The day is ending in The Berkshires.

I took this photo a little while ago.

This morning,Carl was looking at the New York Daily News, The Boston Globe, and The Boston Herald.  He enjoyed all of those papers.

Carl seemed a bit bewildered about what he was reading about this guy called Donald Trump.  Carl asked me if I knew who he was and if Trump reminded me of anyone I know.

I told Carl that we are living in some strange times.  I told Carl that any kid in my school that went around the halls casting aspersions upon others the way Trump is expected to would be sent to the office.  His parents would be called if the problem persisted.  Then if it went on, he might find himself at the alternative school for a while or we might even have to call the prosecutor.

Carl said he understood that.  That was not his question.

I went on.  The excuse I hear from some relatively smart people is that Donald Trump is not afraid to speak his mind.  Well, that is all fine and good.  The problem is…when I hear him speak he sounds kind of mindless.  He likes to talk about guns.  The more problems we have with gun violence during this election process seems like ammo…pardon me…for Trump’s mindless rhetoric.  Trump talks about keeping people out of the country.  How did we get a country in the first place?  Trump talks about making deals.  Deals are made to be broken.  What we need are great decisions…not deals.  I have also heard Trump blow off and whine about something called the political “establishment”.  Hate to inform anyone here.  But that so called establishment has long been controlled by people with a great deal of money and power and influence.  Trump fits that description. He didn’t have enough influence apparently to make his way into the National Football League like Jerry Jones did…but Trump still fits that description.   It seems that folks that go along with Trump are righteous forward thinkers and ones that don’t go along with him are part of his mythical “establishment”.

Now I have, on occasion, made mention that this website’s namesake has nothing to do with politics.  I am making that reminder here.  Know that I am not happy.  I am sad.  At the courthouse in the county I live, there is a piece of paper that says I am a Republican.  Right now that embarrasses me.  I miss the party I once felt I could relate to.  I doubt that even the stalwart that was Alex P. Keaton could embrace the GOP like we both once did.

When all this Trump circus started I told my mother-in-law to fear not.  Her guy…or gal…will win if it comes down to them or Trump.  She told me she hoped I was right.  I told her I wish there was a better answer.  I really do.  The GOP has lost its way.  It should now be referred to as the COP.  Crappy Old Party.

While Carl was impressed with my political dissertation, he pressed further.  He asked again, does Trump remind me of anyone in a political sense.  Besides Morton Downey, Jr?  He turned his head sideways.  Then I told him that once upon a time before tweeters and instragrammers and the internet and 24 hour tv news that draws lines in the sand and picks one side over another, there was a guy that kind of came out of nowhere…though that would not be possible today.

Jimmy Carter took us all by storm in 1976.  He was not the normal politician.  He was a business man.  He was peanut farmer.  He was also the governor of Georgia.  He was also a Naval Officer.  He was/is a Sunday School teacher.  He stood up for what he believed in to the very end.  He did not spend time at the podium yelling at people and calling them liars.  Today Jimmy Carter looks smarter than ever.   But I suppose 1976 does too.

Carl asked if I was sure that Jimmy Carter reminded me of Donald Trump.  I studied that answer again.  No, I told Carl.  I suppose not.  Carter would have never made it to a primary today.  He didn’t rant and rave enough to capture the attention of any of the television news lemmings that know more than the guys watching the other network…take your pick.

But I did tell Carl I still believe my gut instincts.  Trump won’t be elected President.  Folks are crazier than I can remember…but not that crazy.  And that I sure miss the days of making fun of tree huggers when we could still count on the GOP.

These are tough times indeed.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie, and I…along with our friend Carl…are on the road for a few days.

Yesterday morning we pulled out of Fredonia, New York.  We spent the night at Brookside Manor Bed and Breakfast and that was truly a wise move.  There we met our hosts Dale and Andrea.  Here they are pictured with Carrie.

Our accommodations were first rate and the breakfast was out of this world good.  Fresh bread.  Fresh Fruit.  An omelet with feta cheese and spinach along side well cooked bacon.  Oh, and I could not forget the homemade sweet roll.  This was a refreshing stop.  We enjoyed every minute.  Our hosts were most gracious.

