Wiley and Winston, the 'big white dog,' together again

(Forgot to post for a while. My bad...)
From Sunday's TIMES and NEWS-STAR

Most of you won’t remember Winston, who appeared in the newspaper from time to time during the past 10 years or so.

But no steady reader of the paper will forget Wiley Hilburn, your faithful and dependable north Louisiana columnist for decades until he passed away Jan. 16, 2014, at age 75.

That’s 17 months ago. Time is a funny thing.

Winston was an often sleepy but always loyal companion to Wiley and his wife, Kate. It was Kate who sent me a note with the sobering news this week, early Tuesday evening:

“Just wanted you to know that I put Winston to sleep this morning; he had lost use of his back legs and it turned out he had a bone cancer on his spine.”

Winston was a Lab mix, mostly Lab but definitely some “mix.” (I never asked Wiley. Or Winston. Some things you just don’t bring up.) They called him the “big white dog,” which is about as perfect as you can get in description. Winston was all three of those things.

“He never barked,” Kate said. “He smelled good. Expert sleeper and napper. He was comfort to Wiley during his hard times and my companion during mine.”

You think of the truth in that, then multiply it by millions. It should remind us that, among other blessings we should pause daily to think on, we should take at least five minutes just to be thankful for the dogs we have been so lucky to know, much less share life with.

Just the fact that Winston grew old — it definitely was not work or over-activity that did him in — that he could not dodge disease, that the world is short one more loyal companion for a worthy mom, is sad. And someone else will have to make a similar decision and do the right thing — a hard thing — this week. God bless you.

But the upside, at least for Kate, is this: “I’m trying to picture Wiley and Winston,” she said, “piled up on some heavenly couch watching a Cubs game.”

Many of you remember Atlanta-based syndicated columnist Lewis Grizzard, who wrote of his black Lab Catfish often, including when Catfish died. Grizzard passed away 20 years ago this past March — (time is a funny thing) — and the cartoon I remember from that time by Mike Luckovich is of Catfish running through the Pearly Gates to greet his typewriter-toting friend.

I like to think of Wiley doing the same to greet Winston.

I did not spend a lot of time around Winston. Sort of let him have his space on the few times I went out to Wiley and Kate’s house in Choudrant. For one thing, Winston had some girth about him. And he didn’t speak, so he always fooled me into thinking he was some giant silent assassin. And he knew I wasn’t Wiley because I was not in the big chair reading a book or watching the game, which were Wiley’s two main positions. If you could see the chair and the den set-up — lots of books on shelves and cozy but still big enough for a big white dog to maneuver — you’d wonder why Wiley ever bothered to leave the house at all.

Books right there. Sweet chair. Blanket. Remote. Game on. Dog. Is this where we strike up the “Hallelujah Chorus”?

During Wiley’s teenage years, Elvis had his first big hit. (Elvis died 38 years ago this Sunday, by the way. There’s that ‘time’ thing again...) And I loved Elvis/Ebis, but there’s no such thing as “nothin’ but a hound dog,” not if somebody really loves that dog, and not if that dog really loves somebody.
Just to keep you up to speed, before I knew I’d hear from Kate, I went by Wiley’s Tuesday, by his grave, in mid-morning. I parked for a few minutes, Wiley on my left, his Ruston Bearcats practicing football, not more than 100 yards away, behind Wiley and in front of me. I suppose that at about the same time, a few miles east, while sweaty teenagers pushed a sled and coaches blew whistles and life rolled on with all it’s grand possibilities, Kate was bravely taking Winston, a good soldier through Wiley’s sickness and beyond, to the doctor.

I hope that Kate’s wish from earlier came true. And not that it would have mattered so much to Wiley and Winston on this first night back together, but Tuesday night, the Cubs moved 15 games above .500. They beat Milwaukee, 6-3.
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Bad vacation? Maybe. But upon further review. . .

From today's TIMES and NEWS-STAR

Lots of people vacationing this weekend. Toledo Bend. Disney. Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail. And the tank-topped, tattooed crown jewel of the gulf coast, The Redneck Riviera.

Others are just out for the day. Bistineau. Caney. Claiborne or D’Arbonne. Country clubbing it maybe.

And most are having a great time.

But some, those great unwashed, those fortune-forsaken huddled masses yearning to breathe free – preferably in the safety of their own homes --  are on the Vacation From “The Bad Place,” as we used to call it back in Vacation Bible School.

