Your shining moments

Wow, there were some great responses to my column last week on shining moments. Here are some of my favorites. We'll start off with the "One Shining Moment" video from last year. You can play the music as you read... and it's a nice balm for those of you who might be Tar Heel fans. There's a lot here, but it's good all the way to the end. Enjoy.

I too had a shining moment concerning softball. As a 4th grader at Collinswood Elementary School in the school year of 1959/1960, we had "recess" each day as an entire class. Usually, the girls jumped rope or played hopscotch while the boys played ball together. On certain days, the teacher made us all play together. One spring day, that occasion arose when 2 boys were named "captains" to choose sides for the whole class to play softball together. The boys moaned as much about the situation as the girls did but generally, the girls all were sent to outfield where we "congregated" in constant chatter playing very little attention to the game. Actually, few balls came to the outfield anyway and if they did, the infield boys covered our territory if possible, deeming us incompetent as fielders.

As my team was in the field for the final inning, we were ahead by 1 run. As the opposing team had one final out remaining, a really good hitter (boy, of course) came to bat. He slugged it deep into the outfield straight toward me. Our captain began screaming at me to catch it, knowing if I didn't I would be the scapegoat for the loss that day knowing a dropped ball would surely allow a score by the opposing team.

I HATED catching fly balls!! It seemed like eternity for the ball to reach me as I panicked...

The yells were in unison for me to catch it. I was positioning myself underneath the spot I thought it would drop as I picked up the full and gathered skirttail on my blue corduroy jumper to provide a large "net". I held my skirttail out as fully as possible and I did, in fact ,"catch" the ball...BATTER OUT!

My team won! Game over... my teammates were ecstatic, yelling my name in victory. The boys even ran to congratulate me on a great "catch" while the girls screamed that I showed my petticoat to all the world while I held up my skirttail as a "glove". I could have cared less....the boys all talked about my "catch" as we all went back into the classroom. For that one (and only) day, I had a shining moment as the heroine and it felt great!

--Vicki Lowery

We love baseball and the lessons it teaches our kids... Often the lessons are about perseverance, learning from mistakes and other character building issues. The summer of 2008 brought a great opportunity for my son's Cal Ripken 12 Year Old All Star team at the Matthews Athletic Association.

Michael had seen a hot summer of daily practices leading up to the State Tournament - a shoulder injury kept him from playing much of the tournament.

Although his team did not do well in the State Tournament, they had been awarded a spot in the Southeastern Regional Tournament that Mara was hosting later in July. He was missing his last year of church camp for the tournament, but thought this special tournament would be worth it. Their team, the Nationals, lost their first game. The coach did not see his abilities quite as his parents did (ha! isn't that always the case!) and he had not played much that game. He was very discouraged. In the second game he was given more opportunity in the field and did well, but the host team was behind by one in the bottom of the 6th and looked like they might not come away with a win at all. 2 outs - runners on 2nd and 3rd, Michael's up to bat - I can't remember the count - I was too nervous for him. But he came through with a fabulous line drive through 1st and 2nd - one run scored, the second runner comes in with a terrific slide to win the game.

Michael was awarded "Player of the Game" in the Ceremony afterwards - a great memory for a 12 year old!!

Can't get enough baseball !! (or softball, for my girls!!)

-- Beth Henry




The year was 1971 and I was a tenth grader at a boarding school called The Episcopal High School. If the game involved any coordination I was at the bottom of anyone's list. I could, however, run. I was a JV middle distance runner on the indoor track team. The Varsity needed someone to be second to our star, Brian Ross, in a 600 meter run. Coach Jim Sidulie told me before the meet that I would be in that event. I did not know what to do so I sat on Brian's shoulder. I had no thought of winning, Brian was a senior and very strong. The two of us easily pulled away from the field. It first hit me at the top of the back stretch on the last lap that I felt good. So I hit the accelerator and went by Brian. He had nothing left and I cruised in for the win. One of Coach Sidulie's policies was that the first EHS runner in the 600 anchored the 4 x 400 relay. Three seniors and me in the last event of the meet. We won that too.

That was my greatest day in sports.

-- Garry Ballenger



I had an unexpected shining moment. I was a junior English/Latin major at UNC-G entering student teaching. In the early phase at Page High in Greensboro, my supervising teacher, Iris Hunsinger, stayed in the room. My senior English class was canvassing TV watchers about their preferences and hours of show-watching. A girl named Allen raised her hand and told the class about what she had learned from neighbors. Her voice was raspy, but not exceptionally so. At the end of class, my teacher told me that Allen hadn't spoken aloud in years. As though a fairy godmother tapped my head with her wand, I felt certain that I was meant for my chosen profession, teaching language arts.

-- Mary Ellen Snodgrass

I had the exact same play happen to me when I played left field as a 10-year-old. But here's my other one: the following year, While waiting on deck I overheard the other team's coach tell the pitcher "just throw strikes". When I got to bat, the first pitch was eye-level for a ball. Now playing catcher, I knew the pitcher would aim better for the strike zone and probably take a little off of it. It was a dream pitch, eye-level and just above the knee. With my trusty 29 inch "Al Kaline" bat I leaned into it and followed through with my swing. 2 steps towards first I looked to left field to see if it may just be a home run. Richard Smith, whom I'm still friends with today 49 years later, went all the way back to the fence and lifted his glove high. Leaning on the fence, the sun must have gotten in his eyes because the ball hit him in the head and went over the fence! The umpires stopped me at second base while they conferred with another man in the bleachers that said if the ball hit the fence and went over, it was a ground-rule double. WRONG! I was robbed of my first home run! But I'll never forget that day and glow of confidence it gave me from then on. this happened in 1962 at Westover Hills Park across from the old Revolution swimming pool.

-- Randy Martin

In 1992, my partner, Annie, died of breast cancer. After moving to Charlotte soon afterwards and many years later of not knowing how to grieve or really how to move past the grief, an opportunity arose to bring the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure to Charlotte. I fell in love with their four-fold mission of education, prevention, providing treatment and funding cutting-edge research, and thought that this could be my way to help. The Charlotte Observer picked up the story and wrote about my idea. The result was that women from all over Charlotte Mecklenburg called to say they wanted to help.

With a core group of dynamic women planning together, the sky was the limit, and we all felt it and knew we were on to something big. When we were finally approved to bring the Race to Charlotte, our race date was not to happen for a year and a half – October 4, 1997. However, we needed every minute of those 18 months to plan a successful event, and success we had. We expected 1,000 runners and walkers, but received over 2,300! The Mint Museum on Randolph Road and the Eastover neighborhood behind it was brimming sidewalk to sidewalk with thousands of people providing their time, energy and dollars to find a cure for breast cancer. My lifetime shining moment: when our 30 or so breast cancer survivors released their pink balloons (representing the number of years they have survived) into the sky and our first annual Charlotte Race For The Cure was finally over…only our feelings of hope, strength and love would be with us throughout the year… until the next race and then we would do it all over again.

-- Penelope Wilson

Mine is not about me but about our son, Jon's moment, some 30 years ago when he made an unassisted triple play while playing second base in t-ball. Jon was the second baseman with runners on first and second. The hitter hit one right at him. Jon caught it and as his hand came down, he tagged the runner who was going from first to second. Jon then ran to second to complete the play. Sports editor Bob Quincy caught the moment for posterity -- mainly because his son Mark was playing on Jon's team.

-- Alex Coffin

Today, as we are surrounded by every sport imaginable (luckily 24 hours a day thanks to the electronic world we have come to depend upon) my “One Shining Moment” came in a much simpler time. Like so many of us who are now approaching retirement, we had our special sporting moments in the heat of summer playing organized baseball for the first time..

My team, The Bugs, were part of the opening ceremony for a new season and a brand new ball field to be dedicated that day. We were led by Coach Kipp. A chiseled and grizzled retired Marine who had come through WW II and Korea. As the ceremonies began and my team mates and I stood on the foul lines in as straight a line as 12 year olds could make. Hats held over our hearts, I found myself beside Coach Kipp who was standing ram rod straight as any Marine would do. With the ceremonies nearing completion it was time for the national anthem to be played as the American flag was raised. Just as the anthem was reaching its end, I glanced at Coach Kipp who was as tough a disciplinarian as I had met and found tears streaming down his cheeks. I asked him “Coach, what’s wrong?” He replied through quivering lips, “Son, promise me that every time you attend a sporting event and they play that song and raise that flag you will think of this day and remember that without that flag and all it stands for…along with the men and women who have died for it… you and the rest of these kids would never have had the chance to play this or any other game of your own free will.” With that he saluted the flag, wiped his tears and returned to the same tough drill sergeant he had been before that shining moment.

