that evening I had a spring in my step and smile on my face. A sentimental tear moistened my eyes as I remembered my father and that joyous time together.
It was an interesting moment. Today colliding with yesterday. Thoughts of my dad. Coincidence? I once read that coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous. I'm not sure where I read that, nor do I know the author of that thought. But I like it. While I didn't get to remain in St. Pete to watch the opening day game between the Yankees and the Devil Rays, I left with a much more poignant remembrance.
Oh, did I mention that I did see a spring training game on this trip? Kathryn and I flew out of Memphis en route to St. Petersburg. The evening before our departure we dined on ribs at the Rendezvous and then casually walked a block to AutoZone Park to see the Memphis Redbirds play the parent St. Louis Cardinals in the first of two games to finish up their spring training regimen readying them for the regular season. The young Redbirds roughed up the Cardinals Woody Williams with a pair of home runs and won the game. It was the first game I have seen in the new Memphis stadium which is a fabulous setting for baseball. I couldn't help but recall the many Memphis Chicks games I viewed as a boy and a young adult in days gone by.
Baseball seems to calm life's storms for me. It is a game with no clock. There is no "overtime" in baseball. When a game is tied at the end of regulation, the teams play extra innings to determine a winner. Sort of like being given a second chance to redeem one's self. Second chances are important in life. We all need them. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
In addition to baseball, music allows me an escape from the anxieties of a fast paced existence. Pleasure embraces my soul at a ball park and any place where live music can be found. On the same trip to St. Pete, Kathryn and I wandered up to Clearwater and listened to the mellow voice of Johnny Mathis. His is a voice I recall as a grade school kid in the late 1950's. My mother often played his records on the phonograph. Today he is 69 years young with a shuffle in his step, but his voice is as strong and rich as it was 40 plus years ago when my ears first heard it. One more time the present greets the past and conjures sweet memories. Time reverses itself and the hands of the clock stop at a moment in 1958 when I'm sitting cross legged on the floor of the apartment at 412 Hazel Street in Newport, Arkansas listening to Johnny Mathis' tenor voice emanate from the record player as my mother is setting the table for supper.
And I was walking down the street one day
A pretty lady looked at me and said her diamond watch had stopped cold dead
And I said
Does anybody really know what time it is?
(I don't)
Does anybody really care?
(care)
If so I can't imagine why
(about time)
We've all got time enough to cry
(Oh no, no)
Last Friday night I rolled the present and the past together one more time at an Eric Clapton concert in North Little Rock's Alltel Arena. Kathryn and I were accompanied by our two older daughters, Lynli and Evelyn. Prior to the concert daughters Emily and Elizabeth joined us for dinner and conversation. Gathering with our children seems to be more fun and pleasure full as I age. Or it could be a product of the ages of all gathered together. Back to the Clapton gig - it was fantastic. I'm certain the music was just as wonderful as the first time I watched him on stage in 1974. Of course the sound is more vivid from the 2004 experience and the mind is clearer. The two hour outpouring of songs spanning his forty years of making music allowed me to retrace my steps taken in that time frame. Happy times and not so happy times danced through my head as the music played. Images of a carefree teenager making daily escapes from the school in Remmel Park merged with the reflection from the mirror that now stares back at me each morning as the hands on life's clock continue circling unrestrained. It is clear that the spirit withstands the impact of time far better than the body. The real evidence of the spirit's resilience could be found in the antics of the crowd at the concert. Everyone there wore a "badge" of youthfulness regardless of the date of birth printed on their driver's license. Seeing familiar faces in the crowd was a real hoot for me. For the most part those we ran into before and after the concert were members of my generation with offspring in tow. It was a lot of fun to see fathers and sons, mothers and daughters enjoying the show and one another's company. We visited with friends from Arkadelphia and Russellville as well as college friends Jim Wood, David "Hee Haw" Moore, Billy and Nellie Mosley, Cindy Allen Edwards, James and Marie Biggers. What a night! What a sound! What a memory!