Our next stop was Niagra Falls, New  York.  That is where we are today.  Yesterday we took in Niagra Falls and took a trip on the iconic Maid of the Mist.  This little boat ride was everything and more than I ever expected.  Honestly, I was skeptical.  I had hear folks talk about it and they said good things.  Some said great things.  I had a hard time believing all of that stuff.

Wrong.  It was all of everything I had ever heard and more.  See for yourself…

A photo from the observation deck.  This is where you, after an elevator trip down, load up to ride the Maid of the Mist.

Carrie and I getting pelted my water and wind.  That is Niagara Falls behind us.

The falls from the boat.

This is a very friendly place.  The folks we have encountered here at Niagara Falls have been quite pleasant.  Folks are quick to say hello.  Folks hold doors open for one another.  This is not Atlantic City.

There is always an Indiana connection wherever we go.

There was another couple staying in at the bed and breakfast in Fredonia, NY.  The couple was from Brookville, Indiana.  They were quite nice.

As Carrie and I were walking through the Falls State Park today, a gentleman struck up a conversation with us.  He has a cousin in Jasper.  He talked about visiting him and going to eat at jasper’s Schnitzelbank  Restaurant in Jasper.  He also said his cousin was an extra in Huntingburg’s League Stadium when Hollywood was in town to film the movie “A League of Their Own”.  He said Tom Hanks and his wife asked if he could sit and eat lunch with him on the set.  His cousin said Hanks was down to earth.

We also ran into a lady today that had cooked for nuns and priests at St. Meinrad in Ferdinand.  She is moving to Indianapolis when she gets home.

Amazing, isn’t it.

This was this afternoon.

Those large buildings are in Canada, across the Niagara River.

Carrie kicked my butt in a game of connect four.

In the morning we are heading for the Berkshires.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

We made music this weekend…boy did we ever make music.

With Jeff Carpenter on the board, John Burgard on lead guitar, Jason Sturgill on bass, John Hayse on drums and myself playing rhythm guitar and singing the songs…we made some sweet sweet sounds.  I am so very proud of our efforts.  Thanks to all the guys for sounding like we have been playing together for ten years.  In truth, on Saturday, it was the first time this quartet of musicians ever played together and we caught lightning in a bottle.

Ten rhythm tracks recorded in less than four hours.  Amazing.  To those of you at home that means we recorded ten songs…complete songs…with the full compliment of the aforementioned musicians.  We recorded ten songs with ease.  It was amazing and it was thrilling.  The stuff just flowed out like it was looking for a place to call home.  Ten nice songs.  The guys were very complimentary of the tunes and I appreciated that.  I wrote them all.

I suppose my favorite we recorded Saturday is a song called, tentatively, “Why We’re Here”.  It is a tribute to Jeff Carpenter and his work as a great producer of music and the influence he has had on so many lives particularly in the Louisville market.  The man is awesome.

On Saturday we recorded a song call “The Last Bell”.  This tune is a tribute to senior classes that are graduating.  I wrote it in 2010 and sang it at the baccalaureate service at Medora High School every year after until 2015.  That was the last time I sang it at Medora where I worked.  This year I sang it at graduation practice at North Harrison where I am a guidance counselor.  I also graduated from the school thirty years ago.  That last bell rang a long long time ago.

Saturday was pure musical magic.  It was like our feet never hit the ground.

Then came Sunday.

Every thing Saturday was…Sunday was not.  And know that I blame myself and only me.

I have said it before and I say it freely.  I am blessed that I have the ability to sit down and write a song in twenty minutes and have a ball playing it fifteen years later.  That is twenty minutes of pure joy that can still find its way in the world so many years on.  What I am not…is a great musician.  My playing ability is limited and the ones I find myself in the studio playing with are virtuoso performers.    The first of 6 songs we recorded on Sunday came and went with a solid effort.  It did not feel great but I was not displeased.  I did think we were not going to get it better.  Then…a song came into play and it was a root canal.  I just could not get it right.  I could not get the feel.  I could not get some of the chord structure or the verse/chorus order straight.  The more this went on, the more frustrated I got.  And I felt bad for the other guys.  I was holding up progress.  We worked on one three and half minute song at least an hour and fifteen minutes.  It was painful.

