My Father has been the one to tell me of the passing of everyone ever close to me. I remember vividly as a child when he told me that my Mother's younger sister, my Aunt Mary had passed away. It was the first person I was really close to that had died. While in college, the call came that my childhood friend had died. Then being told of both his parents, first his mother, my Grandma, and then several years later his father, my Grandpa. All conversations have been in his rather matter-of-fact style. Death is a part of life, and his practical approach while perhaps jarring to some is oddly comforting. I was aware a call would be coming soon.
At 3:30 AM April 20th, Dad called to tell me his Wife, my Mother, had passed.
If you are unaware of the situation, please read my previous post about the accident my Mother had suffered a little over a year ago. She has spent the year largely unresponsive and several evaluations had finally confirmed that she was no longer there. It would be only a matter of time and the decision was made to let things pass a natural as possible.
My brother Chris spent the greater part of last year creating a digital archive of all the photos and memories he could find. He presented me a disk drive full of them for Christmas. It took me several weeks to finally sit down and go through them. I knew it would be painful for me.
I was surprised with just how much he managed to find. My Mom never talked much about growing up. It was painful for her. Her own Mother had died when she was only 8 years old. I have very little concept of my Maternal Grandmother, but my Brother had found a photo of her. She appeared to be a lovely woman. I have never been able to comprehend the emotional toll that had to have taken on my Mom.
There was a treasure of memories from her childhood that she had kept squirreled away from us. Again, perhaps they reminded her of hardship, perhaps we just never thought to ask to see them. I do know she struggled greatly with weight. What I believe was her senior picture was my Mother at what was her heaviest. A plain Jane looking uncomfortable with her photo being taken.
A few short years later though show pictures of my Mom at nursing school. The change was dramatic. She had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. There was evidence of more cheerful and confident times with the girls. She has life-long friends from that period of time, and the pictures confirm that this may have been Mom at her prime.
The story of my parents meeting is told with much tongue-in-cheek. The romantic version is that my crossed a crowed dance to my Mother to bravely ask her to dance. The more realistic version is that Mom was seated in the first chair, and Dad was just going to go from gal to gal until someone said yes. Truth be told, I've always been a sucker for the romantic version. I believe Dad was taken by the striking lady, and the most confident decision he ever made was to become his whole life.
Mom lost her father before my Dad was ever able to meet him. I only have one real photo reference of him. He looked much older than he was. Hardships had obviously weathered him greatly. Mom has never spoke of him much at all.
Their wedding was by far not the type of affair we put on today. It was a simple Catholic Mass followed by a small reception in the church hall with refreshments. Mom appears so angelic in these photos. Quiet. Peaceful.
My parents life came together in a series of photos of the house I grew up in being built. Then sharing the new house with friends. There is evidence of parties that happened. I often wonder if my girls will ever be able to wrap their head around the fact that my wife and I had a vibrant life well before they came along. I know I sometimes wonder about my parents.
Then us boys come along. My Mom was cursed with boys. She desired to have a little girl, but was denied on three tries. All new parents love noting more than capturing as many moments as possible. This is where Mom tends to disappear from the photos however. She was the family photographer. There are actually few photos of my Mom and I together in my formative years.
My older Brother David was a challenge. He has never been classified with anything concrete, other than to say he was developmentally challenged. My parents did what they could to raise us the same, but there always was an overarching concern with David. Knowing what I do about motherhood now, I can't imagine how Mom dealt with it it. We had to go into Cleveland once a week for David to talk with a psychologist. Half the session was one-on-one with David, with the other half being just with my Mom to learn and understand what David had said. David had a way of referring to her as Mother, with an authoritative and antagonistic tone. But David was Mom's big baby. David will never be able to able to live on his own, and Mom was just fine with that. She liked having him home with her.
My younger brother Chris was Mom's real baby. He was born 7 years after me. Mom was able to really enjoy having this baby. We all did as a matter of fact. Mom started to appear in more photos as I was able to start taking more. Both Chris and David have a different relationship with Mom. Even as grown men, they still aren't afraid to lay their heads in her lap. I can't tell you the last time I did that.
The next 15 years are photos of vacations and life events. Mom never appears in these either, because she again was mainly the photographer. She never overly expressed herself. She would quietly observe our achievements. But she was always proud. Making Mom laugh was a triumph. Making Mom tear up meant you really impressed her. I longed for both.
Us boys are terrible. Granted, nobody is safe in our house from the near constant teasing. Mom got her share. Whether is was referencing the perpetual frown that seemed to have aged to her face, or the high-pitched "meh" sound of disgust we would use to imitate her. There are several photos captured of her unapproving glare from the top of her glass frames.
I put my Mom through heartache. One of her great disappointments in me is that I did not embrace the church. Her faith is what got her through a great deal of life's hardships. I did not find the same solace in prayer as she did. I had a great personal struggle through my twenties and early thirties. I know she thought about me often. She wanted me to have the opportunity to get married and give her grandbabies. I put her through one wedding and marriage that failed within a year. At least we got married in the Catholic church, but I ignored her pleas to apply for an annulment. The second marriage stuck, but that was not held in a Catholic Church against her greater preference.
Mom just liked having us home. Of course when we came to visit she would have time to talk to us, but for the most part we would not interrupt her daily routine. She would spend the night in front of the television doing her daily crossword, but she would rather you be sitting in the room with her than going out and doing something else.
Grandbabies did eventually come. Mom was the only person I confided in when we first found out we were going to have Mia. She was the first person I called after Mia was born. I declared myself son of the year because I finally was able to bring an Ireland girl into the family. Heck, I even introduced one more a couple years later. I adore the moments I captured her with my girls. Mom adored being with them and hearing about them. Out of all the heartache I have of her passing, the fact that they were cheated time with her is what weighs on me most.
There are moments of Mom's life that have never been captured. There are no photos of her dedicating her life and career as a nurse. She worked for decades in the one place she told us she never wanted to end up - a nursing home. Her job was caring for souls in the last days of their lives. It had to get to her more often than not, yet she had to come home and be Mom when we needed her. As I write this I feel like there continues to be so much of my Mother that I don't know. Perhaps that is by design, I'm not sure I want my own children to know of my own personal struggles and fears.
The last time I got to spend with my Mother was well documented. It was Christmas, which will always be my favorite time spent with family. Mom was always such a large part of that. This was such a good Christmas, as the girls were both old enough to really charge everyone with excitement for the day. Every day is a blessing, but if this was to be the last time I got to choose to spend with anyone, it would be around the holidays.
