We should have lost. I want to get that out of the way and warn you that I will repeat that sentiment throughout this column. It is my perspective and if you disagree or don’t want to hear it, stop reading now.
I am not trying to be critical, just realistic. We should have lost, yet somehow our 8th grade boys’ basketball team won the league championship, defeating a solid Phillipsburg Panther team 39-37.
Last week, I focused on this amazing team and their date with destiny. I did this not only to heap some well-deserved praise, but also to try and drum up some support, to fill some seats, and to get people excited about this game.
I may have done the job a little too well - our fans were out in force. In fact, from the moment our boys took the floor for their pre-game warm-ups, it was obvious that Hill City had brought a lot more fans than Phillipsburg. Our students and parents lined two sides of the court for the boys to high-five as they ran into the gym. The enthusiasm was deafening, and that was before the tip off.
Understandably, our boys began the game a little overwhelmed by it all. Our center jumped way too early and the Panthers won the tip-off easily. But in the blink of an eye, we stole the ball and converted a speedy lay-up. Our crowd went berserk and our boys seemed to stagger under the weight of the cheering. We tried to full court press, but a composed Phillipsburg team broke the press and scored.
Suddenly, everything good I had seen throughout the season vanished. Our full court passes failed. Our set offense failed. We missed lay-ups. We missed free throws. Phillipsburg repeatedly broke our press and scored four times, including a trey to build a 9-2 advantage. Coach Jones called a timeout, but our pep-club cheered so loud from behind the bench, I don’t know if the players could even hear him. A minute later and the P-Burg lead was 13-5, and the team reeled from the onslaught of blows.
The best way I can think to describe this game is to compare it to a heavyweight-boxing match. Think of the movie, Rocky. Phillipsburg was the accomplished and multi-dimensional fighter. They hit us hard and fast, raining blows high and low in a frenzy of scoring. We were the punching bag, and time and again we were knocked to the mat, bruised and bloody and completely overmatched.
But here’s the thing. Like Rocky, we refused to stay down. No matter how many times they hit us, no matter how much pain they brought, we refused to stay down for the count.
We began to play defense and began to deny them the basket. Offensively we scratched away at the lead. Through sheer grit and determination, we scratched our way into a 13-13 tie.
Then the Panthers woke up and resumed throwing hay-makers. BAM! BAM! BAM! While it took us most the half to tie the game, Phillipsburg took less than a minute to score thrice and re-build a six-point lead. We were down on the mat once more, with the ref doing the ten-count.
We should have stayed down. Any of a hundred different teams would have stayed down. At that point, Phillipsburg should have pulled away and won by twenty. Again, though, our boys picked themselves up, found their legs, and kept fighting.
In the second half, I noticed a big change, not just in the boys, but in the pep club perched in the stands behind the bench. Both had calmed down.
At this point I want to say a word about our other junior high coach, Chris Gansel. The second half, especially, was filled with incredible drama and intensity, yet every time I looked over at coach Gansel, he looked completely calm and unruffled. He had a look that seemed to say, “Don’t worry team, everything will be okay.” While coach Jones passionately talked strategy, coach Gansel seemed to keep everyone on an even keel.
Our defense ruled the third quarter, holding the potent P-Burg Panthers to just four points. Meanwhile we continued to jab and parry, duck and weave, landing a blow to the body here, and right hook to the jaw there. We started the fourth quarter somehow up by two at 25-23. We should have been losing. We continued to miss lay-up after lay-up and free throw after free throw, yet still we kept coming.
In the fourth quarter, both fighters let it all hang out. P-burg surged ahead. Then, wonderfully, our boys briefly found their stride. Looking like the team I had grown to love during the last few weeks, we erupted in our own frenzy of scoring and got ahead by five points. Our crowd stood and cheered. Surely, we thought, this was it. The mighty Running Ringnecks had woken at last and the game was ours.
Not even close. All our burst of scoring seemed to do was step on the Panther’s tail. With a mighty roar, the gold and purple cats came back with eight points of their own, faster than it has taken me to type in the words. Again, we were on the mat. The opposition was rejoicing. The fat lady was warming up.
