It has been a long time since I sat by the phone waiting on a call.

I am doing just that right now.  My dear wife, Carrie, is out eating with some co-workers and I sincerely hope they are having a great time.  She is supposed to call, soon, I assume, and tell me where to meet her to pick her up to bring her home.  We are down to one car.  The main source of our transportation is getting brake work done.  We will need it this Saturday when we travel to Indianapolis to watch the North Harrison Lady Cats play for a State Championship Title in Girls Basketball.

So here I am…waiting on the call.

You don’t hear that much these days….”I’ll call you tonight!”  I suppose young people text each other all hours of the day and night.  I text.  I text when I want my dear wife to pick up a pizza.  I text other folks when necessary.  It is usually not necessary.

My phone is a relic,  compared to the phones around me.  I still like it.  It still works.  It has no apps.  I hear people talking about apps.  Is that how you spell them?

Before we had cell phones, I remember one night I was worried about how late Carrie was out with her pals.  I wrote a song in about the time it takes to sing it.  I was having some troublesome thoughts.  That song turned out to be one that helped someone out that actually did lose a loved one.  It was a surreal experience to hear them talk about it.  I wrote it thinking what it would feel like to lose out.  I was told I did it just that.  It kind of made me feel a little guilty.

Write me.  Call me.  Text me.  Skype me.  Face time me?  I have heard that face time reference but I don’t know what that means.

Many of you know I worked at Medora Schools for a decade and a half.  Today I met the lady the school board hired to be the new counselor when I left.  We were at the same professional meeting in New Albany.  I signed into the conference below her.  At one point her computer was not working and I offered to share mine.  I asked her how a few of the students back in Medora were doing.  I called them by name.  Her eyes got big and she called me by name.  I obviously left the place on as good of terms as I thought I did.  That was nice to affirm.  I told her I was glad she was being allowed the ability to focus on counseling and not try to fit in a few of the other duties I was assigned along the way.  The students, and she, will be better for it.

I’m still waiting on the call.  But it is still early.  Not reaching for my guitar yet.

Speak the rights.

Danny Johnson

One of two things happened with my last post.  No one read the title or the title was read and then just chocked up as one of those things this nut does.  I was not given a single word of question or warning.  The title was messed up a bit.  I learned a few things. I am left to question a few things.  I just hope I am not the only one reading this stuff.

I prefer laughing over crying.  I like to laugh.  Seems the older I get the less I do of it.  Not sure what that means.  I suppose it means the opportunity to laugh is not as omnipresent as it once was.  Responsibility and the things that go along with that are some of the factors that may limit one’s laughter time.  That is to be expected I guess.  What I do know is that I still have the full capacity to enjoy a good laugh.  I hope folks don’t ever look at me and think that I have changed so much, we all do evolve you know, that I have lost my zeal for a good laugh.

When I am together with my cronies, and those times are few, my dear wife, Carrie, might ask, as my pals and I are in the throes of laughter that renders one a bit silly, “What are you…twelve?”

Well, I am not twelve.  In less than a month I will be twelve times four.  You do the math.  Lord knows ISTEP expects a pre-schooler to get that one correct in 2016.

Yes.  I like to laugh.  But I also I like to look around and take things in.  I enjoy looking for the big picture.  Sometimes that will present itself in terms of finality.  When a loved one dies,  the big picture shows up.  There is a spot on Indiana State Highway 135 between Salem and Palmyra.  I drove past this spot well over 6000 times as I driving to and from Medora Schools where I worked for a very long time.  I always crept up on that spot with some sort of reverence.  I was handed some great ideas for writing and songs and a sense of direction there at that particular spot.  I don’t drive past there anymore and I miss it.  I don’t, however, miss it enough drive up there and back everyday.

I had a good idea in 1980.  What was I?  Oh, yeah, I was twelve.

When I was eleven, our family moved to Harrison County.  My Dad had taken a job at North Harrison High School in Ramsey, Indiana as a Social Studies teacher and the head football coach.  My Mom got work, does anyone say that anymore “got work”, at the Floyd Memorial Hospital in New Albany.  We moved from a town about 50 miles to the North called Brownstown.