As she walked out the door to head back home, my last words to her were the important words you should always be able to end every interaction with.
I love you Mom.
Friday, April 22, 2016
Monday, June 1, 2015
My Mom
I haven’t really discussed this openly at all, but my family has been going through a terrible time over the course of the year.
Back in January I got a call from my Dad from across the world. The worst possible nightmare scenario had happened while my parents were on a cruise in Australia. My Mother had taken a fall while getting out of bed, and had hit her head badly. She had to be life flighted from the hotel they were staying at to a hospital nearly an hour away. She would be rushed to surgery to relieve a massive amount of bleeding on her brain. My Mom remained in a coma for a couple weeks before awaking. And by awaking, I mean that she was opening her eyes, and giving basic responses. The doctors remained somewhat upbeat, but were cautious that it would take time before we would know how well Mom would pull through. A special medical flight had to be arranged to at least get my parents back stateside. In total they were in Australia for 6 additional weeks.
It is surreal knowing that you have a loved one suffering on the other side of the planet. In situations like this there is nothing you can do, but there is even less to do if you can’t physically be there. The time change made it even harder to speak to my Dad or the doctors, or staff.
Upon finally making back to the Cleveland area Mom was moved to a nursing facility. She would begin a course of physical therapy that would hopefully begin to trigger brain functions and get her back to a point that she would no longer need to rely on the breathing and feeding tubes. The doctors remained cautious, and continued to advise that it would take time before we would see signs of progress.
What was known at this point was that the fall wasn’t a random event. Several of us had noted that Mom had been struggling for quite some time. She was having trouble finishing thoughts. She often trailed off mid-sentence when talking to her. She was also having a little trouble getting around. The doctors theorized that while the fall had done a great deal of damage there was something else that had triggered it.
I’m not afraid to confess that I was terrified of going to see Mom the first time. Hearing about the bad news was bad enough but experiencing it was something I dreaded. As prepared as I thought I was, it was still painful to see her lying there in the state she was in. My Mom looked as if she had aged 20 years. She was frail and colorless, and the because of the surgery she was missing half of hair. Dad had informed me that most of the time Mom was in a sleeping state. She did awaken while I was there. She gazed at me with a thousand foot stare. I’ve struggled with this stare ever since, because it was so void of expression. It only lasted a few minutes and she returned to her sleep. I tried so hard to keep talking to her, as if nothing was really wrong. One never really stops to think about how hard it is to fill minutes of a one-sided conversation. A doctor came in to check on her. He was cautious in his words, and advised that it would take time before we might see any sign of progress.
The problem is that Mom wasn’t showing signs of progress. If anything she was taken several steps back. At one point she was communicating by nods and reacting to people. Now she is not. Dad had noticed several weeks ago that she was no longer being taken to physical therapy. He was told basically that she just wasn’t responding and therefore they had stopped. For reasons I’m still not clear she was also rushed to the main hospital for several days. The nursing staff have noted that she was not the same upon her return. My Brother Chris and his wife had flown in over Memorial Day weekend from Texas. He was able to take some time and finally sit down with my Dad and the the doctors to discuss what the future is.
Time has passed and the reality is that Mom is not going to get better.
Mom was most likely suffering from a type of Hydrocephalus, which is a condition in which there is too much spinal fluid in the ventricles. This occurs when the natural system for draining and absorbing extra spinal fluid does not work right. The ventricles enlarge to accommodate the extra fluid and then press on different parts of the brain, causing a number of different symptoms including loss of cognitive functions and physical stability. This is what most likely caused the fall. The brain trauma cause by the fall is what caused the coma, and continued vegetative state. According to the doctor my Brother and Father spoke to, the chances were only about 10% that Mom would recover really any normal functioning again.
For now, this is the new normal. My Mother is alive but she is hardly living. The Doctor is using terms like “doing what is best to keep her comfortable.” You don’t need to read into that too far to understand what that means.
I ache for my father who was not only physically stranded in a foreign country, but he is now all but personally stranded. My parents have never been openly social people. They have friends, but they have largely existed for and with each other. My Father is only 10 years removed from losing his parents, and now he has all but lost his wife. He is not one to express feelings, but the grief has been palpable at times. We’re so terrible to him all the time about the surface level strengths he lacks, but his true character strength comes in the form of the gentle and kind man who has hardly left her side through this.
I ache for my girls. My oldest is at least old enough to have a memory of her, but my youngest will never really know one of her Grandmas. My dear Mia is just starting to figure out the fragility of life, and her empathy is stronger now than it may ever will be. She knows Grandma is in the hospital, but I have no way of expressing to her that she may never see her again. I don’t want her last memory of her loving Grandma to be of the frail unresponsive person in that hospital bed. Mom wanted grandchildren so badly. I had them so late in my life, it just isn’t fair that neither got to enjoy each other more.
And I’m just aching. I don’t really know how to process this all. I’m guilty that so much more in my life is happening that is completely meaningless. I feel I should do more, but yet there is nothing more I can do. I feel frozen in indecision. I spent this past weekend archiving photos that have been sitting on the craft table for nearly ten years. Each year of them all anchored by Christmas, which I was blessed to have all but one spent with my Mother. We used to give her such grief about how grumpy she could get around the Holidays. It is terrible of me to just now notice how beaming her smile is with all her children present.
I need no doctor to inform me of this - in the end, I guess it is going to take time...
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Glow
“Did you see the glow?” asked the obnoxious man.
As a gift to my wife on this Valentine’s Day, I want to tell all of you about the glow. I first heard of the glow from the above mentioned guy, who was a co-worker of my ex-wife. Yes, in order to sufficiently tell this tale justice I must include my ex-wife. You all probably know the type of guy I am talking about. As loud and unattractive as the tropical shirts he insists on wearing as his casual clothing in Ohio. I couldn’t of hated her company functions more – a gathering of people who could barely stand each other enough to be polite during the work day. This guy was usually holding court somewhere making some person’s life miserable in his boisterous attempts at jocular humor. I become his target at one such event when he asked if I had seen the glow around my wife when I met her the first time.