I think life is all about making memories. Our connections with others at various points on the time line and in various places on the map are the memory makers. Our minds play back the scenes whenever a "connection" is engaged through the senses. Sight, sound, taste, smell, touch are the "on" buttons for the memory machine. Pretty good piece of machinery, I'd say. And the sounds produced by Eric Clapton's guitar sure turns on my memory. When he broke into the song "Badge" co-written by George Harrison in 1968, my home town of Newport popped on to my memory screen. Each time I hear "Badge" my mind revisits Newport in my youth. The vision is conjured up by the lyrics in the second verse,
I told you not to wander 'round in the dark
I told you 'bout the swans, that they live in the park
Can you see the swans swimming on Newport Lake as you walk along its banks in Remmel Park? Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
It is Sunday afternoon, June 20, 2004, Father's Day. Certainly a day that will sit at the top of my memory charts for a while. It is a good day for a sports fan and a father. I've been watching the final round of the U.S. Open golf tournament on television. Retief Goosen has just completed his second U.S. Open championship winning by two strokes over Phil Mickelson. The real winner seems to be the golf course itself at Shinnecock Hills in New York since Goosen and Mickelson were the only two players to finish under par. My personal memory book is turned back just a few pages to 2001 and the only U.S. Open I have attended; Retief Goosen won that year as well. From my perspective the golf course is most always the winner whenever I walk upon one. Earlier today I played a round of golf at the Big Creek course here in Mountain Home with college pals Jim Lyons and Woody Harrelson. They are kind playing partners and did not laugh out loud at my performance the entire round. An enjoyable morning round of golf with good friends on Father's Day with deeply appreciated interruptions - phone calls from each of my daughters. Cell phones should be kept quiet on a golf course, but not on Father's Day.
There are baseball highlights on this day as well to write upon the pages of my memory book. Yeah, I'm a baseball fan. I have been a Cincinnati Reds fan since 1960 and today I watched Ken Griffey, Jr. hit his 500th home run, only the twentieth player to reach this plateau of power. His father, Ken Griffey, Sr., was in the stands in St. Louis to witness this special moment in his son's career. The television remote control came in handy for me today with the U.S. Open, the Griffey home run watch, and the Arkansas Razorbacks playing in the College World Series. The Hogs went two and out in the Series, but they enjoyed a spectacular season to arrive on the national stage this year.
This Father's Day marks my daughter Emily's twenty first birthday. It is also the twenty first Father's Day to pass since my father's death. The joy and the sadness in the course of generations, the past and the present all wrapped up in a package of memories.
And there are so many memories. Memories to be spread across the generations. Memories to be shared with one's children. Memories that may have been comical at the time, but no longer are. Memories birthed from an embarrassing situation can now be recalled as very funny because "it" happened to someone else. It is enlightening to remember the people you watched from afar and the lessons of life learned from them. My experiences growing up in Newport, Arkansas and the people I know from those days give me ample material for an occasional soliloquy transcribed in these Miles' Files. I appreciate you listening in.
And I was walking down the street one day
Being pushed and shoved by people trying to beat the clock,
Oh, no I just don't know
I just don't know
And I said, yes I said
~ ~ ~ In the background I hear ~ ~ ~
People runnin' everywhere
Don't know the way to go
Don't know where I am
Can't see past the next step
Don't have to think past the last mile
Have no time to look around
Just run around, run around and think why
Does anybody really know what time it is?
(I don't)
Does anybody really care?
(care)
If so I can't imagine why
(about time)
We've all got time enough to die
(Oh no, no)
Setting aside my time piece, I gaze into life's rear view mirror. This mirror is not unlike the present day rear view mirrors on our cars and trucks which alert you that "objects in mirror are closer than they appear." Such it is when you sit back and remember those who have walked life's paths ahead of you and who since have wandered away from the happy trails. In looking ahead their footsteps can no longer be seen, but in looking back their images are much "closer than they appear." In the past few months I have lost sight of some notable people who were strolling alongside my parents out in front of me and who were guides in the ways of the world. However, they are ever so close in life's rear view. Thoughts of Mrs. Becky Dallas, Mrs. Fran Allen, Mrs. Billie Hare, Mrs. Mayme Graham, Mr. Tom Collier, Judge Andy Ponder, and Mr. L. D. Spann fog my mind. The present rolls into the past.
Becky Dallas and her husband Ray gave me my first paying job. I worked for them at the OTASCO store on Front Street in downtown Newport briefly as a fourteen year old sweeping up in the afternoons. I also worked for them during the holiday season my junior and senior years in high school. I attended church with the Dallas family and attribute a strong work ethic to their example. Coincidentally, Becky and Ray Dallas retired to Arkadelphia, Arkansas where I once again attended the same church as Becky after moving there in 1991. Coincidence? I think not! Ray and my father had passed away within months of one another in 1983. Becky and I visited often during our years together in Arkadelphia and I enjoyed her company. She left this life a few short months ago. I count her sons, Mike and Pat, among my friends and appreciate reconnecting with them since their mother's death. Godspeed Becky.