Really it was their game to lose at that point. Phillipsburg went into “milk-the-clock” mode and knocked off a full minute with fast, accurate passing until mercifully the refs called a foul. With a minute and a half remaining, all P-Burg had to do was wait to be fouled and sink their free throws.
The details of those final ninety seconds are a bit a blur to me. A lot happened. We scored, they scored. We fouled, they fouled. Our boys played their most intense basketball of the year, and Phillipsburg buckled under the increased pressure. We stole a pass and tied the score. We then rebounded a missed free throw, executed a perfect pass and catch, and put the ball in the hole for a two-point lead just before time ran out.
A team’s heart is best judged when everything is goes wrong. When a team plays well, they should win, but when a team plays poorly, they should lose. On Thursday night, when our team should have lost, we still found a way to win.
To me, that is the definition of heart. It was the only area in which we outplayed the Phillipsburg Panthers, and in the end it was the only thing that mattered. Try as they might, Phillipsburg could never quite deliver the knockout. Our heart kept beating, our heart kept us in this game, and our heart gave us the victory.
I don’t know what the future holds for these young men. Coach Riley at the high school will have his hands full and the players will have to improve in many ways. However, if the heart they showed at the league championship game is any indication, the next four years may be quite a ride for these heart-attack kids.
Amazing Basketball (01-11-10)
Recently, I got to watch some fun basketball. I saw full court passes, acrobatic lay-ups, behind the back passes, and a swarming defense that created chaotic turnovers and exciting fast break basketball.
I am not referring to the Kansas Jayhawks nor the Kansas State Wildcats. I’m not even talking about high school. No, this fun time was put on by none other than our new Hill City Junior High 8th Grade Boys’ basketball team.
On Saturday, I traveled to Plainville to watch the MCEL Basketball tournament. For junior high players, winning this league tourney is the ultimate goal of the season.
For the first time in three years, Hill City has a team that will be playing for the championship. I had the pleasure of watching our 8th grade boys fly up and down the court to defeat the Stockton Tigers and the Ellis Railroaders to earn a spot in the Championship game on Thursday. I encourage all of you to travel to Plainville Thursday night to cheer our boys to victory.
I am not advising you to make the trip just to see our Ringnecks win a league championship. If you make this trip, I think you’ll see much more. This boys’ team, led by coach Steve Jones, is something special, and their style of play is incredibly exciting to watch. At Plainville Thursday evening, you will witness a group of very talented athletes who have been given the green light to have a lot of fun.
The season began with a completely different offense but after a loss, coach Jones began to change his approach. After another loss, he went back to the drawing board yet again. The final result, a fast paced full court offensive and defensive attack has led the Ringnecks to a string of commanding victories filled with breathtaking feats of athletic virtuosity.
The last few games has shown me things I never thought I’d see at the junior high level. I’ve seen Shane Jones throw full court passes that could thread a needle. I’ve seen Trevor Desaire catch these passes running full tilt and executing the lay-ups in less time than it takes to write about it. I’ve see Jacob Edgell show incredible touch in making mid-range jumpshots and demonstrate awesome athletic ability as he leaped over opponents to grab rebounds. I’ve seen Ben Weaver cut a slash his way to the basket and then coolly sink free throws with perfect nothing-but-net form. Rounding out the team is Greg Billups, who on Saturday executed a perfect behind-the-back dish to a waiting teammate for an easy two.
Add to the mix the speedy Gaige Foskul, the tenacious Colton Lindenman, and the determined Devin Keener, and this team has tremendous bench support to compliment their starting five.
Perhaps the real star of this team, though, is coach Steve Jones. While some coaches will refuse to change their game plan, insisting that the players learn their system, coach Jones took a different route to success. He evaluated the strengths of his team and instead of making the players adapt to fit his game plan, he adapted his game plan to fit his players.
