Boston College Inducts 14 New Hall of Fame Members

September 17, 2011

Click on this link to go to a pdf copy of the program for this year’s induction of Boston College Hall of Fame members:  http://tinyurl.com/43zdaoj

Gene DeFilippo – athletic director

Pete Olivieri – administration

Cara Blumfield – softball

Scott Gieselman, Bill Romanowski, Jack Flanagan, Tom Meehan – football

Jack Farrell, Bernie Teliszewski – football and baseball

Jay Hutchins – soccer

Amber Jacobs – basketball

Brian Leetch – hockey

George Ravanis – baseball

Katie Ryan Kieran – cross country/track

Don Croatti – Donlon Award for Special Achievement

Gouverneur Morris, Our Country’s Master Wordsmith

September 16, 2011

Gouverneur Morris

September 17 is Constitution Day in America, a time to celebrate history’s greatest document this side of the Ten Commandments.  Let’s not forget Gouverneur Morris, who gets an “A+” for that masterful work of composition.

Constitution Day deserves much more attention and appreciation than it now receives. So too does Mr. Morris, who has been relegated to the back benches of the Founding Fathers.  “The Penman of the Constitution,” he deserves better.

A native of New York City and a gifted scholar, Morris enrolled in 1764 at the age of twelve at King’s College, predecessor to Columbia University in New York City. He graduated at age 16 in 1768 and received a master’s degree in 1771.

Morris represented Pennsylvania in the Constitutional Convention of 1787.  Morris was a signatory to the Articles of Confederation.  He saw and lived with the weaknesses of the new nation’s first attempt at self-government, and did his part to rectify them the second time around.

Morris was an author of large sections of the Constitution of the United States and one of its signers.

He is widely credited as the author of the document’s preamble: “We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union …” That was still an era when most Americans thought of themselves as citizens of their respective states. Morris advanced the idea of being a citizen of a single union of states.

Born to a wealthy family in Westchester County, he was elected in 1775 to represent his family estate in the New York Provincial Congress.  After the Battle of Long Island in August 1776, the British seized New York City and his family’s estate across the Harlem River from Manhattan. His mother, a loyalist, gave the estate to the British for military use.

Morris was a member of the New York State Assembly in 1777-78 and was appointed as a delegate to the Continental Congress, and took his seat in Congress on 28 January 1778. He was selected to a committee in charge of coordinating reforms of the military with George Washington. After witnessing the army encamped at Valley Forge, he was so appalled by the conditions of the troops that he became the spokesman for the Continental Army in Congress, and subsequently helped enact substantial reforms in its training, methods, and financing. He also signed the Articles of Confederation in 1778.

In 1779, he was defeated for re-election to Congress, largely because his advocacy of a strong central government was at odds with the decentralist views prevalent in New York. Defeated in his home state, he moved to Philadelphia to work as a lawyer and merchant.

In 1780, Morris’s left leg was shattered and replaced with a wooden pegleg. Morris’s public account for the loss of his leg was that it happened in a carriage accident, but there is evidence that this was a false story concocted to cover for a dalliance with a woman, during which he jumped from a window to escape a jealous husband.

Morris was well-known throughout much of his life for having many affairs, with both married and unmarried women, and he recorded many of these adventures and misadventures in his diary.

Before the Constitutional Convention, Morris lived in Philadelphia where he worked as a merchant for some time.  The financier Robert Morris (no relation), recommended him for the convention.

During the Philadelphia Convention, he was a friend and ally of George Washington and others who favored a strong central government. Morris was elected to serve on a committee of five (chaired by William Samuel Johnson) who drafted the final language of the proposed constitution. Catherine Drinker Bowen, in Miracle at Philadelphia, called Morris the committee’s “amanuensis,” meaning that it was his pen that was responsible for most of the draft, as well as its final polished form.

“An aristocrat to the core,” Morris believed that “there never was, nor ever will be a civilized Society without an Aristocracy”. He also thought that common people were incapable of self-government because he feared that the poor would sell their votes to the rich. Consequently, he thought that voting should be restricted to property owners. Morris also opposed admitting new western states on an equal basis with the existing eastern states, fearing that the interior wilderness could not furnish “enlightened” statesmen to the country.