These are vacations like a hospital stay is a vacation. Flat tires, lost luggage, sunburn, sickness, unruly relatives, depressing weather and unforgiveable lines that stretch from where they are to Morehouse Parish.

And you’re paying for every second of it.

These people can’t wait to un-vacation and get back to work, just so they can take a break.

One of the world’s great north Louisiana couples went on a family “vacation” in south Texas last month. Highly and joyfully anticipated.

I can’t tell you their names because that would be indiscreet. (Alice. And Mark.) Since they have not knocked off a fruit stand lately or been arrested for fraud or even gotten a parking ticket, they possibly deserved better.

But when did the Vacation Gods ever play favorites?

Alice filed this report from the road to her Sunday school class in mid-week. Alice did the writing because Mark was unable to write. Or read. Or eat. Or think too straight. I read her email and could almost see the little white flag waving.

“May 27, 2015 – Vacation update.

“Has poured down so lakes and pounds on ranch are overflowing. Thunderstorms so no fishing.

“Mark developed toothache.

“Went to dentist and car got stuck in mud. Had to be towed out by tractor.

“First dentist sent us to Austin for root canal. Tooth is fractured, so sent to oral surgeon. Will have tooth extracted tomorrow.

“Mark is zoned out on pain meds and can barely open his mouth to eat.”

(And then here is my favorite part…)

“But we are glad to have this great family time.”

HA! Of course you can’t tell for sure in an email, but it’s easy to read it like sarcasm. Like Mrs. Lincoln writing to say that “other than that, I really enjoyed the play.”

Here is her second note.

“May 28, 2015 -- Hopefully our adventure is over. Mark has earned a milkshake after this.”

The class teacher who received the note and forwarded it to the class tagged onto its bottom, “Please pray for Mark and Alice as they head home on Sunday.” I suspect everyone did. Hard. And finished with, “Lord, please don’t let any of that happen to me on vacation. If I’m going to get a toothache at Six Flags and if my son is going to vomit on my new shirt while we ride Judge Roy Scream, please make my car not start and all my credit cards get stolen before we leave.”

I saw Mark back at church the next week. All smiles. I told him their vacation had read like an episode of “Survivor.”

But he lit up like the family Christmas tree. He doesn’t laugh loud, he just smiles big, and he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged as if that were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, and said there was nothing to it, not really, that it was so great just seeing everybody, just being with everybody again, toothache or not, rain or not, car stuck in the mud or not. He and Alice had a ball. Can’t wait to go back, he said, still behind that big satisfied smile.

It wasn’t tough luck. Just part of that adventure. And that sounds like our kind of vacation.

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On Fouth of July Week, a peek back and when things worked right

(From Sunday's TIMES and NEWS-STAR)

Louisiana and the Lusitania. Don’t see those two words in the same sentence often.

But on the eve of Fourth of July week and in light of the goings-on at home and in the world, something Louisiana did a century ago served as a bit of fortifying and even reviving news when I read about it recently in “Dead Wake,” a book by everyman historian Erik Larson about the sinking of the British ocean liner Lusitania.

It was 100 years ago last month — May 7, 1915 — that the Lusitania, for a while the largest passenger ship in the world, was torpedoed and sunk by German U-boat U-20. Nearly 1,200 people died, including American citizens. It would be 23 months before the United States would become involved in the actual fighting in World War I.

There are reasons. President Woodrow Wilson was reluctant to go to war, a sentiment that seemed shared by much of America, Larson writes. Of course, no one wants to go jumping into World Wars all over the place. It took the nation almost a year to become galvanized to the prospect that such a fight was inevitable.

But there was plenty of meaningful and telling dialogue in the aftermath of the sinking. Most of it reads as civilized, or the opposite of what you might expect to hear on a news talk show these days. Although the prospect of war was at hand, cooler heads, as they say, prevailed. And later, when America knew it was time, the war was fought, and then quickly won.

In Larson’s research, he came across this, a resolution from the state of Louisiana that Larson said was “refreshing … in light of the rancor in American politics that prevailed at the time I completed this book (2013-14).” It was written less than two weeks after the great liner’s sinking and after such a loss of life which, in retrospect, could likely have been easily avoided had the ocean liner’s captain known what British intelligence knew, which is another story.

From the U.S. National Archives in College Park, Md., here’s the post-Lusitania-sinking resolution from our state:

“Such a crisis as now confronts our country calls for coolness, deliberation, firmness and precision of mind on the part of those entrusted with the power of administration.

