txsports's blog: "TXSports"

Yogi Berra's Doctoral Dissertation "You're probably wondering, how does a kid from the Hill become a New York Yankee and get in the Hall of Fame? Well, let me tell you something, if it was easy nobody would do it. Nothing is impossible until you make it possible. "Of course, times were different. To be honest, I was born at an early age. Things are much more confiscated now. It seems like a nickel ain't worth a dime anymore. But let me tell you, if the world was perfect, it wouldn't be. Even Napoleon had his Watergate. "You'll make some wrong mistakes along the way, but only the wrong survive. Never put off until tomorrow what you can't do today. Denial isn't just a river in Europe. "Strive for success and remember you won't get what you want unless you want what you get. Some will choose a different path. If they don't want to come along, you can't stop them. Remember, none are so kind as those who will not see. "Keep the faith and follow the Commandments: Do not covet thy neighbor's wife, unless she has nothing else to wear. Treat others before you treat yourself. As Franklin Eleanor Roosevelt once said, 'The only thing you have to fear is beer itself.' "Hold on to your integrity, ladies and gentlemen. It's the one thing you really need to have; if you don't have it, that's why you need it. Work hard to reach your goals, and if you can't reach them, use a ladder. There may come a day when you get hurt and have to miss work. Don't worry, it won't hurt to miss work.

I would call it the West end of town. Fredericksburg starts to trickle out after you get to the Catholic cemetery. I have walked through that cemetery time after time again. Intrigued by the stories, perhaps some long forgotten, of the former citizens of this fine hill country town, or just to seek a quit moment of reflection of what might have been. No matter how many visits, or trips through the tombstones, I find myself constantly pulled to the grave of Raymond Ottmers. To a young man whom death claimed far too early, too far away. To a young man who I never knew, yet I feel, as if I’ve known him all my life. You see, not so long ago; I wanted to be just like him. A country boy born to the parents, of the greatest generation, like so many others, they struggled through the depression just to make ends meet. They witnessed perhaps, history’s greatest struggle in the Allies victory in World War II and then the gallant effort of the United Nations army, consisting mostly of U.S. troop’s trying to stop the flowing red tide of Communism from sweeping over the Korean Peninsula. What would it have been like to grow up as a young boy in Fredericksburg during that time, as our country rolled through these unforgettable changes? Perhaps, I would get up early for that Saturday morning haircut, where all my friends have gathered. If I were lucky, maybe the barber would put a little touch of that warm shaving cream around my ears. A sure sign that I was soon be shaving, passing the threshold, well on my way to becoming a man. Then clamoring down the street, being sure to avoid the weekend shoppers, I’d take a run to the Five and Dime for a soda pop, maybe a Frosties Root Beer or Nehi and two of my favorite comic’s G. I. Combat and Sergeant Rock. And please, just a few minutes in the hardware store to smell the leather and to check out the new fishing poles that just came in this week. Taking all the shortcuts to get back home just in time for Hopalong Cassidy or Gene Autry, followed by Superman and the American way. Would you believe me if I told you Ray, that many of us today claim that “life was much simpler back then”. There seems to be trouble at all the four corners of the globe and we thrive on the daily trash like Anna Nichole, Paris Hilton and Alec Baldwin that the media continues to throw at a somewhat suspecting populace. To the ones who look back in history for guidance in the future could anything ever have been so good? To be snug in your home, in your place, in your time, like some old black and white news reel and then your country came a calling. Vietnam? Have you ever heard of it? Heck no, have you? I can’t even find it on the dang map, but that’s where I’m going… to die. Will you remember me? I played on the hardwood floor of our living room for countless hours, in front of our first RCA, with my own small armies of plastic men and tanks. I would look up from my battles to the battles on the color TV screen as they fought their television war, a million miles away. I’m going to be there as soon as I can, to fight by your side, because I am going to be just like you. Until then, I’ll send you care packages filled with Kool-Aid for your canteens, I know the water is bad over there. How about some of my baseball cards, homemade chocolate chip cookies and yes even, mom’s apple pie. Thanks for the letter with the photo of you in front of your bunker. I carry it with me to show all my friends. By my sophomore year of high school the war for the United States had ended and many hung their heads in shame. Most of our POW’s where coming home, although the name on my MIA bracelet never would. I guess I knew then, that I would never be one of the soldiers that went off to fight “that crazy Asian war”. How quickly life can change. Raymond lost his life in 1967; during the so-called “Summer of Love”. Today you can see a small photo of him, in his uniform, on his tombstone facing the Catholic Cemetery Road. He is an irreproachable guardian of our freedom and his place in time. I can’t ever go by without him seeing me, so I make sure that I stop by for a visit every time I’m in town, just to say thanks. As I walk the streets of your home Ray, I can’t help but notice that the storefronts names and landscapes have seen so many changes. NASA even flew your name to a comet on a three billion mile journey, on the Stardust spacecraft. Can you imagine that? And, we thought Southeast Asia was far away. I don’t know what you thought about being in Nam, maybe you didn’t think it meant much, if it would have any influence on anyone at all or maybe you even questioned if it was worth it. In your peace, know that because of people like you the generational virtues that have made young American men and women believe in the honor, duty and personal sacrifice of defending our unalienable rights have remained true. Raymond Ottmers was what I was sure I would be. I remember Ray. I remember. In memory of, RAYMOND OTTMERS JR Fredericksdburg, TX. (CPL 15 Engineer Co./ Vietnam) Sept 25-1945 Aug 23 - l967 Vietnam Veterans Memorial Panel 25 East, Row 35 “The past and the future meet in the memory of the dead. The sweetest and brightest link in the chain that stretches back over the past, binds us to the dead; and that chain stretches forward to eternity and attaches itself to the living throne of God. In this way death joins on to life; and all that is scared in memory connects itself with all.” George B. Taylor A Virginian’s reflection on the battle of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania 1863

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. 'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in he r 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked As if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware. 'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated'. 'Oh, you're such a good boy', she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?' 'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly. 'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice'. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued. 'The doctor says I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. 'What route would you like me to take?' I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now' We drove in silence to the address she had given me.It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. 'How much do I owe you?' she asked, reaching into her purse. 'Nothing,' I said 'You have to make a living,' she answered. 'There are other passengers,' I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. 'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.' I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL. Thank you, my friend...Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance.

Howard Zinn To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places – and there are so many – where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.