At the convention he gave more speeches than any other delegate, a total of 173.  He believed strongly in a guiding god and in morality as taught through religion. Nonetheless, he did not have much patience for any established religion. As a matter of principle, he often vigorously defended the right of anyone to practice his chosen religion without interference, and he argued to include such language in the Constitution.

Gouverneur Morris was one of the few delegates at the Philadelphia Convention who spoke openly against domestic slavery. According to James Madison who took notes at the Convention, Morris spoke openly against slavery on August 8:

“He [Gouverneur Morris] never would concur in upholding domestic slavery. It was a nefarious institution. It was the curse of heaven on the states where it prevailed. …with the misery and poverty which overspread the barren wastes of Virginia, Maryland, and the other states having slaves…. Proceed southwardly, and every step you take, through the great regions of slaves, presents a desert increasing with the increasing proportion of these wretched beings. Upon what principle is it that the slaves shall be computed in the representation? Are they men? Then make them citizens, and let them vote. Are they property? Why, then, is no other property included?”

Morris went to France on business in 1789 and served as Minister Plenipotentiary to France from 1792 to 1794. His diaries during that time have become a valuable chronicle of the French Revolution, capturing much of the turbulence and violence of that era, as well as documenting his affairs with women there.

Mr. Morris with pegleg after his unfortunate "accident."

He returned to the United States in 1798, and he was elected in April 1800, as a Federalist, to the United States Senate, filling the vacancy caused by the resignation of James Watson. He was defeated for re-election in February 1803.

After leaving the U.S. Senate, he served as Chairman of the Erie Canal Commission from 1810 to 1813. The Erie Canal helped to transform New York City into a financial capital, the possibilities of which were apparent to Morris when he said “the proudest empire in Europe is but a bubble compared to what America will be, must be, in the course of two centuries, perhaps of one.”

At the age of 57, he married Anne Cary (“Nancy”) Randolph, who was the sister of Thomas Mann Randolph, Jr., husband of Thomas Jefferson’s daughter, Martha Jefferson Randolph.

Morris also established himself as an important landowner in northern New York, where the Town of Gouverneur and Village of Gouverneur in St. Lawrence County are named for him.  He died at the family estate, Morrisania, and was buried at St. Ann’s Church in the The Bronx.

This distinguished, aristocratic man died an unusual and painful death in 1816. He stuck a piece of whale bone through his urinary tract in an attempt to relieve a blockage.

So it’s Constitution Day, a time to celebrate history’s greatest document this side of the Ten Commandments.  Let’s not forget the Constitution’s Penman, who gets an “A+” for his masterful composition.

Here’s to you, Gouverneur!

An Act of Pure Evil

September 6, 2011

In writing my blog and posting on Facebook I have tried to avoid the political realm. This time I would like to make an exception.

The Bret Stephens column in the Wall Street Journal of September 6, 2011 struck a chord with me. I think that his central point is worth repeating here, and pondering as we look back on September 11, 2001. That day has its own sobering meaning for me; I flew out of Boston early that morning to attend a trade show in Atlanta.  I began the day one airline terminal distant from the mass murderers.

Stephens takes issue with the way that we – or most of us in America, anyway – have come to remember and refer to September 11, 2001. As someone who works every day to use our wondrous English language as effectively as possible, I agree with him when he writes, “An act of evil has been reduced, in our debased parlance, to a ‘tragedy.’”

He also rightly points out that while 9/11 was a day of monumental loss, it was also a day of extraordinary love and giving. He cites the first responders, the heroic and courageous “Let’s roll” passengers of Flight 93, the volunteers, emergency crews, and those inside the buildings who helped others and managed to save individual lives.

Earlier, on my Facebook page, I posted a link to ESPN’s beautiful story of the man in the red bandanna, Welles Crowther, Boston College lacrosse player. He is credited with saving at least a dozen people that day. If you have not yet seen it, find it on YouTube.