So even now some 50 years later, after all the sporting events I have attended, my one shining moment is with me each time that flag is raised and as Coach Kipp asked, I never forget the freedoms that flag has allowed me to enjoy all these years. My “One Shining Moment” has lasted a life time. The balls I caught, the ones I dropped along with the games won and lost have begun to fade but that Shining Moment remains forever.

-- Wayne Harrison

My shining moment also involved a baseball glove.

My family moved from Greenville, SC to Raleigh in 1967 when I was in the seventh grade.
The next summer my Dad took me to little league tryouts. (I had participated for a couple of summers, but this was before everyone got "participation" trophies. My teams were known as losers.)

After all of the league's teams had made their picks and filled their rosters, there were enough of us skill challenged kids left over for a team. The leftover Dads talked it over for a few minutes and a couple of them volunteered (or drew the short straws) to coach a team.

We not only didn't win a game all season we didn't even score. I don't even remember any of those regular season games or any of the other kids on the team.

After the regular season, the league had a tournament and since we were in last place, we played the first place team.

They came in to the game laughing at us, but we took the field anyway and I headed to my spot at third base.

First pitch, long fly ball to center field and some other kid on my team had his shining moment, very similar to yours. Alright! One out and we're still tied 0-0. Bring on the next batter! Well, he got a hit. Somebody in the outfield actually fielded the ball and made a throw to the shortstop (who caught it!) to cut him off at second. Well OK! Two batters, one out and no runs yet. This was unfamiliar territory for us. Third batter steps up and here comes a screaming line drive down the third base line right at my head. Self preservation instinct took over and I stuck my left hand out while I turned my head to protect my face. Man that ball stung when it hit the middle of my glove. It took me a second to realize I had caught it, then I lifted my head and looked around. The runner on second had taken a big lead off the base and was going to steal third even if there had not been a hit and he was trying to stop to keep from hitting me. I remember the look on his face as he realized his plan to bowl me over was not going to work and he needed to get back to second. I took a step towards him as he wheeled around thinking I could tag him, but instead tossed it to the kid at shortstop and he tagged him. WOW! A double play and I had been part of it! We had held the best team in the league scoreless for the first inning.

The rest of the game is pretty hazy, but I do remember those three quick outs shook that other team's confidence and that was a win for us!

-- Mark Puckett

I read your article and decided I should perhaps, share one of my shining moments that would eventually define me in my adult years. Surely, it isn't anything spectacular, nor is it something that would alert the paparazzi, but it was my own little revolution in a world full of "No". In the aftermath of St. Patrick's Day, I am reminded by a very unique St. Patrick's Day when I was 10 years old.

I became deaf at five years of age. Mind you, this was in the early eighties - when embracing disabilities and diversity was not yet in vogue. To say the least, it was a maddening experience - doctors, oceans of white lab coats, poking and prodding, hearing aids, bulky FM systems strapped to my chest- which was literally "the weight of the world on my shoulders" - a bit too heavy for a five year old. At the time, deaf culture and sign language was thrust into the dark ages. Mainstreaming was "in" - this meant being in "special" education among hearing children.

While my classmates enjoyed part-time kindergarten, learning to make colorful accidents with paint, musical chairs, and plaster of paris reliefs, I was a full-time student. Mornings were spent in speech therapy, auditory training, and a replete boot camp regimen of "how to be hearing: 101". When lunchtime rolled around, I was finally allowed to join my classmates fresh off the bus, an influx of chatter, glee, and laughter. But I was already dead tired and held a secret grudge against the other kids.

It went on like this all through elementary school. I always lost at musical chairs. I was always the late starter in the fifty-yard dash, and always watched with envy, the school's St. Patrick's Day musical program which we, the "special" kids were not allowed to participate in.

Finally, in 5th grade, I worked up enough courage to politely inform my "special teacher" Ms. Lee, that I WILL participate in the musical program. With one eyebrow raised, staring down at me over a cup of sugary coffee- she gave a long pause. I was adamant, tired of speech therapy - I firmly told her that I will go to chorus class with my friends in the afternoon. Ms. Lee finally put down her coffee, and said "why don't we go talk to the music teacher?"

I stood my ground and told her that I want to be in the program, and I want to compete against Eleanor (the school's fastest limerick speaker in the musical program). She hesitated and looked at me incredulously, looked at Ms. Lee, then looked back at me a few times. The women shared a silenced of stunned chagrin. I was handed the score, and the words to the limericks.

Over three months, I practiced tirelessly with my speech teacher, memorizing tongue placements, speed, pitch, you name it, I tried it. Once a week, I would join Chorus Class with my classmates and learn the words to the songs as well.

Mind you, I couldn't hear anything - therefore, I couldn't carry a tune, couldn't match a pitch, nor could I keep tempo to save my life. I was told to lip-sync, which I did - grudgingly.

St. Patrick's Day rolls around - the school files into the auditorium. Eleanor steps up to the podium and went through the limerick of Irish surnames so fast, I'm not even sure I had a chance to blink. Thunderous applause ensued, and my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I was next! The spotlight, the sheer heat of it was blinding - on top of not hearing anything at all.

I took a deep breath and belted out the words, forcing my tongue and my voice this way and that - like dance choreography I had tattooed into my mind. I finished, slowly walked back to my mark, and saw a good number of people standing - everyone was applauding! I grew an entire foot taller.

Then the Irish-themed songs started, and the chorus began to sing. I looked at the Chorus teacher leading, followed her lips, and belted out each and every word.
In hindsight, I'm sure it was not music to anyone's ears. At 31, I still can't carry a tune, still lose at musical chairs, am the late starter in any track race, but never believe anybody when they say "you can't." I can, as sure as Irish eyes are smiling, that little 10 year old rebel can.

-- S. Jordan Wright

A middle school basketball game, we’re playing one of our rivals and the gym is packed. We’re down one and the clock is ticking, I get a pass on the wing (This is before the three point line, so it's ancient history, shortly after peach baskets!) And throw up a shot from the baseline, my favorite spot on the court (Remember the old “fan” style backboards?), and it rattles out. There’s a BIG “sigh” from the home crowd! I’m in a daze and cannot belief I missed from my favorite spot. The world comes crashing down on me as the opponents dribble the ball toward their bucket. It seems that I’m all alone!

But wait, one of my teammates makes a steal and chucks the ball toward me and I happen to be standing under the basket. I make the catch and throw in the lay-up, and as the ball comes thru the net the horn sounds. The place goes bananas and I’m being mobbed by teammates and cheerleaders. (Probably the only time in my middle school life that a girl actually hugged me!)

The next day I was still on “cloud nine”. I actually asked the little red-headed girl (Julie) in front of me in Chemistry class for a date. Unfortunately, basketball season had turned into baseball season and I struck out! Good Grief!

-- Ruben

I was one of those kids who was never good at sports; the one never picked, but appointed to a team during gym class. It wasn't until I was 35 that I found out that the operation I had on my eyes back in the 50s to correct lazy eye had cost me my depth perception. I could not see a ball coming at me until it was too late to react,so to eighth graders, I was just a klutz.

One day it was the classic last inning with 2 out and basses loaded and my team down by 2...........and I'M up to bat. The groan of my team was deafening.......... until I hit that ball. Well, I stopped at 3d base to see where it went and a boy was still running after it! So I leisurely walked to home plate, and for just that one day, I was a hero!

-- John Denti

I have made the winning shot at the buzzer,and I have scored the go-ahead touchdown.But my shining moment was being surrounded by all four of my grandchildren at the same time for the first time!

-- Ike Grainger

Playing basketball my senior year against our arch rival... ballgame tied in the 4th quarter with less than 15 seconds left... ball inbounded to me - the point guard, and as my coach is frantically calling time out I dribble the length of the court, weaving between their players, and swish the game winning shot at the buzzer. I found out later that no one heard my coach calling time out except the players on the other team, so the players were walking off the court for a time out that was never granted. Apparently, that's how I made it down the court with such little resistance! My coach told the reporter that it was his "brilliant coaching maneuver" that allowed the last second shot to be made! We still laugh about it to this day, more than 20 years later!