Now let’s be clear about his own situation. His wife was one of those women who was angry at the world for the poor hand she was dealt in life. She was unattractive from the inside out, as nothing had ever gone her way. She especially didn’t win a prize with her marriage to this goof. How could I believe he looked at this miserable creature and seen a shimmering ray of light. This same guy who if given the opportunity, would have made himself available to my wife had she offered. I completely disregarded his assertion that there was such a thing. The fact was I didn’t see a glow around my ex. I’m not saying this to be petty. I just didn’t. The most I ever found was a sparkle or two, which I felt was enough at the time.
It somewhat pains me to admit that this guy was indeed correct. I did finally see the glow. It was just on another woman. A woman who arrived to one of our theater dinners as an invited guest. She arrived just after we had finished our dinner, almost out of nowhere. I had never crossed paths with her before. She was strikingly attractive standing before us in her shapely green dress. I was so taken by her. There it was. The glow. Anne-Marie Murphy was the only thing I remember about that evening.
Anne-Marie will be quick to tell you she has no recollection of me being at that table. I was indeed wearing the cloak of marriage that night. Let me be clear, I chose to do nothing about it at that time. I was, after all, devoted to the idea of being a devoted husband. It was fortunate then that my wife decided that she was the one that would explore infidelity later on that summer. Her decision to end our marriage was indeed for the better. The fates being kind, I was soon to cross paths with Anne-Marie again a few short months later.
That gal of mine still shines for me. Her light has been my guide over these years. I am blessed to have found the glow. I know just how elusive it can be, but I hope most of you have seen it yourself.
Happy Valentine’s Day
As a gift to my wife on this Valentine’s Day, I want to tell all of you about the glow. I first heard of the glow from the above mentioned guy, who was a co-worker of my ex-wife. Yes, in order to sufficiently tell this tale justice I must include my ex-wife. You all probably know the type of guy I am talking about. As loud and unattractive as the tropical shirts he insists on wearing as his casual clothing in Ohio. I couldn’t of hated her company functions more – a gathering of people who could barely stand each other enough to be polite during the work day. This guy was usually holding court somewhere making some person’s life miserable in his boisterous attempts at jocular humor. I become his target at one such event when he asked if I had seen the glow around my wife when I met her the first time.
Now let’s be clear about his own situation. His wife was one of those women who was angry at the world for the poor hand she was dealt in life. She was unattractive from the inside out, as nothing had ever gone her way. She especially didn’t win a prize with her marriage to this goof. How could I believe he looked at this miserable creature and seen a shimmering ray of light. This same guy who if given the opportunity, would have made himself available to my wife had she offered. I completely disregarded his assertion that there was such a thing. The fact was I didn’t see a glow around my ex. I’m not saying this to be petty. I just didn’t. The most I ever found was a sparkle or two, which I felt was enough at the time.
It somewhat pains me to admit that this guy was indeed correct. I did finally see the glow. It was just on another woman. A woman who arrived to one of our theater dinners as an invited guest. She arrived just after we had finished our dinner, almost out of nowhere. I had never crossed paths with her before. She was strikingly attractive standing before us in her shapely green dress. I was so taken by her. There it was. The glow. Anne-Marie Murphy was the only thing I remember about that evening.
Anne-Marie will be quick to tell you she has no recollection of me being at that table. I was indeed wearing the cloak of marriage that night. Let me be clear, I chose to do nothing about it at that time. I was, after all, devoted to the idea of being a devoted husband. It was fortunate then that my wife decided that she was the one that would explore infidelity later on that summer. Her decision to end our marriage was indeed for the better. The fates being kind, I was soon to cross paths with Anne-Marie again a few short months later.
That gal of mine still shines for me. Her light has been my guide over these years. I am blessed to have found the glow. I know just how elusive it can be, but I hope most of you have seen it yourself.
Happy Valentine’s Day
Friday, December 30, 2011
Crappy New Year
I’ve never really enjoyed New Year’s Eve all that much. I’ve actually never done much on it, except over the last few years spent with my wife (who I’ve never missed one with). Going by the traditional means of celebration, I’ve only straddled the years inebriated and lip-locked only a handful of times. Most often it is hardly ever been memorable.
I had one really lousy evening way back when I was 13 or 14. There was a neighbor down the street that felt that she had the perfect opportunity for me. She was involved with catering and had arranged for me to be the coat room attendant at a local hotel who was offering a New Year’s Eve dinning and party package. I would be paid nothing but tips, but she assured me that this would be a windfall of cash. With over 300 people attending, I would be laughing all the way to the bank. Let’s just say if I got a dollar a coat, that would have been an unimaginable amount of cash at that age. I was seeing green.
I was dropped off in the early evening and was given a run-down of the structure of the event. I was ushered to a meager closet in the main hall just inside the lobby door. I was provided a small basket to collect my bounty. The wait staff would pass by every now and then, each with their own prognostication of future riches. I grinned with green.
People started to make their way in a steady stream. I took jackets and provided little number slips that matched the numbered hangars behind me. People were genial, but not overly effusive in praise for my efforts. The tip basket sat empty. The neighbor lady breezed by right before dinner to check on me. I must of expressed some sort of concern about the lack of green so far. She thought it would be best to get the pile started with her own donation of a dollar or two. This would act as a gentle reminder.
I sat at my post as the party carried on in the ballroom. The volume rose considerably with each passing hour. Canned dinner music, gave way to canned ballroom dancing music. The mummer of polite conversation morphed into laughter that got more uproarious as we neared midnight. This was really the first time that I witnessed people getting drunk en masse. The hallway remained somewhat quiet though, with my only company being those going back and forth from the restroom.
Midnight approached and party hats and noise makers were distributed. The countdown began and 10 seconds later there was was cheering followed by the standard mummering of auld lang syne. Some of the more square guests immediately made their way to my station. The cash explosion was about to commence.
I handed out about ten coats and noted that there wasn’t a single piece of currency placed in the basket. Was I supposed to ask folks for a tip? How hard was I supposed to work for this? As I began to ponder what further actions I needed to take, a disturbance happened down the hall. A loud siren began to blare. Somebody had just pulled the fire alarm.
Hotel employees began urging people to vacate the building. This of course being January, nobody wanted to go outside without their coat. A huge crush of people attacked my booth. Numbered tickets started being thrown at me with folks identifying their belongings on the rack behind me. I was easily overwhelmed, and I just started grabbing coats and throwing them to whoever was taking them. This was NOT a polite crowd. These were lonely people with no other places to go, who just overpaid for a crappy meal, a sip of champagne, and plastic noisemaker. The clock had struck midnight. There was no reason to stick around. Let’s start off the New Year harassing a frazzled teenager behind a half door.