Stephens says that our remembrance of September 11 should largely be to reflect on, and be thankful for, those selfless people. Agree. If we all strive to emulate them, in ways large and small, our world will be a better place.

He goes on to remind us of a deeper danger here, and I believe he’s correct.

He compares the September 11 attack to the one on Pearl Harbor. In 1941, a comparable number of Americans lost their lives. While the nation mourned, it also responded. The day became a “bookend” in a war that was fought with a clear purpose and righteous resolve.  But 9/11 is an event that has no corresponding bookend; we don’t know whether we’re early, late, or somewhere in between in a similar book. In short, 9/11 has become an event unto itself, somehow disconnected from everything that still flows around it.

This way of looking at 9/11/2001has brought about our coming to refer to “the tragic events of 9/11” rather than calling that day what it was, a monstrous act of evil and of war.  Quoting Stephens’ final paragraphs:

“There is something dangerous about this. Dangerous because we risk losing sight of what brought 9/11 about. Dangerous because nations should not send men to war in far-flung places to avenge an outrage and then decide, mid-course, that the outrage and the war are two separate things. Dangerous above all because nations define themselves through the meanings they attach to memories, and 9/11 remains, 10 years on, a memory without a settled meaning.

None of that was true in 1951. We had gone to war to avenge Pearl Harbor. We had won the war. We had been magnanimous in victory. The principal memorial that generation built was formed of the enemies they defeated, the people they saved, the world they built and the men and women they became. Our task on this 9/11 is to strive to do likewise.”

Once again, I agree. American greatness does not reside in its presidents, congress people, actors, CEOs, or athletes.  On September 11, 2001, we saw once again that such greatness lies in ordinary people like you and me who, in times of dire need or extreme peril, performed supererogational acts for their fellow human beings.

My favorite John F. Kennedy quote says that countries define themselves not by the men they produce, but by the men they honor, the men they remember.

Let us resolve to do more than remember, this September 11 and on every one to follow. Let us strive to live our lives as the kind of Americans whom the heroes of September 11, 2001 died to save. If we do, we can still build a world that is another principal, fitting memorial to them.

Yo, Rinty!

August 26, 2011

Reading recommendation as you sit out Hurricane Irene: “The Dog Star,” in the Aug 29 New Yorker tells of the origin and career of Rin Tin Tin and his critical role in the early success of four guys named Warner from Youngstown Ohio. Great stuff!

The original Rin Tin Tin was born on a World War I battlefield in the Meuse Valley of France. He and Nanette, his sister from the litter of five, were rescued by an American GI named Lee Duncan. The dogs got their names from good-luck charms worn by French soldiers. Those charms were named for a pair of lovers who, according to legend, survived the bombing of a Paris railway station at the start of the war.

Rinty got several breaks during his career. Duncan married a wealthy, older woman whose money helped finance things. They ended up divorcing because, the article states, he loved his dogs more. German Shepherd dogs were the coming thing in cinema; a dog named Strongheart had a very successful 1921 film, “The Silent Call.” Rinty made a total of 23 silent films. He eclipsed Strongheart eventually and outlasted many other aspiring dog stars. His first starring role was in a Warner Brothers’ production “Where the North Begins.” Rinty was actually cast as the lead in that flick; he had an ability to portray a variety of emotions, such as anger, love, loyalty, defiance, nobility and so on. He could also climb a tree and jump over 12-foot barriers.

Rinty made four Warner Brothers films in 1927: “A Dog of the Regiment,” “Jaws of Steel,” “Tracked by the Police,” and “Hills of Kentucky.” Warner Brothers was evaluated at $16 million in 1928. In 1930, its value was over $200 million.

The Academy Awards were presented for the first time in 1929. Hollywood legend has it that Rinty received the most votes for Best Actor, but the Academy didn’t think it should give the award to an animal.

The original Rin Tin Tin is obviously not the one we watched on television, continually saving the lives and military careers of Lt. Rip Masters and Corporal Rusty at Fort Apache. That Rinty, whom I once met at the Boston Garden, was probably a grandson or great-grandson. No matter. He was a true member of canine nobility, and he wore his mantle well!