-- Susan Wolford

I was 51 years old when I had a moment I will never forget. On January 6, 1990, I set the N.C. state record for anyone 50 or over in 2:59.16 at the Charlotte Observer Marathon. This didn't happen by accident. I started running as a 40 year old 180 lb. English teacher at St. Stephens High School. I had been asked to coach a men's cross country team in 1978. I had never been on a team before . No little league, no middle school teams, and really no high school teams( Basketball and Baseball were the only sports available, and as a country boy, I had no way of getting to or from practices) were available for a young man graduating from high school in 1956 in Catawba County. After holding a watch and coaching for a year, I started running with my teams. Three years later at age 43, I ran my first marathon ( Charlotte Observer-1982) in 3:10.

I ran The Boston Marathon in 1984 in 3:10, passing 903 runners. That was a great experience, but it was not the moment I will never forget. I coached cross country and track at St. Stephens Higfh for 15 years, winning 14 Conference Championships. Two of my runners made all-state, and two were State Champions in the 3200 in track. After retirement in 1993, I coached cross country at Lenoir-Rhyne University for 4 years as head coach. For the last 4 years, I have been a volunteer assistant track coach at L.R. As a head coach in high school and college, I posted a record of 643 team wins and 252 losses. I have been honored to have coached such great young men and women.

But, the moment I will never forget is when I crossed the finish line in Charlotte in 1990, finishing 59th over-all, first in age 50 and over, with a State Record of 2:59.16 at age 51, weighing 145 lbs., soaking wet. This moment happened because a country boy, who had never been on a team, was willing to run up to 85 miles a week (with a year around base of 50 miles per week). This State Record held up for 17 years.

-- Loyd Hoke Jr.

There are memories of moments or events that will stay with you forever and this is one of those. Spring had arrived and I had promised my son, David, that I would take him bass fishing at a friend’s farm pond .This trip was going to be different because he would be graduating from cane pole fishing to using a spinning rod and artificial bait for the first time. It was a perfect spring day when everything sounded alive and awake and I could tell by the looks of the pond that we would have good fishing. After teaching him the basics of casting and using artificial worms it was time to fish. On his second cast he caught a 2lb Bass and we did a victory dance with lots of whooping and hollering. I put the bass on a stinger and in the excitement of the moment threw the bass and stringer in the water! Off swam the bass with the stringer in his mouth! Wow! I felt like I had just shot Bambi! My son cried; I cried and I prayed a small prayer, “Please, Lord, Let David catch another fish”.

Well, he caught eight more Bass that spring day and I only caught two! I will never forget his excitement as he ran up and down our street showing his friends his stringer of fish! I’m retired now and my son has grown into a fine man who has become my best friend. I’m happy to say that he has passed his passion for fishing to his sons and they share lots of fishing together. I recently picked the hobby of fishing back up after years of not fishing and that memory of David’s first Bass; well, it was like it happened yesterday!

-- Dave Causey

When you're a kid and basketball is your thing, you shoot until you make ten in a row or you can't go home. You shoot from half court as you count down, three, two, one........."He scores!!! So & so wins in triple over time on Waters' half court hook shot!"

Well, for me in little league years, I was like you and that Rexall Drugs baseball glove. After sixth grade, my friends grew twelve inches taller into young men and women with hair and muscles and stuff. I stayed a kid.

I couldn't compete in team sports any more. So I took up Golf and Table Tennis/Ping Pong. I placed 2nd in the YMCA Table Tennis Tournament, losing to Bobby Snyder, who won it every year it was ever held. He also played middle linebacker.

Golf became everything to me. I caddied for my dad, (the bag was bigger than me), hit hundreds of balls a day on the range, picked up the balls on the range, brought out the carts in the early morning, and would go out and play four balls around eighteen holes every day all summer long. Pretending the balls represented me, Jack Nicklaus, Lee Trevino and Tom Weiskopf.

At thirteen years old, I made a hole in one. I'd one upped my Dad already. He played to the tune of a zero handicap for nine years but never had a hole in one.

At 16 years old, I was playing in junior inter-club matches. We at Riviera Country Club would play against the juniors at Scioto or Muirfield or some other central Ohio clubs.

Well, Jack Nicklaus was from Upper Arlington where Scioto Country Club was located. The day I went to play there, I was matched against a very tall Jack Nicklaus Jr. You've seen him carrying Jack's bag on TV many times, including Jack's last major win at the Masters at the age of 46.

That day I was so nervous there was no spit in my mouth to swallow. We played nine hole matches. I teed off the first hole and hit it as good as I could about 190 yards right up the middle. My friend caddying for me punched me in the arm and exclaimed you nailed it! The punch hurt and then Jack Jr hit his about 250 yards down the middle of the fairway. I was in for a long day.

Long story short, as we approached the seventh green, I was two up. I placed my approach shot on the green. Jack Jr. hit it pin high about 25 yards to the right of the green. We got rained out and walked in.

Neither club was declared a winner and the rematch never materialized.

Good enough for me. I picked up my bag and floated to the parking lot. My caddy friend could barely keep up. I remember it like yesterday. I can smell the grass and feel the eternal grin of the Golf godz on me!

Two up, two to go, I'm putting and he's off the green.....

I'm calling it a win for the ages!

-- David Lee Waters Sr.

A shining moment happened to me many years ago; Donna and I had been in our house on Mimosa Ave. for about eight years from 1984. Our neighbor, a guy named Spencer, had moved in a couple of years before and had become a good neighbor and a friend.

That summer, about 1992, Spencer had been diagnosed with AIDS and was going through a very rough patch; all of us on the street looked out for him and gave him what support we could. It was probably never enough, but we did our best.

One day, I was out hanging up clothes in the bright sunshine; a weekend with chores to do and other stuff to think about. To pass the time, I started singing; I sang whatever came to mind, but finally settled on my favorite hymns from my childhood.

As I sang, I let the words and music carry me to a gentle place, a place without fear, and a place where I just felt good. I sang with my heart, my voice, and my soul and it made me feel great.
At one point in this self concert, I noticed that someone was on the other side of the fence. I realized that it was Spencer, with his mother; she had brought him out of his house to be in the sunshine and be around the flowers in his garden.

They had stopped to listen to me sing.

Instead of stopping or saying hello, I continued singing. I sang as if this was going to be my last time singing; I sang because this person was paying me the greatest compliment a performer could get: he stopped what he was doing and let my singing transform his day.

As I finished singing a him (I think it was "Come Thy Fount of Every Blessing"), I walked to the fence to thank Spencer for his kindness.

He beat me to it: he thanked me for sharing my songs and for making his day brighter.

My shining moment was being able to share my song with someone who used it to mitigate their own pain; for a a little while, I helped him sing, too.

-- Alvin Johnson

To appreciate my "One shining moment" you will have been born before 1950 or be a really big football fan.

I was a skinny lad and a freshman in high school in Omaha, Nebraska. As I lined up for my heat of the 100 yard dash (yes, yards and not meters) I looked to my right and eyed a muscular young fellow from our school's main rival.

For some reason, I was quite fast back then and I ran the race of my life. When I finished first I looked over to my right and saw that other guy's friends congratulating him. "Nice going Gale, you're getting faster and you're going to kill them in football next year." He did too for this guy was none other than Gale Sayers and he did kill them in football the next year and for many years thereafter.

-- Michael Fortune

A few thoughts on health care

1. This is like any other big change in our lives, like buying a house or taking a new job -- some of the things that will be a big deal are things we haven't even thought about, and a lot of the things we're worried about will not be a big deal. I'm glad the health-care bill passed. But of course there will be problems with it, and it'll be inefficient in places, just like every other government project from Social Security to the military. Whatever the problems are, at least in my mind, are not as important as the prospect of providing health insurance for millions of uninsured Americans.

2. As much as all of us would love for government to be clean and clear, it's always messy and confusing and frustrating. President Obama and his Congressional leaders did what every other president and Congress has done -- they used the power they had to do what they think is important. That's what we elect them to do.