My problem?  We were re-recording songs we recorded in 2012.  We wanted to make them sound better.  The problem was I have my mind set and fixed on the 2012 recording.  The other guys in the room did not have that point of reference.  I was not duplicating what I had in my head and I was not handling it well.  We gave it our best effort.  Eventually we did pick up steam and make more progress…but I was still stuck in the mud of that one song.

Another problem…time is money.  Recording is not a cheap proposition.  We don’t have an unlimited budget.  I don’t have a record contract.  I don’t have a label.  I am the label.  A cheap label.

We recorded six songs on Sunday.  I am not ashamed on any of them.  Only one I know for sure won’t see the light of day.  We did it right the first time in 2012 and I don’t have it in me to get it better.  It already is.  Neither do I expect the last song we recorded to see the light of day.  We did a version of The Moody Blues’ “Nights in White Satin”.  It was fun and I don’t think we did a bad job.  I liked it.

Saturday and Sunday were both good days.  Saturday, however, was great.  If you can get a ten song day under your belt, you have done something.  And we did.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

This afternoon I spent some time with an old friend.  His name is John Burgard.  His guitar knows many names…awesome, tearing it up, bender of strings, sheller of corn.  As great a guitar player as John is, he is just as great of a guy.

With the exception of my dear friend and engineer of music truth, Jeff Carpenter, John is the only other “player” that will contribute to our new recordings that I have shared the new songs with.

I know I wrote the songs.  I get that.  But what I do with them is what I feel I need to do to help them along.  As soon as I play them for someone I expect to get some help making them better, then they are suddenly not just “my” songs anymore.  They belong to the group assembled to make them better.  Me, the other musicians, Jeff Carpenter, and our instruments.  It will be a good time.

Mr. Burgard and I went over the tunes today in his music room at his home.  To hear another guitar, one much more competent and seasoned than mine and really going for it, rolling through tunes I have been playing plainly for months is exhilarating.

Stayed tuned.

Singing the rights.

Danny Johnson

Any graduation is a reason to celebrate.  By informal definition,  graduation means a goal has been achieved.  When I looked at the gym floor at North Harrison High School in Ramsey, Indiana yesterday, I saw a group of youngster graduating and they did indeed achieve a great deal.

I was fortunate enough to work with this lot this past school year.  They were very kind to their new guidance counselor…a guy that knew a scant fraction about the school compared to what these seasoned veterans of the building had figured out in their previous three years inside the place as students.

I have often been asked what has been like to “go back home”, as it were, with my employment at the high school I graduated from thirty years ago.  My answers have been honest and politically correct.  In earnest, I did not come home.  I gave up on that place a long, long time ago.  I was looking for something better than the place I went to school.  I know. I know.  I get it.  The proximity and the familiar faces in  the area and the school colors are the same.  But I work in a different building than the one I went to school in.  I work with different people than the ones I went to school with.  I work in a building that is much more student-centric than the one I attended for sure.  I like that aspect of it.  For the most part, I found what I was looking for.  My higher-ups have been a joy to work with and I appreciate all of their support.   I also feel that I have been able  to do what I set out to do…help students be better people.

The guidance counselor I had thirty years ago was great with a pie-chart and a statistic.  What I could not have with this person was a decent conversation.  I could not relate to this person and this person did not seem interested in relating to me.  It just wasn’t their way.  I’m not saying they were a bad person.  I am saying I could probably get more out of an orange peel.

Don’t get me wrong.  You better know some of the teachers I had in high school had a most profound affect on me in the positive extremist.  They were good for me.  They were good for many of us.  I am indebted to them.  I can give you first hand accounts of that.  I have done so on the pages of speaktherights.com.

What has changed the most I suppose is me.  I am much more serious these days.  That is not always a bad thing.  I still like to have fun.  I still go around sounding off one-liners and funny sayings.  I just know it was part comical-part silliness-and part lack of institutional control that thirty years ago when I was announced to receive my diploma during commencement  Mick Rutherford declared me as “Daniel W. Johnson I”…as in Daniel W. Johnson…the first.  For a short while I had a habit of signing papers that way.  It was a phase that did not last.  It did make its way into the gym on May 18, 1986 that graduation day thirty years ago.  And yes, now and again, a friend or two will snicker and ask how Daniel W. Johnson I is?  I get it.  And I sure don’t regret it.