It has been a real pleasure to watch these kids blossom with the green light they’ve been given to play. While players on other teams seem to try to not to make mistakes, our boys try to make plays. There is no hesitation, there is no uncertainty, and most importantly, there is no second-guessing. With this style of play, there are bound to be plenty of mistakes, and while Coach Jones expresses a lot of frustration, he continues to urge his team to attack and swarm and press and make incredible plays. These kids play their hearts out and play with a confidence that is beyond their years.
So, if you have the opportunity, I highly recommend traveling to Plainville this Thursday, January 14 to see the 7:15 MCEL Boys’ Championship game. Not only will you see our boys fight to be number one, but I guarantee you’ll also see some amazing basketball.
I am not referring to the Kansas Jayhawks nor the Kansas State Wildcats. I’m not even talking about high school. No, this fun time was put on by none other than our new Hill City Junior High 8th Grade Boys’ basketball team.
On Saturday, I traveled to Plainville to watch the MCEL Basketball tournament. For junior high players, winning this league tourney is the ultimate goal of the season.
For the first time in three years, Hill City has a team that will be playing for the championship. I had the pleasure of watching our 8th grade boys fly up and down the court to defeat the Stockton Tigers and the Ellis Railroaders to earn a spot in the Championship game on Thursday. I encourage all of you to travel to Plainville Thursday night to cheer our boys to victory.
I am not advising you to make the trip just to see our Ringnecks win a league championship. If you make this trip, I think you’ll see much more. This boys’ team, led by coach Steve Jones, is something special, and their style of play is incredibly exciting to watch. At Plainville Thursday evening, you will witness a group of very talented athletes who have been given the green light to have a lot of fun.
The season began with a completely different offense but after a loss, coach Jones began to change his approach. After another loss, he went back to the drawing board yet again. The final result, a fast paced full court offensive and defensive attack has led the Ringnecks to a string of commanding victories filled with breathtaking feats of athletic virtuosity.
The last few games has shown me things I never thought I’d see at the junior high level. I’ve seen Shane Jones throw full court passes that could thread a needle. I’ve seen Trevor Desaire catch these passes running full tilt and executing the lay-ups in less time than it takes to write about it. I’ve see Jacob Edgell show incredible touch in making mid-range jumpshots and demonstrate awesome athletic ability as he leaped over opponents to grab rebounds. I’ve seen Ben Weaver cut a slash his way to the basket and then coolly sink free throws with perfect nothing-but-net form. Rounding out the team is Greg Billups, who on Saturday executed a perfect behind-the-back dish to a waiting teammate for an easy two.
Add to the mix the speedy Gaige Foskul, the tenacious Colton Lindenman, and the determined Devin Keener, and this team has tremendous bench support to compliment their starting five.
Perhaps the real star of this team, though, is coach Steve Jones. While some coaches will refuse to change their game plan, insisting that the players learn their system, coach Jones took a different route to success. He evaluated the strengths of his team and instead of making the players adapt to fit his game plan, he adapted his game plan to fit his players.
It has been a real pleasure to watch these kids blossom with the green light they’ve been given to play. While players on other teams seem to try to not to make mistakes, our boys try to make plays. There is no hesitation, there is no uncertainty, and most importantly, there is no second-guessing. With this style of play, there are bound to be plenty of mistakes, and while Coach Jones expresses a lot of frustration, he continues to urge his team to attack and swarm and press and make incredible plays. These kids play their hearts out and play with a confidence that is beyond their years.
So, if you have the opportunity, I highly recommend traveling to Plainville this Thursday, January 14 to see the 7:15 MCEL Boys’ Championship game. Not only will you see our boys fight to be number one, but I guarantee you’ll also see some amazing basketball.
Nameless Decade (01-04-10)
Ten years ago, I was dying to learn what to call the first decade of a new millennium. A lover of history, this problem had intrigued me for a long time. The history books referred to the “Roaring Twenties” and the “Dirty Thirties.” There was even a series of made for television movies entitled after each decade starting with the fifties, and there is a current TV sitcom, “That Seventies Show.”
But I had never run across any mention of the years 1900-1909 as a collective term. There isn’t much reference to the next ten years as the teens, but I could find no name for the first decade at all.
So ten years ago, I thought I’m finally going to get my answer. I’m finally going to find out how we’re going to refer to this decade.