3. As a purely political issue, I suspect this will help Republicans in the midterm elections this fall, because most of the benefits of health-care reform won't have kicked in yet. By 2012, as the heat dies down and some of the benefits take effect, it'll be a plus for Democrats. After that, it won't be much of an issue one way or the other. It'll just be part of our lives.

4. One of the underrated effects of health-care reform is actually, I'd think, something conservatives would like -- it'll now become easier to freelance or start your own business. Most of us get insurance through our employers, and for most of us it's way too expensive to buy on our own. Now freelancers or entrepreneurs can go to a national insurance exchange to find a better deal. (Here's a Q&A on the topic from August -- I don't think the details are out of date, but holler if they are.)

5. I listened to a little bit of Rush Limbaugh today, wondering if he'd mention anything about Costa Rica. He said on his show recently that health-care reform might force him to "go to Costa Rica" -- although he said later that by "go," he didn't mean "move," he meant "fly there for treatment." Either way, I didn't hear him mention it, but I didn't catch the whole show. Did he bring it up?

My brackets

If you're reading this you probably know all about "One Shining Moment," the subject of my column this morning, but it never hurts to watch a few before the tournament starts to get fired up. Here's the one from two years ago, featuring some (but not enough) of Davidson's run to the Elite Eight.



Not especially happy with my picks this year -- not enough upsets. I wouldn't mind winning my pool, but it would be so much better if I won because I had Cornell making the Final Four or something. I don't see a Davidson this year.

Upsets in bold.

Rounds 1&2

East: Kentucky over East Tennessee State, Texas over Wake, Cornell over Temple, Wisconsin over Wofford, Marquette over Washington, New Mexico over Montana, Missouri over Clemson, West Virginia over Morgan State. Round 2: Kentucky over Texas, Wisconsin over Cornell, New Mexico over Marquette, West Virginia over Missouri.

South: Duke over ARK-PB, Louisville over Cal, Utah State over Texas A&M, Purdue over Siena, Notre Dame over Old Dominion, Baylor over Sam Houston, St. Marys over Richmond, Villanova over Robert Morris. Round 2: Duke over Louisville, Utah State over Purdue, Baylor over Notre Dame, Villanova over St. Marys.

Midwest: Kansas over Lehigh, Northern Iowa over UNLV, Michigan St. over New Mexico St., Maryland over Houston, San Diego St. over Tennessee, Georgetown over Ohio, Georgia Tech over OK St., Ohio State over UCSB. Round 2: Kansas over Northern Iowa, Michigan St. over Maryland, San Diego St. over Georgetown, Ohio State over Georgia Tech. (I have pretty much ensured that San Diego State will lose in the first round by 20.)

West: Syracuse over Vermont, FSU over Gonzaga, Butler over UTEP, Vandy over Murray St., Xavier over Minnesota, Pittsburgh over Oakland (only if Franco Harris is healthy), BYU over Florida, Kansas St. over North Texas. Round 2: Syracuse over FSU, Butler over Vandy, Xavier over Pitt, Kansas St. over BYU.

Sweet 16: Kentucky over Wisconsin, New Mexico over West Virginia, Duke over Utah State, Baylor over Villanova, Kansas over Michigan St., Ohio State over San Diego St., Syracuse over Butler, Xavier over Kansas State. (I have now ensured that Xavier will lose in the first round by 30.)

Elite 8: Kentucky over New Mexico. Baylor over Duke. Kansas over Ohio State (best game in the tournament -- I would've picked Ohio State for the Final Four in any other bracket). Syracuse over Xavier.

Final Four: Kansas over Syracuse. Kentucky over Baylor.

Title game: Kentucky has so much talent, but they've been on the edge of flaming out all season. This is when it happens. Sorry, Ashley Judd. Kansas, 83-61.

Reactions to the Jake column

By now I've written a couple thousand columns, and one thing I've learned is that you can never predict how readers will react. People have loved some columns that I thought were barely publishable, and hated some of my favorites. And a few columns I've felt great about have landed on the page to the sound of crickets. There's nothing worse than no response at all.

But I've never been more surprised at how y'all responded to a column than I am about my Sunday column on Jake Delhomme.

The column was about Jake's tears at his farewell press conference, and my take that he cried because he knew his prime as an NFL player was past.

I'm used to some people agreeing with the column and others disagreeing. But y'all took this column in two entirely different ways. It's like you were reading two different columns.

Let me try to sum it up through some of your comments:

From Carol Connor (mother of Panthers LB Dan Connor):

Wow. I've never written to a sportswriter before about an article, but this was such a meaningful one (Saturday's paper). I'm sure he cried again when he read it, we all did. It reminded me of the recent animated movie, Up...life keeps moving on and we don't even know how quickly it's passing us by. I am saving this article. Loved it.

From Rick:

The article you wrote, "The Real Reason Behind Jake's Tears" is a really good piece. It touches on what every human being experiences at some point in their life. It was not ill-spirited toward Delhomme...just an honest portrait of real life.

From Nanit:

Could it be that he was crying because he hates saying goodbye? I tend to believe him that he was blindsided. If he never saw it coming after getting that contract, I can understand it.

He is the kind of guy who wouldn't hurt a fly. You are cruel to someone who doesn't deserve it.

From mrbernz:
You are saying he was crying because he realized he was past his prime? Are you really saying that? Tell me you only wrote this trash to get comments, otherwise you are a fool. Delhomme was a Panther at heart. He may well be past his prime but if you really think that's why he was crying, well, never mind i think i said it already.

So... yeah. Two very different reads.

I sure wasn't trying to be cruel to Jake, although I can see why some folks see it that way. I opened up with a couple of lines that I'd heard from people ripping him that day, as a contrast with the more meditative ideas later in the column. Some of y'all were in tune with that; others weren't.

What I was trying to do was make that moment about something bigger, about something that all of us might feel at some point in our lives.

That's a stretch, of course, and for some of you it was a stretch too far. Which is fine. Part of my job is to make you think, and one of the best parts of my job is when the comments make me re-think the whole piece. Today was one of those great days. Thanks.

And for the record: I loved watching Jake these past seven years. We should always celebrate the people who bring joy to our lives. He took us to the Super Bowl and dang near won the thing. Let's never forget that.

Reading on Sunday

If your Sunday afternoon's free, I'll be doing a reading at the Wine Cellar up in Cornelius. That link goes to a Facebook page, so if you can't see it for some reason, here's some info from the listing:

Date:	Sunday, February 21, 2010
Time:	4:00pm - 6:00pm

Please join editor Ann Wicker and several contributors to Making Notes: Music of the Carolinas for a reading/music event on Sunday, February 21, at The Wine Cellar in Cornelius.

Making Notes, a Novello Festival Press anthology, offers nonfiction essays and stories about music, musicians and events with Carolinas connections. From Dizzy Gillespie to James Taylor and from Loonis McGlohon to the Avett Brothers, many musicians have called one of the two Carolinas “home.” Making Notes also celebrates the stories of how music works in our lives and brings people together – and a wine bar is the perfect place to celebrate those connections.

Joining Wicker for the event are contributors Tommy Tomlinson, Steve Stoeckel, Kevin Winchester, and John Grooms.

Stoeckel is best known as the longtime bass player for The Spongetones, a Charlotte-based rock band that recently toured Japan. He has also been a community columnist for the Charlotte Observer.

Winchester directs the Writing Center at Wingate University. An accomplished singer/songwriter, Kevin has played in bands since he was a teenager. Main Street Rag Press published his first book of short stories, Everybody’s Gotta Eat, last year.

Grooms is the former editor of Creative Loafing, Charlotte’s alternative weekly newspaper, and his first book, a collection of his columns, Deliver Us From Weasels, came out late last year.

The Wine Cellar is located at 19712 One Norman Boulevard, Suite 110, just off Catawba Avenue in Cornelius. Admission is free. Call 704-895-3292 for more info.

I'll be reading my piece on the '70s tune "Chevy Van," accompanied by the great Steve Stoeckel. I've already put it on the blog once, so I won't make you suffer through it again, but if you want a preview, here's a reading of the same piece from StorySlam a few months ago.

I've never been to the Wine Cellar -- I'm more a Beer Cellar, or a Cheap Whiskey Cellar, sort of guy -- so this will be new to me, too. Come check it out.