To the Class of 2016…I say thank you.  I regret that I do not know this bunch any better than I do.  Time was not on our side.  This group has great things ahead of them.  They are capable.  They will need to be patient.  In twenty years they will be cleaning up a great many messes that are ahead of us, thanks to a current place in time that is not as kind as they are.  I am counting on them to make things better.  I think they will.

The gym I graduated in?  I took this photo on May 18, 2016….30 years later.

The gym the Class of 2016 graduated in…

1986 diploma…

2016 diploma…

I think the next time I run into an old friend I haven’t seen in a while and I am asked that old question, ” How does it feel to be back home?”  I think I am going to tell them I did not come back home… but I am finding one.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

We are fortunate that we have what we refer to as “central-air” in our house.  I need it.  My lungs don’t always cooperate and the flow of fresh air is very good for them.  I wish it were not that way.  But I am not going to complain when I have fresh air at the push of a button on a gadget that it mounted to the wall in a hallway of our house.  I would say I am a very fortunate man.

Right now I am on the porch listening to the hum of an outside air conditioning “unit”.  That thing must be one of the toughest pieces of equipment ever made.  How many times that fan goes around….I will never know.  I am just thankful it is there.

In the house I spent the majority of my childhood within in Brownstown, Indiana, we did not have air-conditioning.  But don’t feel bad.  We had some marvelous shade trees.  And…know that we lived on the east side end of town.  The last proper street on the east end of town…Jackson Street.  204 S. Jackson Street to be specific.  The rest of the of town rose uphill from where we were.  Translation?  The sun set very early in our backyard.  On the west side of town, the sun hung up there and baked for a long while after we were already enjoying the cool afternoon/evening breezes of our shade trees.  It was a great place to be.

No…we didn’t have air-conditioning.  I really didn’t think that much of it.  We had the sounds that only a house full of open windows can bring forth.  They are sounds I cherish to this day.  Two blocks up the first hill was the town’s main street.  On it was the county seat of Jackson County and the courthouse.  There was…and still is a bell that rings at the top of the courthouse every hour on the hour.  We knew what time it was as we were playing baseball in the yard.   If my friend needed to be home at 4 and we just heard three CLANGS of the courthouse clock, we knew we had better make the most of the next hour.

On the really hottest of the hot days then, I remember walking into to icebox that was the JC Penney store in Seymour.  My folks did a bit of shopping there.  I don’t know if it is still in business out at the “Jackson Park Shopping Center” on the west side of Seymour, Indiana.  I suppose it is still there.  But oh how I remember it was so cold in that place on a hot summer day.  No-matter how hot it was, or how cold the JC Penney Store was, on the way home we would stop at the little ice cream stand near the east end of Seymour on 2nd or 3rd Street?  Kovener’s Korner.  I just looked it up.  It is on 2nd Street…and yes it is still in business.  You should go.

This ice cream establishment is where I acquired my affinity for chocolate chip ice cream.  I couldn’t tell you when and why I ordered it.  I do remember that is where I had my first scoop of chocolate chip ice cream and when my dear wife, Carrie, and I go to the Massachusetts, Vermont, or New Hampshire to a Friendly’s Ice Cream joint, I always order chocolate chip ice cream and I always think about Kovener’s Korner.

This place opened in 1949.

I may have been five when I ate that first chocolate chip cone…

I don’t know when Friendly’s opened…but I am glad it did.

A chocolate chip cone in Bennington, Vermont.

Stay cool this summer.  Eat some ice cream!

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie and I witnessed some extraordinary history this past weekend.  A drive to Dayton, Ohio was where we found inspiration, sadness, joy, awe, and thanksgiving.

On Friday night we attended a concert by American Rock and Roll icon John Fogerty.  Though I have been well acquainted with his work, and have admired it for some time, this was the first time time I have ever heard John Fogerty play live. He played at The Rose Music Center, an outdoor venue under cover that seats about 4200.  If you are not sure who John Fogerty is, he wrote and sang the hits for a band called Creedence Clearwater Revival in the late 60s and early 70s.  Fogerty was the backbone, as well as most of the other bones of the band.  His songs are timeless classics.

The photo above was the best we could do.  The lighting was terrible.  To his credit, the stage was a stripped down presentation.  A black curtain was behind them.  The lighting was modest. By the way, that is Kenny Arnoff playing drums.  It was all about rock and roll.  And the songs?