Oh, how wrong I was. In fact, the only thing I’ve learned is that the reason I wasn’t able to find any term for the other first decades in history is because no one can seem to agree to what to call it. No one could agree then, and it seems no one can agree now.
I’ve seen a few attempts: the zero’s; the oh’s; the oh-oh’s; the twenty-hundred’s. The one I liked the best was the “aughts” or the “aughties.” I liked this term until I recently read that this is a slang version of the word “naught” which means “nothing.” The actual word “aught” is a Shakespearian term that means “anything.”
When I learned that bit of lexicographic knowledge, my first thought was to go with it. After all, the expression “anything goes” does work rather well in describing the last ten years.
However, as a lover and teacher of Shakespeare, well, I just can’t stand the thought of people using “aught” so loosely. So then I thought if “aught” has become a substitution for “naught,” well then maybe we should just call this decade the “naughts” or better yet, the “naughties.”
This last idea holds a certain amount of poetic justice for me. Considering all the “naughty” behavior of the last ten years, from terrorist attacks to Wall Street greed, calling our first ten years of the second millennium the “naughties” does seem to fit. Of course, there is much that is “naughty” in any decade - so much so that I’m sure Santa compiles quite a long list each ten years.
Regardless of what we call it, this decade will not soon be forgotten. This, of course, exacerbates the name problem. I think that over time, history writers and trivial pursuit players will repeatedly and at great length make reference to this decade. I’m hopeful that after enough time has passed, the scholars and pop culturists will eventually agree on a common name, on a standard, catchy turn of phrase, that will instantly evoke memories of this time. They will have to come up with something and when they do, I hope someone tells me. I’m still dying to know what to call the last ten years.
But I had never run across any mention of the years 1900-1909 as a collective term. There isn’t much reference to the next ten years as the teens, but I could find no name for the first decade at all.
So ten years ago, I thought I’m finally going to get my answer. I’m finally going to find out how we’re going to refer to this decade.
Oh, how wrong I was. In fact, the only thing I’ve learned is that the reason I wasn’t able to find any term for the other first decades in history is because no one can seem to agree to what to call it. No one could agree then, and it seems no one can agree now.
I’ve seen a few attempts: the zero’s; the oh’s; the oh-oh’s; the twenty-hundred’s. The one I liked the best was the “aughts” or the “aughties.” I liked this term until I recently read that this is a slang version of the word “naught” which means “nothing.” The actual word “aught” is a Shakespearian term that means “anything.”
When I learned that bit of lexicographic knowledge, my first thought was to go with it. After all, the expression “anything goes” does work rather well in describing the last ten years.
However, as a lover and teacher of Shakespeare, well, I just can’t stand the thought of people using “aught” so loosely. So then I thought if “aught” has become a substitution for “naught,” well then maybe we should just call this decade the “naughts” or better yet, the “naughties.”
This last idea holds a certain amount of poetic justice for me. Considering all the “naughty” behavior of the last ten years, from terrorist attacks to Wall Street greed, calling our first ten years of the second millennium the “naughties” does seem to fit. Of course, there is much that is “naughty” in any decade - so much so that I’m sure Santa compiles quite a long list each ten years.
Regardless of what we call it, this decade will not soon be forgotten. This, of course, exacerbates the name problem. I think that over time, history writers and trivial pursuit players will repeatedly and at great length make reference to this decade. I’m hopeful that after enough time has passed, the scholars and pop culturists will eventually agree on a common name, on a standard, catchy turn of phrase, that will instantly evoke memories of this time. They will have to come up with something and when they do, I hope someone tells me. I’m still dying to know what to call the last ten years.
Three Miracles (12-28-09)
I have often heard an old expression that bad things occur in sets of three. However, as I reflect over 2009 for my annual end-of-year column, I am reminded that not just bad things can occur in sets of three. Good things can come in threes as well.
I will always remember 2009 as the year of the three miracles. Okay, miracle might be too strong a word, but they were certainly modern medical miracles.