“Under the providence of God this country has such a leader in Woodrow Wilson … who with his advisers has shown the temper and courage and great humanity that reflects the sentiment of his loyal countrymen.” Resolution, May 20, 1915, Louisiana Legislature.

Respeck!, the teens might say. Wilson had earned it. And just to hear such phrases as “providence of God” and “loyal countrymen” coming from an American legislature is so rare today that you wonder if it happened at all.

But it did. Such was the norm, when America was a much different place than it is today. Here are words that were broadcast June 6, 1944. Guess who said them:

“Almighty God: Our sons, pride of our nation, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor, a struggle to preserve our Republic, our religion, and our civilization, and to set free a suffering humanity.

“Lead them straight and true...They will need thy blessings...

“And for us at home...help us, Almighty God, to rededicate ourselves in renewed faith in Thee in this hour of great sacrifice...

“Many people have urged that I call the Nation into a single day of special prayer. But because the road is long and the desire is great, I ask that our people devote themselves in a continuance of prayer...And O Lord, give us Faith. Give us Faith in Thee; Faith in our sons; Faith in each other; Faith in our united crusade...With Thy blessing, we shall prevail over the unholy forces of our enemy...Lead us to the saving of our country...”

FDR. On D-Day. A fireside chat. He asked the entire nation, “...join with me in prayer.”

You’ll recall we won. It was in all the papers.

Think about what has changed since then, what’s not allowed, what’s been left out. Think about the news and arguments of the day. It’s not so much the symbols and flags and guns and daily cry for political correctness, which is just making America appear silly and cry “Uncle.” All that’s on the outside. It’s the stuff on the inside that needs fixing. But that involves some sort of personal responsibility, and that’s always the hardest thing to do. It’s easier for me to fight to fix what I think is wrong with you than it is for me to fix what I know is wrong with me.
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'But tonight, I know the people back home in Rayville are watching...'

From today's TIMES and NEWS-STAR

I wasn’t at the induction ceremony the night basketball great Elvin Hayes of Rayville and Eula D. Britton High joined the Class of 1988 in the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame. But I’ve been told.

The Class of 2015 is scheduled for induction Saturday night (June 27) before the biggest crowd in the event’s history. Organizers spent a part of this week planning how to comfortably adjust to the unprecedented response to Induction Weekend and Saturday’s banquet at the Special Events Center in Natchitoches, there on Front Street on the banks of the Cane River, which isn’t really a river.

But then, the banquet hall isn’t really a banquet hall as much as it’s a cozy stadium for the state’s best sports night of the year, one where fans and supporters and families get together and dress up to celebrate excellence demonstrated in an arena of entertainment and competition over a long period of time.

It’s a different kind of night, because you never know when an Elvin Hayes will happen.

An All-American and player of the year at Houston, an All-Star in 12 of his 16 NBA seasons, and a world champion with the Washington Bullets in 1978, Hayes, who played in an era before much cable television, said something really close to this during his happy and humble acceptance speech.

“When we beat UCLA and Lew Alcindor in ’68 before the biggest crowd to ever watch a basketball game at that time, I wondered if the people back home in Rayville were watching,” he said. “When we played in the Final Four and later in the NBA playoffs and finally in ’78 when we won the NBA title against the SuperSonics, even as they were in the locker room pouring champagne on my head and on the trophy, I wondered if the people back home in Rayville were watching…

“But tonight, a reason why this is so special, is I don’t have to wonder. Tonight, I know the people back home in Rayville, and all around Louisiana, are watching.”

Avery “Little General” Johnson, former NBA champ San Antonio Spur, former 5-4 basketball player in high school – he made it all the way to 5-10 – grew up on all the playgrounds that dotted the city, spread in points from the Lafitte Projects in New Orleans liked uneven spokes on the wheels of a bicycle, which is what he pedaled to get to games as a kid. From those asphalt courts he went to world champ, then NBA Coach of the Year in Dallas, and now to the SEC, where he’ll coach Alabama this winter.

But all those courts and moments and awards don’t have quite the pull of the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame, which he’ll join this weekend as a member of the 2015 Class. “This,” he said, “is the top of the line. My roots are still in Louisiana.”

Shaquille O’Neal declared the town “Shaqatish” two years ago during his induction. In 2011, Bobby Hebert performed a 25-minutes (or more?) unplanned comedy routine when introducing his kicking teammate, Morten Andersen. After 15 minutes, Hebert finally said, “Now … about Mort…” Even Andersen wondered if his friend had forgotten about him.