To name a few:

Proud Mary, Have You Ever Seen the Rain?,  Centerfield,  Lookin’ Out My Back Door, Fortunate Son, Down on the Corner, Who’ll Stop the Rain?,  I Heard it Through the Grapevine, Lodi, all the great songs that used to be on a commercial when I was kid…and more.  It was like listening to a wing of the best American Music Museum you could dream up.

Wile I have had Fogerty and Creedence on my music shelf for years, this was the first time I ever heard the man live.  Over Spring Break I read his autobiography, Fortunate Son, in between wistful stares at the Atlantic Ocean.

The best thing I can say about this show was that at age 71, John Fogerty sounds great and his guitar playing was a stunner.  I have never seen a player his age with as much vitality on stage.  He was all over the place.  It was loud.  It was fun.  He told stories.  He seemed to be glad to be there.  It was one of the best shows I have ever seen.  The simplicity of the show was certainly an exhibit of less is more.

On Saturday, at the behest of my Dad, Carrie and I visited the National Museum of the United States Air Force at Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton.  Carrie and I are both still talking about the sights and sounds and nuggets of history the rest of the world will never know about and should, with regard to so many of the brave men and women whose stories we learned of.  I want to go back.  I will share with you some photos from the museum.

This plane dropped an atomic bomb over Japan.

I had heard of The Flying Dutchman.  I read her story and the story of her crew.  It will haunt me for a very long time.  This is a piece of the aircraft.  It will haunt me for some time, I am sure.

Below is the picture that is referenced above…

The bust of Hitler’s head is next to the eagle.

Just an amazing display of birds.

A piece of the fallen Berlin Wall.

This museum is a destination I recommend to anyone.  There is no admission charge to visit.  It is here for us to learn from.  I certainly did.  My respect-a-meter for military personnel …already high…found a higher reading yet after visiting this place.  And we will be back.  We spent four hours looking and we did not see it all.  A new hanger is to open in June.  It will feature presidential planes and space travel.  So yes, we will be back.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

I am on the back porch this evening.

For whatever reason, I am sitting here alone wishing I was back in time listening to the radio as the Cincinnati Reds played baseball.  I am very fortunate.  My Dad took me to see the Big Red Machine.  I actually saw them in person.  Pete Rose, Tony Perez, Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, Dave Concepcion, Ken Griffey, Cesar Geronimo, and George Foster.  These guys, and the pitchers that helped the cause…like Don Gullett and Jack Billingham…won back to back World Series in 1975 and 1976.  They beat the Red Sox in 7 games in ’75 and swept the Yankees in ’76.

They talk about the great Yankee teams and they talk about The Big Red Machine.  They are the last group that is mentioned with a sense of reverence.  They will be that last group.  If you know anything about sports, you know how important some of these names in the Reds line-up are.  My favorite player among them?  Probably not the most popular choice.  I mean, Pete Rose is and will be the greatest.  There will never be a true baseball Hall of Fame until Pete walks through the doors.  He is not my favorite.  To this day I am glad I was at Johnny Bench Day at Riverfront Stadium in 1983.  We celebrated the end of an era.  Johnny was gone after that season.  He was not my favorite Red.  Tony Perez?  Who is cooler than Tony Perez?  Well, he is not my favorite Red.  Joe Morgan?  God bless him.  What a talent.  What a steady talent.  When he showed up in Riverfront Stadium in a Houston Astros uniform I thought I was going to cry.  That was my first…and maybe last…sense of sports surrealism.

My favorite Cincinnati Red of all time?  That would be #15…left fielder…George Foster.  He was awesome.  Cool as a cucumber.  Swinging his black bat.  Weighing no more than 180 pounds….and hitting for some serious power.  You know when you see a guy hit the ball and you KNOW it is gone?  It was never more fun to see that…and feel that sensation when Foster turned one loose.  It was a summer night in 1978.  I was at Riverfront Stadium with my Dad and some of his high school football players. Talk about a flashback.  How cool was it that these guys had a high school football coach that took them to Wilmington College to see the Cincinnati Bengals practice and then that night took them to see the Cincinnati Reds play a Major League Baseball game.  That just don’t happen these days folks.