The place cleared out, and I was still left behind the door a few feet away from an annoyed fireman who was more than miffed that people hadn’t evacuated faster. I guess had there actually been a fire, I would have been a goner. The fireman asked me if I had seen who pulled the alarm, being that it was only a couple yards away from where I sat. I told him I heard more than I saw. The fireman declared the building safe and a few folks came back in. Most had left though. I finally looked at my basket, And not a single person left anything.
The last few hours of my year in a mothball smelling closet, and all I had to show for it was the lousy 2 bucks that was placed as seed money. I was more than defeated. The neighbor lady at least noted my situation, and went around to the entire catering staff and asked for folks to pitch in. These kind folks actually pulled $30 together. I wasn’t going to leave empty handed after all.
I think my Dad had actually planned on me bringing home much more as well. He had already decided, without my input, that this money was going directly into my stale savings account. He got it in his head that they were going to take what little I had in there if I didn’t create some activity. Granted, $30 wasn’t going to be the root cause any great account stability. He informed me of his plan, and I told him I understood his concern, but I wanted at least half of it. After such a crappy evening, I felt I deserved something. Hiding it in the bank is not earning to a young man.
I went with my Dad to the bank, he went up to the counter, made the transaction, and we left. I asked him for my half. He said nothing. It was at this point that I realized he had placed the entire amount in my savings account. I’m not sure why he thought he would just get away with this. We got home and I tearfully told my Mom of his devious action. She made him march right on up to his cash stash in his sock drawer and give me $30 out of his pocket. His nature being tight with money, this was a great penalty for his deception.
So in a sense I made $60, which in all reality was a quite a sum for me back then. I’m sure I blew most of it on fast food.
Happy New Year. I hope your year ends better than this example.
I had one really lousy evening way back when I was 13 or 14. There was a neighbor down the street that felt that she had the perfect opportunity for me. She was involved with catering and had arranged for me to be the coat room attendant at a local hotel who was offering a New Year’s Eve dinning and party package. I would be paid nothing but tips, but she assured me that this would be a windfall of cash. With over 300 people attending, I would be laughing all the way to the bank. Let’s just say if I got a dollar a coat, that would have been an unimaginable amount of cash at that age. I was seeing green.
I was dropped off in the early evening and was given a run-down of the structure of the event. I was ushered to a meager closet in the main hall just inside the lobby door. I was provided a small basket to collect my bounty. The wait staff would pass by every now and then, each with their own prognostication of future riches. I grinned with green.
People started to make their way in a steady stream. I took jackets and provided little number slips that matched the numbered hangars behind me. People were genial, but not overly effusive in praise for my efforts. The tip basket sat empty. The neighbor lady breezed by right before dinner to check on me. I must of expressed some sort of concern about the lack of green so far. She thought it would be best to get the pile started with her own donation of a dollar or two. This would act as a gentle reminder.
I sat at my post as the party carried on in the ballroom. The volume rose considerably with each passing hour. Canned dinner music, gave way to canned ballroom dancing music. The mummer of polite conversation morphed into laughter that got more uproarious as we neared midnight. This was really the first time that I witnessed people getting drunk en masse. The hallway remained somewhat quiet though, with my only company being those going back and forth from the restroom.
Midnight approached and party hats and noise makers were distributed. The countdown began and 10 seconds later there was was cheering followed by the standard mummering of auld lang syne. Some of the more square guests immediately made their way to my station. The cash explosion was about to commence.
I handed out about ten coats and noted that there wasn’t a single piece of currency placed in the basket. Was I supposed to ask folks for a tip? How hard was I supposed to work for this? As I began to ponder what further actions I needed to take, a disturbance happened down the hall. A loud siren began to blare. Somebody had just pulled the fire alarm.
Hotel employees began urging people to vacate the building. This of course being January, nobody wanted to go outside without their coat. A huge crush of people attacked my booth. Numbered tickets started being thrown at me with folks identifying their belongings on the rack behind me. I was easily overwhelmed, and I just started grabbing coats and throwing them to whoever was taking them. This was NOT a polite crowd. These were lonely people with no other places to go, who just overpaid for a crappy meal, a sip of champagne, and plastic noisemaker. The clock had struck midnight. There was no reason to stick around. Let’s start off the New Year harassing a frazzled teenager behind a half door.
The place cleared out, and I was still left behind the door a few feet away from an annoyed fireman who was more than miffed that people hadn’t evacuated faster. I guess had there actually been a fire, I would have been a goner. The fireman asked me if I had seen who pulled the alarm, being that it was only a couple yards away from where I sat. I told him I heard more than I saw. The fireman declared the building safe and a few folks came back in. Most had left though. I finally looked at my basket, And not a single person left anything.
The last few hours of my year in a mothball smelling closet, and all I had to show for it was the lousy 2 bucks that was placed as seed money. I was more than defeated. The neighbor lady at least noted my situation, and went around to the entire catering staff and asked for folks to pitch in. These kind folks actually pulled $30 together. I wasn’t going to leave empty handed after all.
I think my Dad had actually planned on me bringing home much more as well. He had already decided, without my input, that this money was going directly into my stale savings account. He got it in his head that they were going to take what little I had in there if I didn’t create some activity. Granted, $30 wasn’t going to be the root cause any great account stability. He informed me of his plan, and I told him I understood his concern, but I wanted at least half of it. After such a crappy evening, I felt I deserved something. Hiding it in the bank is not earning to a young man.
I went with my Dad to the bank, he went up to the counter, made the transaction, and we left. I asked him for my half. He said nothing. It was at this point that I realized he had placed the entire amount in my savings account. I’m not sure why he thought he would just get away with this. We got home and I tearfully told my Mom of his devious action. She made him march right on up to his cash stash in his sock drawer and give me $30 out of his pocket. His nature being tight with money, this was a great penalty for his deception.
So in a sense I made $60, which in all reality was a quite a sum for me back then. I’m sure I blew most of it on fast food.
Happy New Year. I hope your year ends better than this example.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Random Acts of Elementary School
I had a conversation recently with a gal that went to school with my brother. She was 7-8 years behind me, but we were still able to share a few memories about our time at Hopkins Elementary School. I’m somewhat amazed at the odd things I still remember. Granted, I have my share of painful grade school memories, but I also seem to have an archive of slightly amusing events that have stuck with me. These are in no particular order of importance or timeline.