Snow fell

Just getting to the computer after a day of sleeping in, playing with the dog and putting on some chili -- the perfect way to spend a snowy Saturday.

I wrote about a day like this back in 2000, and it turned out to be one of my most popular columns. Here's a video of me reading it at StorySlam a couple of months ago... the text is below.



Snow fell.

Flakes floated. Clumps stuck. Drifts formed. Mounds rose. Grass vanished. Trees sagged. Birds hid. Whiteness ruled.

Shut-ins watched. Slackers slept. Couples smooched. Singles wished. Natives compared. Newcomers scoffed. Babies dozed. Elders remembered.

Computers crackled. Pagers beeped. Newspapers thudded. TVs flickered. Radios blared. Callers chattered. Critics grumbled. Weathermen apologized.

Workers drove. Roads iced. Sidewalks crunched. Tires skidded. Cars crashed. Drivers cussed. Cops muttered. Survivors exhaled.

Snow fell.

Skies darkened. Sleet spattered. Rain froze. Fog swirled. Buildings dissolved. Landmarks retreated. Perspectives narrowed. Cities shrank.

Schools closed. Parents shrieked. Work halted. Employees departed. Interstates clogged. Buses crawled. Teachers high-fived. Kids rejoiced.

Hills beckoned. Slopes summoned. Sleds careened. Toboggans flipped. Snowmen towered. Snowballs soared. Bodies flattened. Angels appeared.

Tongues extended. Snowflakes landed. Hands molded. Feet stomped. Ears reddened. Fingers tingled. Mittens dampened. Noses ran.

Snow fell.

Wind whistled. Chimes tinkled. Limbs groaned. Dogs barked. Ground hardened. Ponds glazed. Snowdrifts crusted. Temperatures dropped.

Closeness mattered. Kinfolk called. Friends connected. Neighbors shared. Volunteers gave. Strangers helped. Clerks assisted. Cashiers smiled.

Wires popped. Transformers exploded. Power blinked. Clocks stopped. Fridges defrosted. Victims shuddered. Linemen mended. Candles burned.

Operators dispatched. Trucks towed. Mechanics tinkered. Engines cranked. EMTs rescued. Firefighters hosed. Officers probed. Doctors healed.

Snow fell.

Heaps collected. Piles enlarged. Masses expanded. Clearings faded. Angles rounded. Edges smoothed. Shapes blended. Colors disappeared.

Shovelers heaved. Runners puffed. Skiers schussed. Skaters searched. Hunters crouched. Fishermen shivered. Flasks opened. Bellies warmed.

Poets scribbled. Artists sketched. Photographers focused. Singers hummed. Inventors dreamed. Grifters schemed. Counselors soothed. Preachers prayed.

Coffee perked. Tea steeped. Cocoa foamed. Bourbon swirled. Soup simmered. Casseroles baked. Marshmallows roasted. Popcorn popped.

Snow fell.

Clouds parted. Precipitation ended. Sunshine emerged. Icicles melted. Water puddled. Eaves dripped. Snowbanks sank. Plenty remained.

Dark came. Slush solidified. Ice blackened. Highways slickened. Students hoped. Travelers worried. Storms poised. Forecasts wavered.

Midnight ticked. Peace settled. Sounds quieted. Movement stilled. Light reflected. Darkness shined. Thoughts overflowed.

Weather changed. Challenges abounded. Humanity won. Kindness prevailed. Hearts lightened. Memories accumulated.

People learned.

Nature taught.

Snow fell.

Somebody unplugged the e-mail machine

The Observer's e-mail has been down since about 10 this morning. If you need us, give us a call. If you need me, tweet away at @tommytomlinson.

It's interesting how much e-mail has become like tap water -- something we expect to just be there all the time. E-mail's not as good for interviews -- face-to-face is always best -- but we still use it a LOT. Being without it reminds me of this ESPN commercial from a few years ago.



Espn Sportscenter Y2k Test via Noolmusic.com


Especially enjoyed the Angry Mark McGwire cameo. (Insert steroid joke here.)

Questions for readers, part 2

Lots of good responses, here and on Facebook, to yesterday's questions about how to make the paper better. Now for the natural follow-up:

How do we pay for it? Would you pay more for the printed paper? Are there things we do (or could do) that you might pay for online? How about other things that might be natural offshoots of what we already do?

Again, all ideas welcome...

Some questions for readers

I posted this on my Facebook page just now... would also love to hear from those of you checking in via the blog.

So I need some advice from y'all... I'm part of a group at the Charlotte Observer that's trying to figure out better ways to reach out to readers (and survive as a business along the way). So what do we need to do better? What stuff should we NOT be doing? What would make you a loyal reader? And if you're not reading us, what might make you start?

I'd say we're more open to changes now than at any other time in the 20 years I've been here... for economic reasons, of course, but creative and journalistic reasons too. We're playing around with a bunch of things; if you've got ideas on how we should change, in big ways or small, now's the time to speak up.

My YouTube debut

A few weeks ago I read some of my work at Story Slam! Charlotte as part of a local writers' night. The lovely and talented Tonya Jameson shot some video, and Lord help us all, I'm now on YouTube. Five things you should know before you watch:

1) Why yes, I am a rather large man. I noticed that too.

2) I'm still working on the first set of reading glasses I bought a year and a half ago. They were the $7.98 special at Costco. I had no idea they had gotten quite that crooked.

3) Believe it or not, that's my real voice. I had throat surgery years ago and ended up with a voice that I like to call "obscene phone caller in training."

4) We didn't realize my beard would scratch the microphone, so every time I turn my head to the right, it sounds like somebody unwrapping a peppermint in church.

5) This bumps right up against YouTube's 10-minute limit, so there's a little skip in the middle and you don't get to see the wild applause, panties being thrown on stage, etc., at the end.

So if I haven't run you off completely, here's my essay on the song "Chevy Van." I wrote this for the book "Making Notes: Music of the Carolinas." The fellow on guitar is the great Steve Stoeckel of Charlotte's legendary Spongetones.



If you want more -- and if you do, well, thanks, Mom -- you can see three more videos from that night over at my YouTube channel. Yes, I now have a YouTube channel. The world is a strange and wonderful place.

Bill James, same-sex benefits, and the big picture

I had been agreeing with Bill James a lot lately. He properly demanded more accountability in the tangled mess involving the DSS Giving Tree -- a mess that I have some personal interest in seeing solved. He's a necessary check on county spending, even if I'd rarely cut the things he wants to cut. He even sent me an e-mail educating me on the wonders of Blu-Ray. I thought we had a good thing going.

Should have known it wouldn't last.

Bill said a cruel thing to fellow county commissioner Vilma Leake during the debate Tuesday night over county benefits for same-sex partners. He might not have thought it was cruel -- still might not think that -- but imagine if Leake had been talking about a son who died of a drug overdose, and Bill had leaned over and said, "Your son was a junkie, really?"

There's been a lot of predictable reaction on all sides. But to spend time and energy worrying about Bill's stray comment misses the bigger point: His side lost. Providing benefits to same-sex couples is a logical step for any business, or government agency, that has a vested interest in the health and goodwill of its employees. It's just common sense.

Jeff Taylor at the Meck Deck blog has it right on the next step in the process -- a heterosexual couple will sue to claim their own benefits. That's fine. It gets us one step closer to the legislative and court decisions that will settle the issue and let people get on with their lives.

In the meantime, if you don't let gay couples marry, but you allow them benefits, it only makes sense to extend benefits to any couple that can prove a long-term relationship. (How about this compromise: No benefits for ANY couples, including married ones, until they've been in a stable relationship for three years. Given the divorce rate, that might save the county a bunch of money.)

These things move slowly, with fine-toothed gears, but over time the wheels turn. The arc of history is bending toward placing gay couples in the same civic space that heterosexual couples occupy. That's where the world is headed, and that's where Mecklenburg County headed Tuesday night. The vote was the story. All the words are just thin air.

Stories of the decade -- your thoughts?

So I'm doing a piece about the stories of the decade in the Charlotte area. It won't be just stories from this area -- of course there were events such as 9/11 that affected everyone, and I'll definitely mention those. But for now I'm trying to figure out the events that meant the most to people here at home. I'll be talking about a lot of different stories, but for our online package we're trying to come up with the 10 biggest stories of the decade.