I am referring, of course, to the three successful outcomes (dare I say “cures”) for three people I knew in 2009 stricken with cancer. This year saw the negative flip to positive, the bad news turn to good, the despair turn to hope, the suffering turn to relief.
In 2008, I learned that my brother-in-law John was diagnosed with tonsil cancer. My sisters and I have always considered John to be more “brother” than “in law” and the news rocked us all. As with any news of cancer, our heads swam with a million questions, and while there was every reason to hope for a positive outcome, the intensive nature of the treatment he faced brought home the seriousness of the situation.
Around the same time that we learned about John, I received more bad news at work. One of my students, and one of my daughter’s classmates, was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma. This cancer occurs most often in adolescents, and again while there was a good chance at recovery, Dakota was in for a long and arduous journey. He stopped coming to school. He lost his hair. He and his family had to make countless trips to Nebraska for treatment.
During 2009, I saw our community rally in support of this young man. His class not only raised money, they were united by a common purpose and a common bond. These kids matured in front of my eyes to become one of the best classes I’ve ever had the honor to serve. Day after day, they communicated with Dakota through phone, email, text, and the video conferencing technology of Skype. Everyone joined in, and everyone stayed positive and hopeful. They carried a laptop from class to class so that Dakota could video-conference throughout the day, keeping as normal a schedule as possible under the circumstances.
The third and final stroke of bad news came as we learned that our beloved newspaper editor Jim Logback was diagnosed with cancer. Again, for the third time, eerily, the cancer was found in the throat area. Three cases of cancer, all at least partially in the neck and throat areas. Three people I knew and cared about having to undergo radiation and chemotherapy - all fighting for their lives.
I prayed. We all prayed. We were united in our prayers, our hopes, and our concern. Then, the miracles of 2009 began to come about. My brother John, after suffering through a horrible January, began on the road to recovery. By summer, he was proclaimed by the doctors to be “boring” and his scans showed no sign of cancer anywhere in his body. The treatment caused him to lose a considerable amount of weight, which he now considers to be a blessing. He has developed better eating and exercise habits and has never been healthier.
Dakota’s treatment was a lot longer and more intense, but after almost a year spent in treatment, Dakota is back in school, with new hair on his head and new hope in his heart. Before Christmas, I saw him at a junior high basketball game, where he proudly told me that he would get to play basketball again. His spirits seem good and his mischievous smile has returned.
Jim had to miss several weeks of work to receive treatment in Texas. For a man who seems so happy to put together the best small town paper in Kansas, I’m sure that part was the hardest of all. However, Diana Boyd and family stepped in and they quickly developed a first-hand appreciation of all the things our indefatigable editor does week after week.
As far as I’ve heard, Jim is over the worst of the treatment and is also on the road to recovery. He has been back at work for several months now, and seems busier than ever.
Every year has its memorable moments, and 2009 has many things about which I could write. But in my perspective, these three stories, these set-of-three-miracles, are what make 2009 rise above the rest. So Happy New Year everyone. May our many blessing continue in 2010.
I will always remember 2009 as the year of the three miracles. Okay, miracle might be too strong a word, but they were certainly modern medical miracles.
I am referring, of course, to the three successful outcomes (dare I say “cures”) for three people I knew in 2009 stricken with cancer. This year saw the negative flip to positive, the bad news turn to good, the despair turn to hope, the suffering turn to relief.
In 2008, I learned that my brother-in-law John was diagnosed with tonsil cancer. My sisters and I have always considered John to be more “brother” than “in law” and the news rocked us all. As with any news of cancer, our heads swam with a million questions, and while there was every reason to hope for a positive outcome, the intensive nature of the treatment he faced brought home the seriousness of the situation.
Around the same time that we learned about John, I received more bad news at work. One of my students, and one of my daughter’s classmates, was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma. This cancer occurs most often in adolescents, and again while there was a good chance at recovery, Dakota was in for a long and arduous journey. He stopped coming to school. He lost his hair. He and his family had to make countless trips to Nebraska for treatment.