I asked Amy Gaking to marry during recess in second grade. Her response haunted me for years – “No, because I don’t want my tummy cut.” Her mother had apparently had a C-section and she associated this with marriage.
John Filidoro used to wander about singing “We all live in a pink jellybean,” sung to the Beatles Yellow Submarine. Amy Gaking really liked the “Hello Cleveland” commercial jingle for Channel 5. She would sing it constantly, and also wrote a song “Hello Birdie” to the same tune. She made Wendy Ferguson sing it with her in front of the class on day.
In a fit of frustration, Wendy Ferguson once called John Filidoro – Filofat. Sure there were countless awful things we said to each other, but this one just struck me as funny.
Prior to recess one day Mr. Hanlon sat at his desk and would not respond positively to anyone’s request for the coveted playground ball. One by one we went around the room with each kid asking, “Can I have the ball.” The thought was there was obviously some sort of favoritism being enforced. It wasn’t until Kathy Anderson asked nearly 10 minutes later, “May I take out the ball,” that he responded “Yes.”
It was rumored that Mr. Hanlon had a wooden leg. Evidence of this fact has never been presented to me personally.
I always heard “You” class as “U” class – which confused me. You class was our introduction to puberty. Brian Bird painted a much clearer picture for me to understand when he asked, “When do we get to see the naked lady movie.”
Ms. Logan was a huge Charlie Brown Christmas fan. She wanted to show it to us in class one day. She set the school VCR (this was one of those early HUGE top loading tape deck models) to record it the night it was broadcast. The next day, she admitted to us that there was some sort of recording error. What she ended up with was Michael Jackson’s Thriller video, at the time, was the hottest thing running on MTV. She decided to let us watch it, which launched her well into the coolest teacher ever status.
Jenny Krysiak wore pointed steel tipped boots and would threaten to kick us boys in the crotch if we bothered her. I’m not sure if she ever tagged anyone, but I’m going to say Chris Babbitt was possibly closest to being on the receiving end.
Bill Mendelsohn would eat his lunch, and then proceed to eat the brown paper bag.
One side of the playground the cooler boys played football. On the other side the brainier kids played Dungeons and Dragons. I played neither, so I’m not even sure what I did on the playground.
A magician visited one afternoon to give a performance for the entire school. He asked for a volunteer and we all raised our hands in riotous fashion. He brought Doug Truesdail, a very soft-spoken somewhat shy young man, to the stage for his trick. He explained that Doug would essentially be placed in a guillotine. His trick was that he would take one of those huge magician blades and shove it down through this apparatus that had Doug’s head sticking out. It is at this point that a lesser grade school boy –i.e. me - would have turned into a sobbing mess and literally run from the stage. We all sat frozen in silent fear that we may actually witness Doug’s head come rolling down off the stage. Doug did not cry or protest. His face got really red, but he did what the magician asked him to do. Obviously the blade did not cut Doug’s head off, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. To this day, I consider this single act to be one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.
It was decided that Hopkins Elementary needed a mascot, despite the fact of having no organized team sports. We were presented with a series of names and designs to vote on as a school. Now I don’t remember all of them, but one of the selections was... I kid you not... the Hopkins Hooters. It was represented with an image of an Owl… not unlike the logo for Hooters restaurant. Had us dumb kids known better, we may not have selected the Hornets.
Mr. Overbaugh would literally sit there and have us do nothing for long periods of time. In 4th grade, the classes were separated as the smart kids and the dumb kids… and he got the dumb kids… including myself. This was most likely because he was a terrible teacher. Years later he married my third grade teacher Ms. O’Malley.
The only time I was sent to the principal’s office was when I called Jeff Vosen an asshole (what can I say, it was true). I was rumored that kids still were paddled by the “Board of Education,” so naturally I feared the worst. I sobbed through the whole visit, but I was never really in danger of said punishment.
We were taught square dancing specifically for six grade camp, which was very much forced interaction between us boys and girls. I also remember not showering the whole week out of fear of knuckleheads finding some sort of issue with my naked body that would scar me for life. The boys from the band that played trumpet/coronet got to go over to the girl’s camp to play Taps every night. We naturally thought that them girls would be running amok in their underthings. They weren’t.
I always had the crappier teacher, or ay least I felt that way. For example - the other 3rd grade class taught by Ms. Bruno (her first name was Star!), put did their own version of the Nutcracker. Brian Bosley played the title character. We were told not to snicker when the boys had to dance. I remember felling left out of this performance.
We always heralded pizza day – but the little flat flavorless sponge with maybe two pepperoni was just plain gross.
It didn’t matter what kind of event it was – class party, field trip, Cub Scout meeting, etc. - but Matt Love’s Mom was always the volunteer parent. She was at our school so much, she was practically on the payroll. I still wish my Mom had volunteered more.
Scott Morman signed his name with his initials SAM.
We had a high jump contest in gym class. We narrowed the whole class down to just Melanie Skolny and I. I remember it being a moment that I was finally good at something, especially something considered a sport. All the guys were cheering for me to beat the girl. I lost.
We had some sort of class project that dealt with economy. Play money was distributed and we were to team up and run our own businesses. Mike Scott and I did a newspaper – the Hanlonville Weekly. I don’t have any idea what we wrote about but I do remember drawing a pretty good caricature of Mr. Hanlon.
Our school had this big festival, and with it an art contest to design a poster to promote it. Since art was the only thing I was good at, there was no reason I couldn’t win this. I put together a very intricate poster filled with the necessary information and my own characters enjoying their own carnival. I lost to this red headed kid (whose name escapes me) who just drew a big Garfield. This led to a future of runner-up/second place statuses.
At one of our chorus shows, I got to sing the Donald Duck part of the Mickey Mouse Club theme song. I remember Brian Arbough being particularly put out by this.
I asked Amy Gaking to marry during recess in second grade. Her response haunted me for years – “No, because I don’t want my tummy cut.” Her mother had apparently had a C-section and she associated this with marriage.
John Filidoro used to wander about singing “We all live in a pink jellybean,” sung to the Beatles Yellow Submarine. Amy Gaking really liked the “Hello Cleveland” commercial jingle for Channel 5. She would sing it constantly, and also wrote a song “Hello Birdie” to the same tune. She made Wendy Ferguson sing it with her in front of the class on day.