That's where we need your help.

What follows is a list of ideas we came up with. Here's what I'd like you to do in the comments: 1) pick the two or three stories that you think were the biggest and 2) add any stories that you don't see on the list. We might end up changing or merging some of these ideas -- for example, I'm still trying to figure out how to frame THE big story about everything that happened with Charlotte's banks.

If you have time, I'd also like to hear about your life through the prism of these last 10 years. How did these events affect you? What changed for you between 2000 and 2009? What do you hope the next 10 years will bring?

(If you'd rather not talk about all that in the comments, just e-mail me at ttomlinson@charlotteobserver.com.)

Here's our working list of stories of the decade:

School desegregation trial

Panthers go to Super Bowl

First Union-Wachovia merger

Wachovia-Wells Fargo merger

Bank of America buys Merrill Lynch

Ken Lewis/Ken Thompson step down

Closing of Pillowtex mill in Kannapolis

Billy Graham leaves the public stage

Miracle on the Hudson

Officers Clark and Shelton killed in the line of duty

Rae Carruth trial

The lottery comes to the Carolinas

Jim Black goes to prison

Death of Dale Earnhardt

Foreclosure crisis hits home

Light rail comes to Charlotte

Charlotte Hornets leave town

Arena referendum fails; new arena built anyway

Plane crash at Charlotte-Douglas kills 21

Charlotte building boom

Charlotte building boom goes bust

Deaths of Jesse Helms and Strom Thurmond

2002 ice storm

Independence High football wins seven state titles

OK, that's plenty for now. So what do you think?

One last plug for Story Slam

I'll be reading some of my work tonight at Story Slam! Charlotte on Central Avenue, along with fellow writers John Hartness, Iesha Hoffman and Steve Stoeckel. You might know Steve as a member of the legendary Spongetones, but he's also a great writer.

I'm not sure how many pieces I'll be reading -- it depends on how the rest of the night goes, but I'm thinking two or three. I'm bringing a few columns and at least one piece that's not from the Observer. That piece requires a little music, and I'll have the great honor of having Steve serve as my backing band for that one. So if you don't like the story, at least the music will be good. And don't worry, I won't sing. You don't want to hear me sing.

There's beer, wine and soft drinks at the venue, plus a bunch of great restaurants within walking distance. Come early, have some dinner, make a night of it. Show starts at 8. The Story Slam! website has more details. Holler if you have any questions.

Catch me at Story Slam! Charlotte

Shameless plug alert: I'm going to do a reading (along with authors John Hartness and Iesha Hoffman) on Friday at Story Slam! Charlotte, which is a very cool performance series that started a few months ago in an intimate little space on Central Avenue.

Doors open at 7, show starts at 8, tix are $14. (FYI, John and Iesha are also reading Saturday night; I'm Friday only.)

I'll be reading a couple of columns and at least one other piece, and there might be a Special Mystery Guest. I've never done an event like this before. Probability of flop sweat on stage: About 80 percent. Come find out!

A soldier and his dog

Maybe it's good that Veterans Day is cold and rainy here. It's a reminder that the men and women who fight for us have to do their jobs in the cold rain, and the brutal heat, and all the other conditions that God and man set upon them. Maybe a good tribute today would be just to stand outside for a minute or two and think about that.

I've read two fine Veterans Day pieces today -- David Perlmutt's story from our paper, and Nancy Nall's essay from her blog. But the thing that got me was a little video someone posted in Nancy's comments. Here's a soldier, home from Afghanistan, and the dog who was waiting for him.

Good dog.

"Firebird" vs. the Flaming Lips

As we've been writing stories about "Firebird" -- the sculpture being unveiled Tuesday at the Bechtler Museum of Modern Art -- I kept thinking that it looked familiar. This morning, I figured it out.

Here's "Firebird":



And here's the cover to the Flaming Lips' 2002 album "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots":


I did a quick Google check and didn't see any connection... but anything that makes at least a few people think of the Flaming Lips makes Charlotte a little bit weirder. And that's a good thing.

Writing like a fifth-grader

A quick plug: I've got a new piece up today at Nieman Storyboard, part of the Nieman Foundation for Journalism at Harvard. (The Nieman folks are the ones who offer the fellowship that I was on for the last school year.)

The piece is about writing in a simple way, which is something I try (and often fail) to do. Would love to hear how y'all think about how you write, whether it's something professional or just an e-mail to the family.

Balloon Boy meets Hitler

I'm trying to do a serious column on the Balloon Boy for Sunday, but now I can't stop watching this.



(This Hitler scene, as you probably know, is the template for a million YouTube parodies. Be warned -- it's more addictive than Doritos.)

Avett Bros. cut short in big moment

Well, that was sort of anticlimactic.

The Avett Brothers' appearance on the David Letterman show was cut short Monday night (actually, early Tuesday morning). The band was a minute and a half, maybe two minutes, into the song "I and Love and You" when CBS (or maybe WBTV here in Charlotte) cut to commercial. (UPDATE: Fans from other cities tweet that they saw everything just fine. Could the Charlotte station be the only one that cut off the hometown band?)

The show came back on with Letterman standing with the band, saying "great song, guys" and waving goodbye.

Avett fans on Twitter are NOT happy.

What was on sounded good, if truncated -- if you know the song, you might have been able to tell that the intro was cut short. Late-night talk shows are notorious for giving bands small time windows, and the full version of "I and Love and You" -- which runs five minutes on the CD -- probably didn't fit. The show might have been running late, anyway -- after the Avetts were cut short I looked at the clock and it was 12:33. The show ends at 12:35.

It's been awhile since I've watched a late-night talk show all the way through... that felt like a loooong hour. The first two guests were Felicity Huffman ("Desperate Housewives") and Dr. Mehmet Oz (surgeon and frequent "Oprah" guest). Letterman did get off a Carolina-related joke in the monologue -- he said John Edwards had been through New York, and then showed an impregnated Statue of Liberty. We should be so proud.

 We'll see if there's any Letterman bump for the Avetts... the album goes on sale Tuesday. As in, today.

Here is a video posted overnight to YouTube.com:

Avett Brothers Week, Day 5 -- Friday time-waster edition

First off, thanks to everyone who followed along this week... this was a lot of fun for me. I'll be really interested in what you think of the story on Sunday -- leave your comments in the story or just come back here and let me know your thoughts.

(The other dispatches from Avetts Week: Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4.)

Today's Avett offerings are a little longer than the ones earlier in the week. This might be my favorite Avetts video -- it's a mini-concert they did for NPR a few months ago. It's about 15 minutes long and features "Laundry Room" (from the new album), "Down With the Shine" (unreleased) and "Bella Donna" (from the '07 EP "The Second Gleam.")



The other nugget is also from NPR -- it's a segment of the "World Cafe" show that aired last night. It has a few minutes of an interview with the band, plus three songs from the new album -- "Kick Drum Heart," "I and Love and You" and "Laundry Room."



Finally, here's an early review of the album from Paste magazine. It's a pain in the butt to read -- it's a digital copy of the magazine, and you have to search for "Avett" to find it -- but they love the record: 96 out of 100.

Key quote: "Having conquered every Saturday night music hall and holler between Asheville and Portland, they have made a record that is not just a stab at the mainstream -- it's a harpoon through its sternum."

Avett Brothers Week, Day 4 -- new video shot in Charlotte

(For more on Avett Brothers Week -- leading up to my story on the band this Sunday -- check here, then here, then here.)

This morning the Avetts released the video they shot at Charlotte's Neighborhood Theatre back in July for the song "I and Love and You." It's on Myspace, and they won't let it be embedded into this post, but click here for the video.

As you'll see, they also shot some of the video around the Avetts' homes outside Concord. Their parents, Jim and Susie, are in there, along with crew members and friends. And if you were in the front couple of rows at the Neighborhood Theatre shoot, you're probably in the video.

Before I go, some Avett links from Twitter:

@theavettbros is the band's official Twitter feed.

@avettnation is a fan-oriented feed also affiliated with the band -- there's some overlap but @avettnation tends to be more prolific.

@joekwon80 is the feed from Joe Kwon, the Avett's cello player, featuring occasional haikus and photos of meals from the road.