I still remember.  George Foster came up to bat and planted a fast ball quick and hard into the RED SEATS of Riverfront Stadium.  That was the “UPPER” deck of the four-tiered stadium.  The blues seats on the bottom.  The green seats were next.  The yellow seats, albeit a short section was next.  The the “loge”  and “reserved” red seats were where home runs became that of legend.  There were nineteen “red seat” homers hit by Reds from 1970 to 2000 in Riverfront Stadium.  The one we saw from George Foster was July 29, 1978.  I am so glad I was there.  By the way, Foster hit six of those nineteen.  Yes.  That is the most of any player.

When I sat here I thought I was going to write about how much I miss listening to Marty Brennaman and the late Joe Nuxhall call Reds games on the radio.  I truly miss that.  They were the greatest baseball broadcast team ever.

What I would give to hear Joe Nuxhall say “Thank you, Marty”  one more time.  He said that every time Marty Brennaman  introduced him to call the next inning.

What I am fortunate to have is the ability remember.  Though I had not thought about  the “RED SEAT SHOT” by George Foster in a long time, I can still see it.  I can still feel it.  I can still see George Foster clapping his hands a couple times as he rounds second base.

I know that I have made many allusions on this site that I am a fortunate guy.

I hope you too know this is oh so true.  I have been blessed.

As always, speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

Last Saturday my dear wife, Carrie, and I were back  on campus in Huntington, West Virginia. We attended the Marshall University Thundering Herd Spring Football Green-White Game at the Joan C. Edwards Stadium.  A place known as “The Joan”.

Last November on this site I wrote about Carrie and I being present at the ceremonial turning off of the fountain on campus that is silenced every November 14th to honor the 75 victims of a plane crash carrying players,  coaches, staff, fans, and flight crew of a Southern Airlines flight that just didn’t quite make the runway in the hills east of town.  That story was chronicled well in the movie “We Are Marshall”.   It just so happened that last November 14th fell on a game day.  We were there to watch the Herd play Florida International University.  The Herd won easily.

There were thousands in attendance for the ceremony to turn off the fountain that game day.

Last Saturday there were hundreds of fans to see the fountain turned on again.

Of course the players and the coaching staff were on hand.

Former player Bob Dardinger was the featured speaker.  His twin brother, Richard Dardinger, was killed in the November 15, 1970 crash.  It was the first time Bob Dardinger had attended a fountain ceremony.  He was almost apologetic in his remarks.  His visit back to the school was a homecoming for him that he did not know was in store.  He said he was back home.  He seemed relieved to be back.   Mr. Dardinger gave us words from the heart, not rehearsed, not an attempt to be genuine.  He was genuine. There was a passion and a thankful quality in his voice, like what you hope you will hear.

There were also remarks from one of the 1996 I-AA Championship players.  Aaron Ferguson told stories about his playing days and seeing teammates from twenty years ago.  He too was a good speaker.  It was good to hear from an interior lineman at one of these things for a change.  It was fitting.  The line is anchor of the team…offense and defense.

If you saw the movie “We Are Marshall”, you certainly remember assistant coach Red Dawson.  Red is above in the green hat shaking a gentleman’s hand.

After the ceremonies players signed autographs for kids, friends posed for pictures and mingled, the was a youthful feeling.  The fountain made it back.  It is time for football again in Huntington, West Virginia.

Folks looking on as the fountain is turned back on.

One of my favorites is this lineman signing an autograph for a young fan.  After he gave the autograph to the youngster, he turned around and got a big hug from his mother.

Athletic Director Mike Hamrick, on the far right in the black jacket, poses with some that were undoubtedly old teammates.  Athletic Directors get VERY little respect.  I work with one down the hall from my guidance office.  Mike Hamrick will never get the “attaboys” that he is due.  I hope he is okay with that.

Carrie and me in a very rainy Joan C. Edwards Stadium.

After the Green-White Game, fans were invited to the field to listen in on the closing of Spring Practice.  Above is defensive coordinator, Coach Chuck Heater, giving his words about the defensive play.

Listening in on this was a treat.  The coaches spoke candidly.  We were at practice folks.  It was very interesting.  As the son of a football coach, I appreciated and understood the moment.

Head Coach Doc Holliday had the final words before we went into the indoor practice facility where players sign autographs and posed for pictures.  Coach Holliday has done a fantastic job of leading the Herd back to national prominence…where they belong.