I had it made in Brownstown.  We lived in town and I could ride my bike all over every inch of it.  There were some challenging hills.  I climbed them.  There were some dangerous ditches.  I had terrible wreck in one of them.  I rode my bike to baseball practice.  I rode my bike to the town pool.  I road my bike to my Great-Grandmother’s house.  It was a safe place.  In the summer after our obligatory 5:30 PM dinner time, it was not uncommon to hear my mother tell me to be home before dark.  Or she could tell me a certain time to be home.  I had no excuse. The county courthouse with one of the largest time pieces with four offering sides in the State of Indiana was within eye-shot of our house some ten stories towering over the town.  That I experienced good fortune my first eleven years is an understatement.  I was blessed beyond belief.

So there I was at a new school in the fall of 1979 on an outpost of a campus in Ramsey, Indiana.  No town pool.  No Great-Grandma (she moved to Shreveport).  No riding my bike all over my town.  No town.  Football was my saving grace.  My Dad was coaching the high school team and I was consumed a bit with just that.  It took my mind off all the things I was missing.  That included my friends back home.

In late August of 1979,  I walked into the 6th grade elementary classroom of Mrs. Fiona Lambert.  She was nice.  I was scared and anxious and lonely.  Kids started milling around the room.  No one came over to talk to me.  Two more guys came in.  At the behest of a kind girl-person classmate, she told them to go see the new guy, these two fellows came over and sat with me.  Turned out one of them had a brother on my Dad’s high school football team.  I told them I was from Brownstown.  Kelly, whose brother played football, said something about the new football coach being from Brownstown.  I told them he was my Dad.

That is where it started.  The first day at my new school was all it took.  Did I say I was blessed man?

Watching the Broncos play the Bengals.

At Kelly’s daughter’s wedding 2014.

This photo is in the order of how we played high school football together.                                    Mick snapped the ball.  Kelly held the ball.  I kicked the ball.

We met in this classroom.

I assure you it has changed a great deal in 36 years.  The old coat racks are still back there, sans the pegs, as you can see.

The classroom is behind the door below.

This is where things get interesting.

As a twelve year old I saw a big picture.  This classroom was important to me.  I met some life-long friends there and I knew we would be friends for life in 1980 when we walked out of that door for the last time and moved on to the other end of campus in a different building the next fall.  I didn’t want to forget that room.  I took an artifact before I walked out of the building.  I put that artifact back this week for the sake of posterity and record.  I inserted Mrs. Lambert’s room label in the slot in the door where I had removed it in May of 1980.  Thirty-six years later it was Mrs. Lambert’s room one last time.

A look down the hall from this door:

Take a good look.

These images will soon turn into that of a parking lot.  This structure is scheduled for demolition.  A new building project is large and happening right now.

Below is another part of the project.  My old high school, now the middle school, is getting in on the action too.

Progress?  Yes.  You better believe it.  I am delighted to see these images and what they mean.  I won’t miss the building.  What I received from the building is what I take with me.  That and a door’s name plate that was part of the big picture for a twelve year-old.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

At 6:30 Eastern Time it is still a bit daylight outside my back door.  I am glad the days are getting longer.  In a few weeks we will add yet another hour of daylight to our sky when the time changes.  This year that happens the 2nd week in March.  March 13th is when the time will change to Daylight Savings Time.  Do we still call it that?  I suppose we do.  The clocks spring forward in March and fall back in October.

In Southern Indiana we live near the far-Westward reaches of the Eastern Time Zone. We can drive an hour to the west and hit the central time zone.  In June and July the days go well into the night.  It will be after 9 before darkness creeps in to give way to the bugs and the bats and humidity of dark air.

I’m not rushing Summer.  I would, however, give a great deal to see some Spring.  Temperatures are supposed to be in the mid-60s this weekend.  That will be Spring-like.  That is good.

As we speaktherights I am listening to The Beach Boys 1966 landmark album “Pet Sounds”.  Brian Wilson developed the greatest block harmonies and a true wall of sound.  The tinks and bumps and subtle nuances and backing clopping sounds that find their way into sounding like they actually should…it is brilliance.