In a fit of frustration, Wendy Ferguson once called John Filidoro – Filofat. Sure there were countless awful things we said to each other, but this one just struck me as funny.
Prior to recess one day Mr. Hanlon sat at his desk and would not respond positively to anyone’s request for the coveted playground ball. One by one we went around the room with each kid asking, “Can I have the ball.” The thought was there was obviously some sort of favoritism being enforced. It wasn’t until Kathy Anderson asked nearly 10 minutes later, “May I take out the ball,” that he responded “Yes.”
It was rumored that Mr. Hanlon had a wooden leg. Evidence of this fact has never been presented to me personally.
I always heard “You” class as “U” class – which confused me. You class was our introduction to puberty. Brian Bird painted a much clearer picture for me to understand when he asked, “When do we get to see the naked lady movie.”
Ms. Logan was a huge Charlie Brown Christmas fan. She wanted to show it to us in class one day. She set the school VCR (this was one of those early HUGE top loading tape deck models) to record it the night it was broadcast. The next day, she admitted to us that there was some sort of recording error. What she ended up with was Michael Jackson’s Thriller video, at the time, was the hottest thing running on MTV. She decided to let us watch it, which launched her well into the coolest teacher ever status.
Jenny Krysiak wore pointed steel tipped boots and would threaten to kick us boys in the crotch if we bothered her. I’m not sure if she ever tagged anyone, but I’m going to say Chris Babbitt was possibly closest to being on the receiving end.
Bill Mendelsohn would eat his lunch, and then proceed to eat the brown paper bag.
One side of the playground the cooler boys played football. On the other side the brainier kids played Dungeons and Dragons. I played neither, so I’m not even sure what I did on the playground.
A magician visited one afternoon to give a performance for the entire school. He asked for a volunteer and we all raised our hands in riotous fashion. He brought Doug Truesdail, a very soft-spoken somewhat shy young man, to the stage for his trick. He explained that Doug would essentially be placed in a guillotine. His trick was that he would take one of those huge magician blades and shove it down through this apparatus that had Doug’s head sticking out. It is at this point that a lesser grade school boy –i.e. me - would have turned into a sobbing mess and literally run from the stage. We all sat frozen in silent fear that we may actually witness Doug’s head come rolling down off the stage. Doug did not cry or protest. His face got really red, but he did what the magician asked him to do. Obviously the blade did not cut Doug’s head off, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. To this day, I consider this single act to be one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.
It was decided that Hopkins Elementary needed a mascot, despite the fact of having no organized team sports. We were presented with a series of names and designs to vote on as a school. Now I don’t remember all of them, but one of the selections was... I kid you not... the Hopkins Hooters. It was represented with an image of an Owl… not unlike the logo for Hooters restaurant. Had us dumb kids known better, we may not have selected the Hornets.
Mr. Overbaugh would literally sit there and have us do nothing for long periods of time. In 4th grade, the classes were separated as the smart kids and the dumb kids… and he got the dumb kids… including myself. This was most likely because he was a terrible teacher. Years later he married my third grade teacher Ms. O’Malley.
The only time I was sent to the principal’s office was when I called Jeff Vosen an asshole (what can I say, it was true). I was rumored that kids still were paddled by the “Board of Education,” so naturally I feared the worst. I sobbed through the whole visit, but I was never really in danger of said punishment.
We were taught square dancing specifically for six grade camp, which was very much forced interaction between us boys and girls. I also remember not showering the whole week out of fear of knuckleheads finding some sort of issue with my naked body that would scar me for life. The boys from the band that played trumpet/coronet got to go over to the girl’s camp to play Taps every night. We naturally thought that them girls would be running amok in their underthings. They weren’t.
I always had the crappier teacher, or ay least I felt that way. For example - the other 3rd grade class taught by Ms. Bruno (her first name was Star!), put did their own version of the Nutcracker. Brian Bosley played the title character. We were told not to snicker when the boys had to dance. I remember felling left out of this performance.
We always heralded pizza day – but the little flat flavorless sponge with maybe two pepperoni was just plain gross.
It didn’t matter what kind of event it was – class party, field trip, Cub Scout meeting, etc. - but Matt Love’s Mom was always the volunteer parent. She was at our school so much, she was practically on the payroll. I still wish my Mom had volunteered more.
Scott Morman signed his name with his initials SAM.
We had a high jump contest in gym class. We narrowed the whole class down to just Melanie Skolny and I. I remember it being a moment that I was finally good at something, especially something considered a sport. All the guys were cheering for me to beat the girl. I lost.
We had some sort of class project that dealt with economy. Play money was distributed and we were to team up and run our own businesses. Mike Scott and I did a newspaper – the Hanlonville Weekly. I don’t have any idea what we wrote about but I do remember drawing a pretty good caricature of Mr. Hanlon.
Our school had this big festival, and with it an art contest to design a poster to promote it. Since art was the only thing I was good at, there was no reason I couldn’t win this. I put together a very intricate poster filled with the necessary information and my own characters enjoying their own carnival. I lost to this red headed kid (whose name escapes me) who just drew a big Garfield. This led to a future of runner-up/second place statuses.
At one of our chorus shows, I got to sing the Donald Duck part of the Mickey Mouse Club theme song. I remember Brian Arbough being particularly put out by this.
Friday, December 23, 2011
A Merry Christmas Carol
I’ve been reading The Annotated Christmas Carol, the Charles Dickens classic with an introduction and notes by Michael Patrick Hearn. Yes, I’m actually reading something academic without the need of pictures and word bubbles. This is an impressively researched volume of work with the introduction itself nearly twice as long as the original text. This was actually a gift to me from last Christmas, but I’ve been saving it to read prior to this holiday.
I’ve always loved A Christmas Carol, and the countless interpretations and performances I’ve seen. I remember the George C. Scott television movie as being somewhat big event in our household when it was on. One of those rare occasions where we were allowed to stay up late to watch it. There have been all sorts of character adaptions from Mickey Mouse to the Muppets. There was even this strange Mr. Magoo version I have memories of. The Alastair Sim version is sitting on my DVR as I write this. I’ve seen many staged versions, my favorite being the one done here in Cincinnati at Playhouse in the Park. Oddly enough, I’d never committed to reading it before.