And remember, you can listen to streaming audio of the new record all this week on NPR.

More thoughts on the new record or anything else Avett? Let's hear it...

I'm talking tonight...

as part of the New South for the New Southerner series at the Levine Museum of the New South uptown. It starts at 5:30; the real draws are my Observer colleague Sarah Aarthun, WCNC anchor Sonja Gantt, and appetizers from Mert's.

We'll be talking about living in the CLT, answering your questions and plugging Living Here -- the Observer's magazine for newcomers -- which comes out this Sunday.

The event costs $5 and they ask for an RSVP; here's more details. Hope to see y'all there.

Avett Brothers Week, Day 3 -- more video, plus fans debate!

(For earlier dispatches from Avetts Week, click here and here.)

Today's video clip is "Will You Return," from the 2007 album "Emotionalism." You'll see cello player Joe Kwon here -- he joined the band in '07 -- along with friends and crew members jammed in the back of the Avetts' tour bus. This song is an example to me of the band's evolution -- there's still a banjo in there, and they're still playing loud, but what carries the song is the early-Beatles-era melody.



A reminder: You can listen to the new album, "I and Love and You," streaming on NPR from now until the record hits stores on Tuesday.

A couple of other links:

-- The latest in the band's roll-out of mini-videos for each song on the new album: "Laundry Room."

-- The debate among longtime fans over the direction of "I and Love and You" is fascinating. Check out this discussion on the Avetts' official site and this one on the NPR site.

Let's continue the discussion here. Is the new record too different from the Avetts' older stuff, is it a natural progression, or something in between? I'd love to hear your thoughts as we get Sunday's story ready. What do you think?

Avett Brothers Week, Day 2 -- update w/Letterman info

UPDATE: Columbia Records announced today that the Avetts will play David Letterman's show Monday -- the night before "I and Love and You" hits stores -- and will also appear on the Craig Ferguson late-night show Oct. 6. They'll be doing the song "I and Love and You" on Letterman (11:35 p.m. on CBS) and "Laundry Room" on Ferguson (12:35 a.m., also CBS).

(For an explanation of why it's Avett Brothers Week on the blog, check here.)

Yes, the new record -- "I and Love and You" -- is now available for listening. But first, a quick study in contrasts.

The Avetts made their name by playing bluegrass instruments with punk intensity -- a friend of mine described them as Doc Watson and the Clash thrown into a blender. Here's a clip that really shows off that style -- "I Killed Sally's Lover" (from the 2003 album "A Carolina Jubilee"), played at a record-store appearance in Knoxville.




Now then. Late last night, NPR put up "I and Love and You" in its entirety on streaming audio. It's not in stores until next Tuesday, but the streaming version should be up all this week. Thanks to the magic of the embedded player, you can listen to it right here:



The track list:

1. I and Love and You
2. January Wedding
3. Head Full of Doubt, Road Full of Promise
4. And It Spread
5. The Perfect Space
6. Ten Thousand Words
7. Kick Drum Heart
8. Laundry Room
9. Ill With Want
10. Tin Man
11. Slight Figure of Speech
12. It Goes On and On
13. Incomplete and Insecure


(To listen to individual tracks, go here.)

The Avetts have always played around with different arrangements and tempos, and from talking to them, they see "I and Love and You" as a natural progression. But you'll find a very different sound than you hear on that YouTube clip.

So, Avett fans: What do you think of the new songs? Or are you trying to hold off on hearing them until you can get a CD in your hands next Tuesday?

And if you're new to the band, what do you think?

Avett Brothers Week begins

So this Sunday we're publishing a story I've been working on about the Avett Brothers -- the band from Concord that puts out its first major-label record, "I and Love and You," on Sept. 29. To lead into the story, I'm making this week on the blog Avett Week. Every day I'll post a video from the band's career and add a couple of links... if you're not familiar with these guys, by the end of the week I hope you'll be caught up. I also hope to have some news on the band to post along the way.

Today's video is the earliest I could find on YouTube -- it's from 2003, a couple years after the band formed. You'll see Scott Avett on banjo, Seth Avett on guitar and Bob Crawford on bass. They didn't have a title for this song at the moment, but it later became "Swept Away," on the 2004 album "Mignonette."

It's a fan video, so it's pretty ragged -- Seth's head never quite makes it into the light -- but then again, the band was pretty ragged back then too. Still, you can already start to hear their knack for melody.



Today's links:

The Avetts' official site.

Their bio on the Columbia Records site.

Avett fans: What are some of your favorite videos/sites? Add 'em in the comments, please...

Misty water-colored... daisies?

For some reason -- no idea why -- the childhood song that plays the most in my mind's jukebox is "A Daisy a Day." It's a sweet little story -- 98 percent high-fructose corn syrup -- about a couple who walk the streets together, and how the guy thinks about his love even after she passes on.

I'll give you a daisy a day, dear / I'll give you a daisy a day / I'll love you until the rivers run still / And the four winds we know blow away.

I'm not good at remembering lyrics -- I can't even come up with the whole chorus of "Kookaburra," and we sang that roughly 6 million times in elementary school -- but damn if I won't be cutting grass or reading a book and find myself whistling "Daisy a Day." Whatever hook that melody has on me, it's sunk deep.

I thought about "Daisy a Day" when I heard that Henry Gibson died. The obit mentions his big break as a cast member on "Laugh-In" and his movie work, including his classic role as the head Nazi in "The Blues Brothers." But I was disappointed that it didn't mention what I remembered most -- his hit version of "A Daisy a Day." For years, every time that song has played in my head, I can see him singing it.

So I went to YouTube, the home of every inch of video ever shot, to find the clip. I looked. And kept looking. And then went to Google.

I couldn't believe it.

Henry Gibson, best I can tell, never sang "A Daisy a Day." He carried a daisy around as his comedy gimmick -- remember, this was the '60s -- but he didn't sing.

It was another "Laugh-In" regular who did the song -- Jud Strunk, who had a top-20 hit with it in 1973, when I was 9. Here he is doing the song on Carson:



(Unbelievable factoid of the day: According to the Jud Strunk website, "A Daisy a Day" was the first song played on the moon. This falls under the category of "too good to check.")

The point is, for the last 30-some years, I have held in my mind the indisputable fact that Henry Gibson sang "A Daisy a Day." And now it turns out I was completely wrong.

So I'm wondering which other childhood memories are wrong. Did Anna Cheshire not wink at me that day in second grade? Did I not find that magazine of dirty jokes and have NO idea what they were talking about? Did I not goof around with darts and stick holes in our new Formica table? (No, I'm pretty sure that one's real... my mom still gets steamed about it.)

Here's some advice for you 9-year-olds out there: Start writing it all down. Now. Or someday you'll be humming "Billie Jean" and thinking about that great singer, Michael Jordan.

100 Words Or Less: What would YOU say to schoolkids?

By you know you've heard all about the controversy over President Obama's speech to the nation's schools today; maybe you've even read the text. What I'd like to know this morning is what YOU would say to America's schoolchildren, if you had the chance.

I'd prefer that this doesn't turn into an argument over the president's policies -- if you're interested in that, the conversation on my Sunday column has been going on for a couple of days now. Take this time to think about what the children of this country ought to hear. And although President Obama is taking a lot more words, you have to do it in 100 words or less.

100 Words Or Less: Predictions on health care

Today I'd like to hear something a little different from you on the issue of health care. I'm not looking for what you WANT to see happen with health-care reform; I'm interested in what you think WILL happen with health-care reform.

I'm hoping this will be a test of how the 24/7 news cycle in a given day or week matches how events really play out. Obviously, serious health-care reform -- especially a public option -- looks to be in trouble right now. But how about a year from now? Where will we end up then?

That's the kind of prediction I'm looking for. We'll come back to this along the way and see how the guesses turned out. Look into the future and tell me what you think... in 100 words or less.

Four teachers

On Tuesday I spoke at Beverly Woods Elementary School -- the principal, Caroline Horne, asked me to come talk to the teachers as they were getting ready for a new school year. One of the main rules of writing is, never use material once if you can use it twice. So here's the talk I gave. As you'll see, it's not exactly local news or anything... but maybe you have some memories of the teachers who made a difference for you.