During 2009, I saw our community rally in support of this young man. His class not only raised money, they were united by a common purpose and a common bond. These kids matured in front of my eyes to become one of the best classes I’ve ever had the honor to serve. Day after day, they communicated with Dakota through phone, email, text, and the video conferencing technology of Skype. Everyone joined in, and everyone stayed positive and hopeful. They carried a laptop from class to class so that Dakota could video-conference throughout the day, keeping as normal a schedule as possible under the circumstances.
The third and final stroke of bad news came as we learned that our beloved newspaper editor Jim Logback was diagnosed with cancer. Again, for the third time, eerily, the cancer was found in the throat area. Three cases of cancer, all at least partially in the neck and throat areas. Three people I knew and cared about having to undergo radiation and chemotherapy - all fighting for their lives.
I prayed. We all prayed. We were united in our prayers, our hopes, and our concern. Then, the miracles of 2009 began to come about. My brother John, after suffering through a horrible January, began on the road to recovery. By summer, he was proclaimed by the doctors to be “boring” and his scans showed no sign of cancer anywhere in his body. The treatment caused him to lose a considerable amount of weight, which he now considers to be a blessing. He has developed better eating and exercise habits and has never been healthier.
Dakota’s treatment was a lot longer and more intense, but after almost a year spent in treatment, Dakota is back in school, with new hair on his head and new hope in his heart. Before Christmas, I saw him at a junior high basketball game, where he proudly told me that he would get to play basketball again. His spirits seem good and his mischievous smile has returned.
Jim had to miss several weeks of work to receive treatment in Texas. For a man who seems so happy to put together the best small town paper in Kansas, I’m sure that part was the hardest of all. However, Diana Boyd and family stepped in and they quickly developed a first-hand appreciation of all the things our indefatigable editor does week after week.
As far as I’ve heard, Jim is over the worst of the treatment and is also on the road to recovery. He has been back at work for several months now, and seems busier than ever.
Every year has its memorable moments, and 2009 has many things about which I could write. But in my perspective, these three stories, these set-of-three-miracles, are what make 2009 rise above the rest. So Happy New Year everyone. May our many blessing continue in 2010.
Merry Christmas East (12-21-09)
Merry Christmas East
I got an email today loaded with pictures of the great east coast Atlantic blizzard of 2009. Twenty-five inches of snow, roads blocked, public transportation grinding to a halt, and nearly everyone inside waiting for the blizzard to pass.
Nearly everyone. Everyone, apparently, except for my sister Cait. Her email said, “Senate's forcing me to work today, tomorrow, 1 a.m. Monday, Christmas Eve...seriously.”
That’s Cait for you. She is twelve years older than me, and for as long as I can remember, she has always been working. She decided to follow in our Grandfather Goodwin’s footsteps and pursue a life in journalism. And what a life she has led.
She has been a big city editor in Dallas and K.C. She and her remarkable husband John raised two kids in Kansas City until, after orchestrating the Star’s coverage of a Republican National Convention, she so impressed the execs at a rival publication that they offered her an even better job. The catch was that the job was in Washington D.C..
Cait now edits for Congressional Quarterly, a watchdog publication for our government. When Congress is in session, Cait is on the job, blizzard or no. She is living her dream and succeeding in the largest arena imaginable. I can’t tell you how proud I am to have her as my big sister.
Cait came to visit us this summer, and she fit right in. Jim and Bob took time out of their busy Monday night schedule to give her a tour of their modest offices. Cait was like a school kid, in awe of our local paper and what we have in our Hill City Times.
“This is what a newspaper should be,” she kept saying. She and her husband, who is also a journalist for UPI (United Press International) have grown a bit weary of the games associated with the national papers. Our small town paper, in her eyes, has a lot more integrity.
More than any of my siblings, Cait remembers Granpa Bill and the Columbus Daily Advocate. She remembers him writing the stories, setting the type, working the big press, delivering the papers. Small town papers still holds a certain magic for my sister, even as she edits for a national publication that stops for nothing and no one. She may be a big city success, but she still cherishes the memories of summer time visits to a small town.