Boomer Baseball Fans will Appreciate

August 13, 2011

“Numbering high among my most cherished sports memories is the night in the Sixties, in New York, when Ted Soltaroff, my writer chum, took me to the Polo Grounds to watch Sandy Koufax pitch a two-hitter. He went nine innings, of course, but those were the days when a starter was expected to go nine, or at least eight, rather than to be hugged by his teammates if he managed six, to be followed on the mound by a succession of multimillionaire holders and closers.”

– Mordecai Richler

Why I Love Writing

August 4, 2011

There are times when we of a certain age might feel pessimistic about “young people nowadays” and the future of our society under their direction. Then we meet someone like the young woman profiled in this article. This is why I love writing. It allows me to tell the stories of those like her.

http://www.metrowestdailynews.com/top_stories/x633531666/Natick-residents-essay-wins-5-000-scholarship

All-Star Game Memories: How Johnny Callison Vanquished Dick “The Monster” Radatz, with a Little Help from Willie Mays

July 13, 2011

Back before anyone invented the term “closer” or dreamed up “saves” as a baseball statistic, Boston Red Sox relief pitcher Dick Radatz was the best in the business. He was big, burly, and intimidating beyond words. He threw heat, heat, and more heat. For three seasons, 1962-64, Dick Radatz and his fastball were masters of the late-inning world. Mickey Mantle dubbed him “The Monster.”

Dick Radatz

Richard Raymond Radatz was born in in Detroit and graduated from Michigan State. I met him one evening when he was hosting a “Legends” box at a Red Sox game.  Dick was an ideal host in that venue; he loved to tell stories and share his knowledge of the sport. Radatz was also a good sport with a sense of humor. I decided to kid him during handshakes and introductions by saying that my name was Johnny Callison. He first glared at me, then broke into a grin and said, “They were bringing me the keys to the Corvette, and that guy took it away from me. Let me tell you about Johnny Callison.”

John Wesley Callison was a right fielder who grew up in Oklahoma, broke in with the White Sox, and was traded to the Phillies in 1961. In Philadelphia, he blossomed into a star. Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito was his big fan. Callison’s single against the Chicago Cubs in a 1962 game was the first hit ever seen by a live television audience in Europe. A portion of that game was shown on the first transatlantic broadcast via Telstar, which had been launched a few days earlier.

Johnny Callison

The 1964 All-Star game was a close affair. The American League called upon Radatz in the seventh inning with American league leading 4-3. The first player he faced was Callison, who flied out deep to right field; the long out carried to the warning track. Radatz then retired the next five batters.

The Nationals tied the game in the last of the ninth on a walk, a bloop single, and a bad throw by Yankee Joe Pepitone. Callison came to bat with two outs and two men on base. He stepped into the batter’s box, then asked for time out and went back to the dugout. He emerged a minute later, then blasted a Radatz fastball into the seats for the All-Star Game’s third-ever walk-off home run. In previous years, Stan Musial and Ted Williams had also ended the All-Star Game with a home run. That earned Callison the game MVP award, a Chevrolet Corvette.

Years later, Radatz related, he encountered Callison and asked why he had gone back to the dugout.  Callison explained that, with his own bat, he hadn’t quite been able to “get around” on Dick’s fastball.  His fly-out had gone to the warning track – not good enough. So Callison borrowed a bat from teammate Willie Mays. Willie’s bat was one ounce lighter. A single ounce made all the difference.

Yogi and Artie, Hall of Famers, Need Some Company

July 2, 2011

Yogi Berra's Plaque in Baseball's Hall of Fame

Excellent cover story on Yogi Berra in the week’s Sports Illustrated.  I had forgotten, or perhaps never knew, that he was aboard an assault craft on D-Day back in 1944. Yogi had played one season of minor league baseball before joining the Navy and volunteering for duty on a rocket boat that led the invasion of Utah Beach.

The same issue has a brief profile of  Artie Donovan, who also served in World War II and returned home to fashion a brilliant career in the sport of football.