When Ms. Horne called me a couple months ago to come and speak here, she was looking for me to give sort of a pep talk. To be honest, though, I’m not sure pep is what y’all need. I know it must be a strange time to be a teacher in CMS. If I were a teacher, I’d feel like I was getting a lot of conflicting messages right now about how I was valued, how I fit into this county’s larger plans, how much difference I was making in the world.

So I’m not going to stand here and tell you how everything is gonna be great, because I don’t know that, and I don’t think anyone else does either. What I want to tell you about this morning is four teachers who made a difference in one boy’s life.

My first-grade teacher was Clara Lewis. This was 1970, at a little elementary school on the coast of Georgia. I didn’t know until years later that it was the first year the schools in our county were fully integrated. I don’t know how it might have been different, because I don’t have anything to compare it to. All I can tell you is the first schoolteacher I ever had was a black woman, and I never knew there was anything different about it because Ms. Lewis kept our class busy and quiet and peaceful.

Now I will say that our whole elementary school was generally quiet and peaceful, and there was a reason for that. Our principal, Mrs. Barone, had on her desk a large wooden paddle that had an electrical cord coming out of the end. It was the stuff of legend. Nobody I knew actually got hit with the electric paddle, but everybody I knew seemed to KNOW somebody who got hit with the electric paddle. Now, of course, I know that she just drilled a hole and glued a power cord in there. But at the time, the electric paddle was the nuclear weapon of our elementary school. Nobody did anything really bad because we were all terrified that it would be launched.

By the way, feel free to use that electric-paddle idea here this year.

Back to Ms. Lewis: That first-grade classroom, in a changing school system, could have been a place of conflict or confusion. But instead it was a place of peace, where we all sat down together and learned. That was because of one great teacher.

My seventh-grade English teacher was Lillian Williams. My family had moved just before seventh grade started, from one side of the county to the other, and so I was in a new middle school. English was my first class on my first day of seventh grade. Ms. Williams got up and started telling us how much we would learn in the year ahead and how we’d all be ready for high school next year. Slowly, as she talked, it dawned on me that somehow I had landed in an eighth-grade classroom.

Well, it turned out that when I had enrolled, the assistant principal took one look at me – I was a big boy even back then – and assumed I was an eighth-grader. I was at a brand-new school, with no friends, and I was embarrassed. But Ms. Williams talked to me, and took a look at my test scores, and then she did something she didn’t have to do. She went to the principal and said: Let me keep him. So I took eighth-grade English, and seventh-grade everything else, and made two sets of new friends. I’m still best friends with a couple of those guys more than 30 years later. I even ended up playing Charlie Brown in the school play, which Ms. Williams directed. That year turned out to be one of the best years of my life, and it was because of one great teacher.

My 10th-grade English teacher was Brenda Hunt. When I was in 10th grade it would probably be fair to say I had not applied myself much in school. I had good grades, but I was just doing what it took to get by, and I had been hanging out with a pretty shady crowd. Ms. Hunt never said a word to me about any of this. What she said to me, instead, was that she thought I could write.

She was in charge of the high school literary magazine, and for the next three years I filled that sucker up with Stephen King wanna-be short stories, and authoritative-sounding essays, and sonnets written to girls who had never even heard of me. One thing I tell people who want to write for a living is that to be a good writer, first you have to be a bad writer. Ms. Hunt let me be a bad writer, and she showed me how to get better. I didn’t know it at the time, but I now had a career right in front of me, and it was because of one great teacher.

My high-school debate coach was Wayne Ervin. The other three teachers who played big roles in my life were serene and even-tempered. Mr. Ervin was… not. He used to keep a bundle of yardsticks in the corner of his classroom, and if he caught somebody not paying attention, he would crack a yardstick across the corner of his desk and just break it into splinters. Our senior year, some students went in together and bought him a steel yardstick about an inch thick. When I came back to visit from college, it was sitting in the corner of the room, bent in half.

But if you took Mr. Ervin’s salary, and divided by the number of hours he actually worked, he was probably making about half of minimum wage. He came in early and stayed late and traveled just about every weekend with his debate students and his Model United Nations students. I was in both of those groups. We were public-school kids, a lot of us lower-middle-class or worse, but Mr. Ervin had taught us so well that we went up against the private-school kids and held our own. I gained a confidence in those activities that I had never found in myself before. And that was because of one great teacher.

I suspect that many of you have already had students come through your classroom who will one day think of you as one great teacher. I know you don’t get paid what you ought to get paid, I know you don’t always get the respect you deserve… all I can tell you is that every time that bell rings, you are creating memories for the children in your class. And doing that job well can be a reward that lasts not only your lifetime, but the lifetimes of the kids you teach.

Let me tell one last quick story. When I was in high school, I got to be close friends with a guy named Virgil. We’ve been friends about 30 years now, and except for my wife, he’s the best friend I have. One day, years after we got to be friends, somehow we got to talking about the teachers we had when we were growing up. I was telling him about this great first-grade teacher I had at St. Simons Elementary named Ms. Lewis.

He looked at me like I had hit him with a brick.

Ms. Lewis was his grandmother.

And years after I had come through her class, of course she remembered that nice boy named Tommy. She’s in her 80s now. I still send her Christmas cards. And that’s the sort of thing that can happen in your life if you have one great teacher.

Jimi and Jose do the anthem

As a supplement to this morning's column about Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, here's the best YouTube I found of Hendrix doing the anthem:



And here's the best audio I could find of Jose Feliciano's version from the '68 World Series, also mentioned in the column... the video is a slideshow of a July 4th parade. Appropriate.

Creativity, and not quitting

I hear from a lot of people who want to be writers. They want to know the secrets to being a professional writer. You can easily spend thousands of dollars on books and magazines and seminars on how to be a successful writer -- or how to succeed in any kind of creative field. The one secret I know -- it's a secret most people don't want to hear -- is this:

Don't quit.

Ira Glass, of NPR's "This American Life," says it even better. Take this to heart, go create something, and have a great weekend.

Local boy does good

When I came to the Observer, 20 years ago this summer, I didn't know anybody. I was a one-person bureau in Lancaster, S.C., and on Tuesdays I drove up to Rock Hill for a staff meeting. That trip to Rock Hill was a big deal -- I wasn't making many friends in Lancaster, and it was good to just hang out with people I liked. The guy I ended up hanging out with most was one of our sportswriters, Joe Posnanski.

Joe was even younger and greener than I was. He had majored in accounting at UNC Charlotte until he realized one day that the last thing in the world he wanted to be was an accountant. What he really wanted was to write sports. So he wrote a letter to the Observer asking for a job. The paper took a chance on him and put him in a slot compiling agate, the tiny type of stats and standings on the sports page. Every night Joe would put together the agate, and in the spare moments between deadlines he would write columns about the sports news of the day. These columns were never published. Joe was writing for, literally, nobody. But somehow an editor found the columns in the computer system. The paper gave him a writing job. When I was down in Lancaster County, covering car wrecks and sewer-line breaks, he was in York County covering high-school basketball and writing the weekly volleyball notebook. We bonded over sports and music, we swapped stories from our favorite writers, we burned to get better and move up.

Sometimes, after work, we'd throw a baseball around in the parking lot of Joe's apartment complex, and we'd dream about where our careers might go. At the time our biggest dream was just to make it into the main office in Charlotte (we called it the Big House, or sometimes the Mothership). But sometimes we'd talk about other dreams, like maybe actually writing a column someday, or even working for a magazine. Our favorite magazine -- the defining magazine for both of us growing up -- was Sports Illustrated. They had the great Frank Deford, they had the brilliant Gary Smith, they told the kinds of stories we wanted to tell. But that was a dream too far away, in another galaxy somewhere.

Since those days in the parking lot, Joe moved on to write columns in Augusta, Ga., and then Cincinnati, and for the last 13 years in Kansas City. His blog has hundreds of thousands of readers. His third book is coming out in a few weeks.

And yesterday, my buddy Joe accepted an offer to become a senior writer at Sports Illustrated.

Joe has tremendous talent -- had it all along. But you can draw a straight line from Sports Illustrated back to those nights on the sports desk when he wrote stories for nobody, like shooting jumpers in an empty gym, hoping and planning for the day when he would get his chance.

I'm proud beyond words for my friend. But now I need to file this and get ready to write the next thing. That's what Joe would do.