The book itself was a fast read, deceptively simple in message yet so complex in theme. I was more taken by the introduction and notes that I continue to read through. What I find striking is just how things haven’t changed much since Dickens was inspired to write this. There was a great financial instability at the time. Profit was largely gained at the expense of others. There were the haves and the have-nots. There was a great deal of concern that the true traditional meanings of Christmas were being lost.
Dickens grew up in poverty, which was a reoccurring theme in his works. His was a classic case of never forgetting where he came from. His success placed him among those who he felt did not do enough to care for their fellow man. I’ve struggled this holiday with my lack of generosity. I know there are so many in need, but yet I so distrust the many who take advantage of the generosity of others. For every magical story there is a negative tale of corruption. For every K-Mart layaway paid of by an anonymous donor, there is a person stealing church funds. I’ve crafted my own ways of giving to others, and I have to trust that these are the things that keep my chain from getting ponderous.
The top story of the year is the great divide between the top 1% and the rest of us. Most will agree that want and ignorance has caused great financial instability around the world. Scrooge and Marley spent their lives focused on financial gain, to the point that neither had anything else to share it with. I do find it strange that Scrooge did nothing with his wealth, seemingly only driven to keep it from others. Much like the politicians that are currently making things worse for us, Scrooge was out of touch with the struggle of the common man. Nearly 170 years later and we have not the redemption that Scrooge found. I feel like the Ghost of Christmas Present stands among us warning us of a bleak future that will remain unaltered without efforts to change.
I know of many Bob Cratchits. Decent men of personal sacrifice to remain providers for their families. Not is not the time to quarrel with inconveniences of job satisfaction. The fear of “losing my situation” haunts me even greater now that I have dependants. There is nothing I want more in life than to be able to provide a Merry Christmas for my child every year.
I fully embrace the spirit of Christmas that Dickens celebrates. I always have. I understand the reason for the season, but one doesn’t have to fully embrace religion in order to properly celebrate the day. Why can’t one evaluate their humanity if but once a year? When else would one take the time to do so? One glance at Facebook paints a picture of how people feel about the holidays. Many embrace it, others are righteous, and some dread it. Each passing year I get more reflective around the holidays, and I find that valuable. The perspective that age brings lets you analyze Christmas past. The security of the moment lets you appreciate Christmas present. The responsibility is yours to take what you’ve learned to guarantee a merry Christmas future. To me, Christmas is family. You pass along Christmas spirit from generation to generation. This was Dickens primary concern, and the reason he wanted to write this story. He wanted to craft something that could be shared in celebration of traditions he felt were being lost. Christmas was passed along to me by my parents, and I look forward to passing along what they shared with me. I think that is what I’m most excited about this Christmas, and I fully intend to make rather merry on this day.
My Christmas blessing to you is to find clarity of spirit. It is never too late to better your place in the world. Find resolution in your regrets. Enrich the life of someone else. Be generous, not just monetarily. Be better than your word.
God bless you... yes... everyone of you.
I’ve always loved A Christmas Carol, and the countless interpretations and performances I’ve seen. I remember the George C. Scott television movie as being somewhat big event in our household when it was on. One of those rare occasions where we were allowed to stay up late to watch it. There have been all sorts of character adaptions from Mickey Mouse to the Muppets. There was even this strange Mr. Magoo version I have memories of. The Alastair Sim version is sitting on my DVR as I write this. I’ve seen many staged versions, my favorite being the one done here in Cincinnati at Playhouse in the Park. Oddly enough, I’d never committed to reading it before.
The book itself was a fast read, deceptively simple in message yet so complex in theme. I was more taken by the introduction and notes that I continue to read through. What I find striking is just how things haven’t changed much since Dickens was inspired to write this. There was a great financial instability at the time. Profit was largely gained at the expense of others. There were the haves and the have-nots. There was a great deal of concern that the true traditional meanings of Christmas were being lost.
Dickens grew up in poverty, which was a reoccurring theme in his works. His was a classic case of never forgetting where he came from. His success placed him among those who he felt did not do enough to care for their fellow man. I’ve struggled this holiday with my lack of generosity. I know there are so many in need, but yet I so distrust the many who take advantage of the generosity of others. For every magical story there is a negative tale of corruption. For every K-Mart layaway paid of by an anonymous donor, there is a person stealing church funds. I’ve crafted my own ways of giving to others, and I have to trust that these are the things that keep my chain from getting ponderous.
The top story of the year is the great divide between the top 1% and the rest of us. Most will agree that want and ignorance has caused great financial instability around the world. Scrooge and Marley spent their lives focused on financial gain, to the point that neither had anything else to share it with. I do find it strange that Scrooge did nothing with his wealth, seemingly only driven to keep it from others. Much like the politicians that are currently making things worse for us, Scrooge was out of touch with the struggle of the common man. Nearly 170 years later and we have not the redemption that Scrooge found. I feel like the Ghost of Christmas Present stands among us warning us of a bleak future that will remain unaltered without efforts to change.
I know of many Bob Cratchits. Decent men of personal sacrifice to remain providers for their families. Not is not the time to quarrel with inconveniences of job satisfaction. The fear of “losing my situation” haunts me even greater now that I have dependants. There is nothing I want more in life than to be able to provide a Merry Christmas for my child every year.
I fully embrace the spirit of Christmas that Dickens celebrates. I always have. I understand the reason for the season, but one doesn’t have to fully embrace religion in order to properly celebrate the day. Why can’t one evaluate their humanity if but once a year? When else would one take the time to do so? One glance at Facebook paints a picture of how people feel about the holidays. Many embrace it, others are righteous, and some dread it. Each passing year I get more reflective around the holidays, and I find that valuable. The perspective that age brings lets you analyze Christmas past. The security of the moment lets you appreciate Christmas present. The responsibility is yours to take what you’ve learned to guarantee a merry Christmas future. To me, Christmas is family. You pass along Christmas spirit from generation to generation. This was Dickens primary concern, and the reason he wanted to write this story. He wanted to craft something that could be shared in celebration of traditions he felt were being lost. Christmas was passed along to me by my parents, and I look forward to passing along what they shared with me. I think that is what I’m most excited about this Christmas, and I fully intend to make rather merry on this day.
My Christmas blessing to you is to find clarity of spirit. It is never too late to better your place in the world. Find resolution in your regrets. Enrich the life of someone else. Be generous, not just monetarily. Be better than your word.