So I’m sending a big “Merry Christmas” east, along with a year’s subscription to the Hill City Times. From the Goodwins to the Hendels, here’s wishing for safe travel, a restful holiday, and warm weather to melt all that snow.
I got an email today loaded with pictures of the great east coast Atlantic blizzard of 2009. Twenty-five inches of snow, roads blocked, public transportation grinding to a halt, and nearly everyone inside waiting for the blizzard to pass.
Nearly everyone. Everyone, apparently, except for my sister Cait. Her email said, “Senate's forcing me to work today, tomorrow, 1 a.m. Monday, Christmas Eve...seriously.”
That’s Cait for you. She is twelve years older than me, and for as long as I can remember, she has always been working. She decided to follow in our Grandfather Goodwin’s footsteps and pursue a life in journalism. And what a life she has led.
She has been a big city editor in Dallas and K.C. She and her remarkable husband John raised two kids in Kansas City until, after orchestrating the Star’s coverage of a Republican National Convention, she so impressed the execs at a rival publication that they offered her an even better job. The catch was that the job was in Washington D.C..
Cait now edits for Congressional Quarterly, a watchdog publication for our government. When Congress is in session, Cait is on the job, blizzard or no. She is living her dream and succeeding in the largest arena imaginable. I can’t tell you how proud I am to have her as my big sister.
Cait came to visit us this summer, and she fit right in. Jim and Bob took time out of their busy Monday night schedule to give her a tour of their modest offices. Cait was like a school kid, in awe of our local paper and what we have in our Hill City Times.
“This is what a newspaper should be,” she kept saying. She and her husband, who is also a journalist for UPI (United Press International) have grown a bit weary of the games associated with the national papers. Our small town paper, in her eyes, has a lot more integrity.
More than any of my siblings, Cait remembers Granpa Bill and the Columbus Daily Advocate. She remembers him writing the stories, setting the type, working the big press, delivering the papers. Small town papers still holds a certain magic for my sister, even as she edits for a national publication that stops for nothing and no one. She may be a big city success, but she still cherishes the memories of summer time visits to a small town.
So I’m sending a big “Merry Christmas” east, along with a year’s subscription to the Hill City Times. From the Goodwins to the Hendels, here’s wishing for safe travel, a restful holiday, and warm weather to melt all that snow.
Unexpected Kindness (12-14-09)
In 1982, American writer Anne Herbert coined one of my favorite maxims, “Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty.” This week, my family received such an act of unexpected kindness.
On Wednesday, ready to take the kids sledding, I backed out of my garage without a care…straight into a deep pile of snow.
Talk about a moment of stupidity! In my foolish haste I forgot to account for the amount of snow that had fallen since my first shoveling the day before and for the snow that had been pushed to the curb by the passing snow plow.
When I went to examine the amount of snow blocking my path, I found a pile of snow that went half way up my thighs.
With the help of my wife, we were able to push and drive the van back into the garage. While we were struggling, though, a silver pickup drove slowly past. It didn’t go far, because by the time I had gotten the van in the garage and had begun shoveling, the truck had returned, this time stopping in front of my house.
I did not recognize the truck or the driver who hopped out, efficiently lowered two aluminum ramps and backed out a large snow blower. Before I could wipe the look of disbelief off my face, the man rammed the oversized scoop into the four foot snow bank, sending a beautiful jet of snow soaring in the street.
The snow was steep and fairly packed, but it was no match for the man and his machine. He pushed in time and again, straining at the handlebars and digging in his feet. The machine did a lot of the work, but I marveled at how this stranger labored so devotedly over my driveway.
I began to shovel the path to our front door. The good Samaritan noticed and waved me aside. In less time than it took me to lift my shovel, he had plowed a double-wide path to our front steps.
He then returned to the driveway, now going back and forth along the width, completely clearing the pavement in front of both doors. Without a pause or a word or even a wave, he then maneuvered his wonderful machine back onto the bed of the pickup truck.
Who was this guy? Could I pay him for his trouble or for his fuel. He’d spent, all told, more than ten minutes revving his machine though a veritable mountain of snow. So I ran and caught him just before he climbed back into the cab of the truck.