Fran Allen was a dear friend of my mother. My family frequently visited the home of Fran and D. T. Allen on Alice Court where their son, Mike (four years older than I), tolerated me and my kid sister and Fran was a gracious hostess. In recent years, Fran would routinely stop by mother's house to continue their visits. Not long ago I had stopped at mother's house in Newport and Fran pulled in the driveway right behind me. I enjoyed the opportunity to visit with her. She will be truly missed. Godspeed Fran.
Billie Hare was a teacher. Nothing more really needs to be said. We all have a certain appreciation for our teachers. I also knew her to be the loving mother of Marvin, Michael, David, Alannette, and Sue Ellen. She taught science at Newport Junior High when I was in that awkward stage of life. While I didn't sit through her science class, I did experience a study hall under her supervision. A smile was ever present on Mrs. Hare's face, but she had a "no nonsense" approach to her study hall. As you can imagine, such an atmosphere was a bit difficult for me. Despite the "no nonsense" aura, she enjoyed a good laugh with her students from time to time. In recent years I have only seen her in pictures sent to me by daughter Alannette. Her smile is just as I remember. Godspeed Billie.
Mayme Graham will not be known to many in Newport, but she holds a dear spot in my heart. She called Pocahontas, Arkansas home. Her son, Mike, and I were fraternity brothers at Arkansas State and were roommates during our college years. I knew Mayme through my relationship with her son and there is no finer way to know someone. I know Mike to be a genuine reflection of her kind and loving spirit. Mayme passed away last week and I happened to be in Pocahontas on business the day of her funeral. Coincidence? Don't think so. I was granted an opportunity to be with my friend and his family and think of times together as wayward college students. Godspeed Mayme.
Tom Collier represented Newport for many years in the Arkansas State Legislature, but I knew him as my friend Louis Collier's dad and pals John and Bruce Pennington's uncle. I have many memories of being in Tom's presence at Tom and Wardell's Restaurant. The last time I saw Tom was at Richard Brand's funeral where he spoke at the service. He was a colorful soul. Godspeed Tom.
Judge Andy Ponder is the embodiment of a Southern gentleman and the epitome of a baseball fan. I will always remember him being present at most every baseball game played at old Memorial Field in Newport. He displayed a common sense approach to the law rarely noticed today. His children are forever friends Drew, Clyde and Gib from whom I have been separated by time and distance. Judge Andy's death championed my reconnecting with Drew and Gib. Drew made me aware that the Judge passed into the next life adorned by his favored St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap. Quite fitting! Godspeed Judge Andy.
L. D. Spann was just laid to rest two days ago. Two days before Father's Day. He worked for Southwestern Bell for more than forty years, many of those in Newport. Daughter Kathy is the truest of friends and a NHS classmate. Her father was a sweet and gentle man. The Spanns lived in my South Main/South Walnut Street neighborhood and L. D. was one of the "daddies" on that end of town to all the kids there along with Jerry Ashley, Bob Gardner, David Sibley, Ralph Appleton, C. R. Gray, Joe Harris, George Rogers, Gay Lacy, Harry Benish, Gene Ivy, Walter Heard, Buddy Tims, Coy Parsley and my own father. Just a couple of years ago when our NHS Class of 1970 threw ourselves a fiftieth birthday party in the guise of a reunion, I met Kathy Spann Snipes, Mary Wynne Parker Perryman, and David Sibley at the Spann home in Little Rock prior to our traveling on to Newport for our class get together. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with Mr. and Mrs. Spann. On this Father's Day, I wish you Godspeed L. D.
I am certain others whose footprints can no longer be found on this good earth are being remembered as this is being read. That is as it should be. It should also be a time when we think of those who are still fighting the good fight, but from who we have been apart for a while. In death there is separation. We also face separation in life. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
Getting together with those you miss is as simple as a thought and prayer. Thinking of those you love is sufficient.
In thinking of my daughter Emily today ~ ~ ~ Happy Birthday!
In thinking of my father Little Red today ~ ~ ~ Happy Father's Day!
In thinking of my family and friends today ~ ~ ~ Happy Day!
Does anybody really know what time it is?
It is probably time to get in touch with a friend.
I'm still Miles from Nowhere, guess I'll take my time . . .
joe
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