We know stories of other athletic immortals who did likewise – Ted Williams the fighter pilot; Warren Spahn, who fought in the Battle of the Bulge; Christy Mathewson, accidentally gassed in a training exercise in World War I; Milt Schmidt, Woody Dumart and Bobby Bauer, the “Kraut Line” who went off together to face the Germans as members of the Royal Canadian Air Force .  Like Yogi, all these gentlemen are enshrined in their respective Halls of Fame: Spahn, Williams and Mathewson  at Cooperstown, Donovan at Canton, the “Krauts” in Toronto.

But how many other men of that era left the playing fields to don the uniform of their country and did not make it back?  There must be dozens of them, if not hundreds. They may have lost their lives in battle or suffered debilitating injuries, or may have been too old to resume their athletic careers after the war.

Our Northern neighbors and partners in freedom just celebrated their national holiday.  America is preparing for its own birthday, to celebrate the incomparable gifts that our parents, grandparents, and earlier forebears earned for us and bequeathed to us.

At this time of patriotic reflection and thanks to those who made our lands what they are today, here’s a thought for those who run the Halls of Fame in baseball, football, hockey, basketball, and all the other sports, for that matter. You’re the Keepers of the Flame. You honor and remember those who achieved and excelled. Now tell us the stories of those who might also have achieved and excelled, but who put their sporting lives aside for a higher cause and did not return. Carve them a niche, enroll them, and down through the years, tell your visitors about them – how good they were, how greater still they might have been.

Applauding Two Pioneers of Sport

June 29, 2011

The Boston Sports Museum inducted Willie O’Ree and Bobbi Gibb to its pantheon of lifetime achievers at the tenth “Tradition” on June 28, 2011.  Their inclusion was especially fitting and gratifying.  The evening’s other honorees are much better known around Boston – Larry Bird, Mike Lowell, Micky Ward, and Ty Law.  “Sports heroes” all they are, and we needn’t go into their stories here.

Willie and Bobbi were not quite as accomplished as those four, and certainly not as heralded, in their respective fields. But they deserve much more than a polite smattering of applause; those who take pride in being members of the sporting community in Boston should know their stories.

Willie O'Ree

O’Ree, from New Brunswick, Canada, was brought up by the Bruins during the late 1950s. He played a total of 47 games – most of which came in 1961 – in the “Original Six” National Hockey League. He broke the “color line” in the league, and in so doing endured racist taunts and slurs in much the same way that Jackie Robinson did in baseball.  In articles that you can find on the web about Willie, he mentions the steadfast support of Milt Schmidt, the Bruins’ coach at the time, and general manager Lynn Patrick. His team mates were always ready to rally round him as well – something that we’d just expect from hockey players.

Two more things on Willie. He wasn’t quite good enough, apparently, to stick in the big league permanently. The Bruins brought him up from the Quebec Aces of the American Hockey League. Most of his lengthy pro hockey career was played in Los Angeles and San Diego, out in the Western League. The high minors of those days were easily the caliber of today’s National Hockey League. If O’Ree was good enough to almost make it back then, one can only imagine how much of a star he’d be nowadays. The six-team NHL was probably the toughest society of all to crack as a full-time player, and O’Ree came very close to doing so.

Most remarkable, though, was his physical handicap. Two years before the Bruins brought him up, O’Ree was blinded in one eye by an errant puck. He never told anybody, and no one ever asked. Can you imagine playing hockey at any level, let alone in the National Hockey League, without sight in one eye? Simply amazing.

Bobbi Gibb

Bobbi Gibb was a child of the Sixties, and she still looks the part with wildly unruly locks that are right out of Haight-Ashbury.  I’d never heard her story, even though I’ve been fairly close to the BAA and the Marathon over the years. Early in her life, she discovered the joy of running. It was not the thing for girls to do, back then, so she tried to be as unobtrusive as possible about it as she trained herself to go longer and longer distances.  Women’s running, and girls’ athletics more generally, were on the outer fringes of society’s comfort zone.

Joan Benoit Samuelson, who introduced Gibb at The Tradition, tells a similar tale of her days as a young runner in Maine. When out for her roadwork, she’d pretend to be picking flowers or looking for recyclable bottles if strangers happened by. Gibb was told that the marathons didn’t allow women because running such long distances would be hazardous to their health.