“Who are you?” I yelled over the roar of the still running blower, now idling in the back of the truck.
“Don Scott,” he replied. I’d heard the name before and have since learned that he was once our town sheriff. However, standing there in the cold, he seemed like a stranger to me.
“Thank you!” I said reaching for his hand.
“No problem,” he replied. “You still have a lot of work to do.”
With that he was gone, in search I’m sure of another snow capped driveway and to help another hapless homeowner. It was the perfect random act of kindness, and I cannot tell you how much we appreciated it. After clearing the front steps, I was done with shoveling and able to get the kids to the park for an afternoon of sledding. Santa Claus himself could not have given our family a nicer present that day.
But I have not forgotten his words. While I’m sure he was referring to the amount of snow left to shovel, I now see the words as something more. They speak to the amount of work each of us has to do every day in performing acts of kindness for our friends, neighbors, and for complete strangers.
So yes, there is still a lot of work to do, but luckily the work of performing random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty is the best work of life. I’m just glad I live in a place where virtual strangers are glad to lend a hand while expecting nothing in return. I am humbled and motivated by this bit of unexpected kindness, and I look forward to the time when I can pass along kindness unexpectedly to someone else.
On Wednesday, ready to take the kids sledding, I backed out of my garage without a care…straight into a deep pile of snow.
Talk about a moment of stupidity! In my foolish haste I forgot to account for the amount of snow that had fallen since my first shoveling the day before and for the snow that had been pushed to the curb by the passing snow plow.
When I went to examine the amount of snow blocking my path, I found a pile of snow that went half way up my thighs.
With the help of my wife, we were able to push and drive the van back into the garage. While we were struggling, though, a silver pickup drove slowly past. It didn’t go far, because by the time I had gotten the van in the garage and had begun shoveling, the truck had returned, this time stopping in front of my house.
I did not recognize the truck or the driver who hopped out, efficiently lowered two aluminum ramps and backed out a large snow blower. Before I could wipe the look of disbelief off my face, the man rammed the oversized scoop into the four foot snow bank, sending a beautiful jet of snow soaring in the street.
The snow was steep and fairly packed, but it was no match for the man and his machine. He pushed in time and again, straining at the handlebars and digging in his feet. The machine did a lot of the work, but I marveled at how this stranger labored so devotedly over my driveway.
I began to shovel the path to our front door. The good Samaritan noticed and waved me aside. In less time than it took me to lift my shovel, he had plowed a double-wide path to our front steps.
He then returned to the driveway, now going back and forth along the width, completely clearing the pavement in front of both doors. Without a pause or a word or even a wave, he then maneuvered his wonderful machine back onto the bed of the pickup truck.
Who was this guy? Could I pay him for his trouble or for his fuel. He’d spent, all told, more than ten minutes revving his machine though a veritable mountain of snow. So I ran and caught him just before he climbed back into the cab of the truck.
“Who are you?” I yelled over the roar of the still running blower, now idling in the back of the truck.
“Don Scott,” he replied. I’d heard the name before and have since learned that he was once our town sheriff. However, standing there in the cold, he seemed like a stranger to me.
“Thank you!” I said reaching for his hand.
“No problem,” he replied. “You still have a lot of work to do.”
With that he was gone, in search I’m sure of another snow capped driveway and to help another hapless homeowner. It was the perfect random act of kindness, and I cannot tell you how much we appreciated it. After clearing the front steps, I was done with shoveling and able to get the kids to the park for an afternoon of sledding. Santa Claus himself could not have given our family a nicer present that day.
But I have not forgotten his words. While I’m sure he was referring to the amount of snow left to shovel, I now see the words as something more. They speak to the amount of work each of us has to do every day in performing acts of kindness for our friends, neighbors, and for complete strangers.
So yes, there is still a lot of work to do, but luckily the work of performing random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty is the best work of life. I’m just glad I live in a place where virtual strangers are glad to lend a hand while expecting nothing in return. I am humbled and motivated by this bit of unexpected kindness, and I look forward to the time when I can pass along kindness unexpectedly to someone else.
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