Carrie and I looked around but did not stay around.

I never get tired of telling the story, and I did this past week, of how Carrie and I came to know Marshall Thundering Herd Football.  After years of passing by Huntington to and from North Carolina on vacation, one year, I think it was 2007,  we stopped in trying to buy a few extra hours on the road before we got back home in Southern Indiana.  Everywhere we went folks were talking football.  It was early July, I think.  At the gas station, Herd talk.  In the restaurant, Herd  talk.  In the stores, Herd talk.  Carrie and I looked at each other and loved every minute.  We didn’t have to say a word.  We knew what the other was thinking.  We drove over the stadium and as fate would have it, they were holding a “pick your seat” season ticket drive.  We walked right in.  That was the first time I stood on the field of “The Joan”.  We have been back ever since.  And we have seen road games at Louisville, Purdue, Western Kentucky, and Miami of Ohio.  We will be back this fall in Huntington.

In a place in time when history is being knocked around, distorted, put into mothballs, or just plain done away with, it is good that Marshall honors its football program, and more importantly the ones that gave all they had for Herd Football.

These guys will be forever green and white each Spring and there is a fountain to prove it.

Go Herd!

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

This morning I administered a test.  I hate those things.  Very little I saw on any or all of the standardized tests I took to get a teaching license has come up in conversation or practice since I took them.   To quote the line from the great philosopher Lewis Grizzard, “How many times have you been asked about Rutherford B. Hayes?”  Lewis was on to something.

But I did sit there in the quiet today as kids rued over Calculus and I was glad I was observing instead of taking the tests.

The kids worked hard to answer the questions.  And as I looked around the room, I thought about where these kids will be in thirty years.  And…I could not help but to look back.  I thought about some folks I knew thirty years and more ago and I wondered to myself…where are they now?

He was the other Danny in my class in elementary school.  He was a husky built youngster.  He was always polite.  His clothes were not as new as what the rest of us were wearing.  In earnest, I felt for the guy.  I knew darn well he did not have it as well as I did in the 4th grade.  He had a consistence barrel of a cough that bothered him.  But there we are, in Mrs. Perry’s class picture and the other Danny has a content smile on his face.  It was 1977, one of my favorite years.  One of the kids in the picture had a Jefferson Airplane t-shirt on.  I wonder where the other Danny is today?  I have no idea.  I moved away 2 years later in 1979.  Over the past 37 years I have kept in touch…somewhat regularly… with a few of my old cronies.  I have yet to hear a one of them ask about the other Danny…and I have not asked.  Shame on me.  I wish he were here on the back porch with me.

Her name was Miss Myers.  She was my algebra teacher.  Many of my classmates thought she was a looker.  She was a rookie teacher.  She was attractive, I suppose.  I didn’t notice much.  If I ever did, she took care of it the day she took me out in the hall.  For whatever reason, I have always had the ability to hold court as they say.  It is not for a great deal of effort.  It just sort of turned out that way.  My marks in algebra were up and down.  If I got the content, I would run with it and set the woods on fire.  If I did not get the content, I was probably contentious.  That was probably the case the day Miss Myers took me out in the hall and we had the following exchange.

Miss Myers:  Well it seems you have more influence on some of your classmates than I do.

Me:  Well, maybe.

Miss Myers:  I am trying to teach algebra.  You can’t do that.

Me:  No…no I can’t.

Miss Myers:  What is it going to take to get you and your friends to listen?

Me:  Well, you put (him) in one corner and (him) in another corner and (him) on the other side of the room….and so on.

I was telling her to keep us apart.  If she could do that, we’d all have a better chance of success.

Miss Myers succeeded in putting me in my place like no other teacher ever did.  She was right and I knew it. She was honest and straight with me.  That too was a novel approach on her part.   I also knew she had a tough job and she wanted to do her best.  That is why I was serious in my response.

I have no idea where Miss Myers is today.  She made me feel low by putting the onus on me.  It worked.  And I thank her.

I am sure you have a person out there you wonder what happened to.  I could go on.  One day I will.  But it is getting late and cold on the old back porch.  I am delighted to be here.  I hope you are too.  I had a few folks ask me where I have been with speaking the rights…it has been too long.  Have a great day tomorrow and if you get the chance…

Speak the Rights!

Danny Johnson