God bless you... yes... everyone of you.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
100 facts about Me
I was complaining recently (go figure) about how people can’t seem to say anything interesting about themselves. I was part of a roundtable discussion where people were asked to introduce themselves, explain what they do, and then share one fact about themselves. The answers were tepid. Nearly all the men responded with “I play golf,” and the women mostly listed how many kids they had. In stating my disappointment with people’s complete lack of introspective creativity, I boasted that I could come up with 100 interesting facts about myself. Here it goes:
- Reached the level of Life Scout, the only Ireland brother not to reach Eagle Scout
- Is a silver medal Pinewood Derby winner
- Shares a middle name with his grandfather
- Lost his appendix in high school
- The first girl he had a crush on was named Elizabeth
- Was Student of the Month in seventh grade
- First Star Wars action figures were C-3P0, R2-D2, and Darth Vader
- First concert was officially the Captain and Tenille, but he was only 5
- Has never had a cavity
- Told people he wanted to be a Geologist in grade school
- Other than Canada, has never left the United States
- Owned Incredible Hulk sneakers that were green
- Dressed as Cher once for Halloween
- Did not win an acting award until he was 29
- First car was a Chevrolet Corsica... will never buy an American car ever again
- Longest relationship is 5 years 9 months... and counting
- The only softball league infield position he ever played was catcher
- First official acting role was Trumpeter #3 in Cinderella back in 2nd grade
- First speaking role was in A Chorus Line in 10th grade
- First speaking role ever cast through auditions was A Fate Worse Than Death in 11th grade
- First community theater role cast was in Our Town in 2000
- Appeared in 3 talent shows doing ventriloquism
- Saw Star Wars for the first time at a drive-in theater
- Has been married in two different states
- First cassette ever purchased was Michael Jackson’s Thriller
- Had to have collarbone broken during birth. That is his only bone ever broken
- First kiss was at a Junior High School Dance
- Is the only EWF wrestler to hold all three major titles: Heavyweight, Intercontinental, and Tag-Team
- The only pair of Underoos he ever owned were Incredible Hulk
- Made his own Darth Vader costume in college
- Designed a Mother’s Day card for Lebron James
- Played the coronet in his elementary school band
- Heaviest weight was 225 lbs. just after college
- Considers 1990 a “good-hair” year
- Performed puppet shows for classes all through grade school
- Two roles he wants to play are Scrooge and Captain Hook
- Both he and his wife are the middle children of 3
- First DVD ever purchased was Ghostbusters
- Has a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Graphic Design/Illustration with a concentration in both
- Met WWF wrestler Big John Studd at the Mentor, Ohio Toys R Us opening
- Worked at toy store part-time in addition to his full-time job out of college for a few years
- Has lived in 5 different parts of Ohio, but never outside of it.
- Is a boxers guy
- Batman is his favorite super hero
- Had a mullet in the summer of 1991
- North of Columbus, Ohio he is Mike, south of it he is Michael
- If he could be stuck at any age it would be 5
- Highest grade point average for one semester was his very last in college - 3.7
- Owns a vintage metal Mork & Mindy lunchbox
- Has performed at state level theater competitions in Ohio and Indiana
- Has always wanted to own a dog, yet never has
- First theatrical award was not for acting - it was for Excellence in Lobby Display
- Was in the audience for the very first WWF Survivor Series in 1987
- Owns well over 600 Star Wars action figures
- First CD ever purchased was Van Halen’s For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge
- Was married in a vintage movie theater
- Was Artist in Residence at Verder Hall for two years at Kent State University
- Was Resident Assistant of the Month in October of 2004
- Was turned down for the first job he applied for at McDonalds
- Didn’t get his driver’s licence until he was 18
- Has only ever been to one NBA game and one NFL game
- Favorite Star Wars character is Darth Vader
- Made movies in High School, one that ended up being broadcast on local cable access
- Chosen super power would be invisibility or the ability to freeze time
- Never actually took the SAT. Completed the ACT and that was good enough
- Only applied to and was accepted by Kent State School of Visual Communication Design, but did visit and tour NYU Film School
- Went through a Tropical shirt fashion phase in Junior High
- Favorite holiday is Christmas
- Favorite Muppet is Animal
- Will never sky dive, unless forced to in an emergency situation
- Has never been a car guy, but if given the unrestricted choice of one vehicle, it would be a black Firebird Trans Am with the gold eagle on the hood
- Is better at drawing than painting
- Has never been arrested
- Drew a comic strip through 7-12 grade that featured random friends and a little flying character called Fazoom
- Is an Honor Thespian in the International Thespian Society. Attained the second highest points ranking in his graduating class
- Took French as his language credits for many years, but can only count to ten
- One life goal would be to appear in a major motion picture, even if it is just a fleeting appearance
- Has given the toast at a same-sex wedding
- Thought for years he was 6’2”, but apparently he is really only 6’
- F-Zero was the only Nintendo game that his little brother couldn’t beat him
- Is an Advanced Toastmaster Communicator Bronze
- Prefers chocolate over fruit candy
- Likes his ice cream, pizza, and hamburgers the same way - loaded with as much stuff as possible
- Is a pretty good shot with a bow and arrow
- Continues to post nonsense on Twitter, but there is nobody paying any attention to it
- Does not like anything between his toes
- Refused to wear brown pants as a child, and is still not very keen about it
- Is an rather good cook but really excels with grilling and breakfast
- Was interviewed on-air by Dick Von Hoene (AKA The Cool Ghoul) for the Northern Kentucky Magazine TV program
- After years of watching professional wrestling, he had an active WWE wrestler actually come watch a show he was in. Chris Nowinski came to see his then girlfriend who was in Bus Stop with Michael
- Hated his middle name when he was younger, and refused to tell anyone what it was. His fellow Boy Scouts decided that the E then stood for Eugene, a nickname he couldn’t shake for years
- Was in Indian Guides prior to Cub Scouts
- For two straight summers, he camped for an entire week on an island in the middle of a lake in the Canadian wilderness
- The person he would most like to meet alive or dead is Jim Henson
- Felt left out of the Cabbage Patch Kids craze in the 80s
- Hates Geico commercials
- Is fascinated and frightened by the idea of Sasquatch
- Sold most of his original Star Wars figure collection at a garage sale for .25 each
- Since his father has season tickets to The Ohio State Buckeyes Football, he’s been in the crowd for all of the top ten most attended games at the Horseshoe
- Does not play golf
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