Gibb was undaunted. She decided to run in Boston anyway, and rode the bus across country from San Diego in a four-day stretch to do it. She made her way to Hopkinton, wore a hooded sweatshirt, and hid in some bushes near the start line. Once she got into the race and the guys around her realized that she was a woman, she received a warm welcome. She was soon able to doff the sweatshirt and run along with them all the way to the finish. She had no official number, of course, but finished in a little over three hours and was in the upper one-third of the field.

It took a few years for the BAA to recognize Gibb and retroactively acknowledge her achievement. The better-known joust between Jock Semple and Katherine Switzer was yet to come. But Bobbi Gibb deserves the credit for being the Boston Marathon’s first woman finisher.

I don’t know about you, but these are the sporting stories that I like best. Sure, I applaud the singular achievements of Bird, Lowell, Ward, and Law. They all gave us championships. But O’Ree and Gibb gave us something more. They showed us what courage and determination, those over-used but right-on words, truly mean. Gibb and O’Ree didn’t get appropriate recognition at the time – no pioneer does. But it’s never too late, and the Sports Museum did itself proud last night in honoring them

The Summer Solstice

June 21, 2011

June 21, 2011: Today’s Fun Facts:

“Solstice” means “Sun Stands Still.” This year the summer solstice officially begins at 1:16 p.m. EDT

“Midsummer Night’s Dream” was all about events in and around the summer solstice.

Hippolyta remarks:

“Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;

Four nights will quickly dream away the time;

And then the moon, like to a silver bow

New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night

Of our solemnities.”

 

And  Theseus, soon to wed her, directs his servant Philostrate:

“Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;

Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;

Turn melancholy forth to funerals;

The pale companion is not for our pomp.”

 

The ancients called the Midsummer moon the “Honey Moon” for the mead made from fermented honey that was part of wedding ceremonies performed at the Summer Solstice. Perhaps the most enduring modern ties with Summer Solstice were the Druids’ celebration of the day as the “wedding of Heaven and Earth“, resulting in the present day belief of a “lucky” wedding in June.

They also celebrated Midsummer with bonfires, when couples would leap through the flames, believing their crops would grow as high as the couples were able to jump. The bonfires were also thought to protect against evil spirits, which were thought to roam freely when the sun turned southward again.

To thwart the evil spirits, pagans often wore protective garlands of herbs and flowers. One of the most powerful of them was a plant called ‘chase-devil’, which is known today as St. John’s Wort and still used by modern herbalists as a mood stabilizer.  Some people believed that mid-summer plants, especially Calendula, had miraculous healing powers and they therefore picked them on this night.

Religious party-poopers couldn’t stay away, though. In the 7th century, Saint Eligius (you remember the hospital named after him in St. Elsewhere) warned recently-converted inhabitants of Flanders against the age-old pagan solstice celebrations.  He said,  “No Christian on the feast of Saint John or the solemnity of any other saint performs solestitia [summer solstice rites] or dancing or leaping or diabolical chants.”

As Christianity entered pagan areas, midsummer celebrations came to be often borrowed and transferred into new Christian holidays, often resulting in celebrations that mixed Christian traditions with traditions derived from pagan Midsummer festivities. The Gospel of Luke said that John the Baptist was six months older than Jesus, and because Jesus was born right after the winter solstice, Saint John had to have been born right after the summer solstice. Saint John’s Day is June 24.

Many medieval Catholic churches were also built as solar observatories. The church needed astronomy to predict the date of Easter. And so observatories were built into cathedrals and churches throughout Europe. A hole in the roof admitted a beam of sunlight, which would trace a path along the floor. The path, called the meridian line, was often marked by inlays and zodiacal motifs. The position at noon throughout the year, including the extremes of the solstices, was also carefully marked.

So, as the Jamies sang, in the song written by long-time Red Sox public address announcer Sherm Feller,

“It’s Summertime Summertime Sum-Sum-Summertime!”

Happy summer!