You never know.

You want class? Joe Ferguson was inducted in 1994, three weeks after Buffalo Bills teammate O.J. Simpson’s White Bronco incident. It was in the back of everyone’s mind, of course. At the end of Ferguson’s gracious speech, Hall of Fame Chairman Doug Ireland recalls Joe saying precisely this, while more than 100 of Ferguson’s fellow Woodlawn High of Shreveport alums, teachers, coaches and friends “hung on every syllable”:

“Before I go, I want to share something with you,” Ferguson said. “We’ve all watched the news from Los Angeles, and I’ve been asked about it a lot. I’d like to ask you all for a favor: please pray for my friend O.J.. Thank you very much.”

Stories about the inductees will be on the sports pages all week; I hope they’ll team to make Saturday another night they’ll remember fondly, as they remember big wins or big plays or big friendships they’ve earned or were granted through athletics.

It would be tough to get in with a shoehorn this weekend, but maybe it’s time you planned to go, if you never have been. The Class of 2016 will be announced in the fall. Keep an eye out and think about a weekend in Natchitoches and being part of a once-a-year-night, a night when all the people back home, and all around Louisiana, are watching.

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An new old-fashioned way to get your summer on

From today's TIMES and NEWS-STAR

MountSnow.com

Ready for a mountaintop experience?

In regard to full disclosure, I ask because I know Mike Mitton, who has developed a summer family resort on Mt. Snow in Vermont, a place filled with all sorts of fun things to do in July and August, when your children need a break from multiplication tables and mowing grass and you need a break from wondering how you can take a vacation without actually having to plan one.

I asked Mike, who we call Mitts, why he opened it only last year and not 10 years ago when we were coaching Little League together.

"Because I didn’t figure it all out until last year and because we were coaching Little League together," he said. "For us, that WAS a family vacation.”

He was one of the first people I met and I was one of the first people he met when I moved to Shreveport and he was thinking about moving there and marrying Catherine Watts, who has been Mrs. Mitts since around then, an impossible 30ish years ago. This was before children Michael and Megan, before he started managing golf courses and before he decided to open up a winter ski resort to summertime cross country biking, picnicking, lakeside games and fishing. And golf, naturally. If Mitts and Catherine have a third child, it’s called Mount Snow Family Camp.

“In the wintertime you ski there, but the summer family camp is my brainchild,” Mitts said. “What I wanted to do was offer a week’s vacation and build it similar to the vacations we used to take when we were kids with our families, and make it all inclusive so moms could enjoy it as much as dad and the kids.”

Open from the first week in July through the final week in August and for one price – all the information is at mountsnow.com – the camp provides the snacks and meals, the lodging and the facilities, even the rides to and from town. You are not cut off from civilization – there is WiFi, there are televisions – but when the families are together, cell phones are left behind. The whole point, the theme, is “Unplug and Reconnect.”

“There’s plenty of time for adults to be connected (to the outside world) if necessary at night or in the morning,” Mitts said, “but the thing about Mount Snow is, this is the time to get to know your spouse and kids again.

“The basic way to understand it,” he said, “is that we have the kids in the mornings – we have fully licensed daycare for infants and camp counselors for the bigger kids – and grandma and grandpa or mom and dad can have a chance to do things by themselves: get a massage, go for a bike ride, ride the scenic ski lift. Then after lunch together we go as a family to kayak or ride pontoon boats or hike or swim. But you still have the option of just lying out by your private condo pool. Our goal is to give you as much to do as you can think of doing, but with the option of doing nothing.

“It doesn’t require much thinking; that’s the thing,” Mitts said. “We’ve done all that. That’s what it would be perfect for a guy … well, for a guy like you, for instance.”

Mitts can be a toughlove guy.

Mount Snow is four hours from New York City, 90 minutes from Hartford. Temps are in the low 80s daytime and 50-to-60 after sundown. You can arrive one afternoon and be sitting by a bonfire with a smore and a glass of wine that evening.

“We have family reunions there. We take people in town to shop. We’ll even chair lift you to the top of the mountain so you ride your mountain bike only one way,” Mitts said. “But the neatest thing is seeing the interaction between these families. I’ve looked outside and seen a 16-year-old playing four-square with an 80-year-old. When’s the last time you’ve seen kids and grownups playing Capture the Flag? It’s all about getting disconnected from the routine so you can get connected again.”

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