In earnest I admit I have never heard this album all the way through from start to finish and I am a little more than 2 songs.  I am going to play # 11 over again before I get to # 12.  “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times”.  I look at politicians on television and this is what I am thinking.  Strange times we are living in indeed.

This year Brian Wilson is touring all over the world with former Beach Boy band mate Al Jardine.  They are performing the album Pet Sounds in its entirety.

The have sold out shows in advance in Australia and many in the UK and few in the United States so far.  Looking at the tour schedule I was taken aback to see that Brian Wilson is playing The Hollywood Bowl on July 10th and the next scheduled show after that is at the Horseshoe Casino in Elizabeth, Indiana.  I doubt you can out more than 1200 people on the house…if that.  I don’t get it.  I hope the stage lights are extra bright that night.  All I can say is Horseshoe is buying the Pet Sounds barnyard to get this date and subsequent others at other properties.

I have seen one concert this casino venue.  Of course it was The Moody Blues.  Of all the Moodies concerts I have seen, this one was one of the less memorable ones.  For one, casino concerts mean the show is sawed-off.  Casino shows I have been to are typically a hour and a half at the most.  My dear wife, Carrie, and I have seen Huey Lewis and the News at three other casino venues and this has been the case.  Short shows at casinos.  I was not happy when The Moodies cut out a couple of my favorite songs that night.  I shall not complain, given that I heard those songs I missed the night before in Indianapolis.

Oh well.  Maybe I Carrie and I will catch a nice outdoor concert this summer.  I can tell you about it.  It will not be The Moody Blues.  They will not be touring in America this summer.  They are coming around in March.  We will see them then.

Am I glad I sat here and listened to “Pet Sounds”? You better believe it.  Classic Rock and Roll never gets old.  These guys made history.  The Beach Boys provided part of the soundtrack of our lives.

Speaking the Brian Wilson rights.

Danny Johnson

There is snow on the ground out the door.

The guy on the TV news this morning said we have been above average this year with regard to snow fall.  I don’t know if he was looking at inches or centimeters?  It sure doesn’t seem like we have had over a foot of snow fall this year.  A little bit here.  A little bit there.  It adds up.  What we have not had is a “big snow”.  The one that doesn’t just talk about clearing the grocery store out of milk and bread and eggs.  The big one will do those things.  We have not had one this year.  It is Monday and temps by the end of the week are supposed to be in the mid-60s.  We’ll take that!

The warm weather will mean more activity.  I feel somewhat like a bear in hibernation.  I am used to being out more and exercise more in the out of doors.

In about a half an hour I am going to go downstairs and stay in the house to get my exercise in…my workout.  I am blessed to have the equipment at hand and foot to use to promote my physical well-being.  Know also that my fibit flex will depends on wide movement to record a step.  I can ride 5 miles on an exercise bike and register 1.7 miles on my fitbit.  That is frustrating…but at least I understand what I am up against and why.

I will climb onto an elliptical machine go anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes on it.  RIght now I feel like a 20 minute climb.  My record is 75 minutes.  I was very sore the next day.  I did feel good on day putting in a 20 minute with the resistance level set at 20.  I figured it went to 50 or something.  I usually set it at 14.  I was pleased to know that one day that the highest setting is indeed 20 and I tackled it for 20 minutes.  I was a beast that day.  My legs start to scream every time I think about cranking it up that high again.

I also get on an exercise bike.  There is a treadmill that I rarely frequent.  There is a bench press with free-weights and another stand alone bench to do other lifts with.  We have many sizes of dumbbells and I think sometimes that I amt he dumbbell trying to left that much weight.

Thirty-some years ago I lifted weights with my friends at school and had a grand time of it.  I will never bench press 260 lbs again.  I will never squat 450 pounds.  I will never dead lift how ever much I did of that either.  I don’t care to.  I am glad I did it when I did.  My main goal when lifting now is to not drop anything on my head.  I work out alone and I am extra careful with the bench press.  I do not take chances.  Why should I?  There is no one else down there to impress.

I’ll be glad when the snow is gone and the warm weather is here again.  Each time I think about how I am tires of snow, I count my blessings and remember the winter my friends in New Hampshire had last year.  It started snowing on them in November and they didn’t see the ground again until some time in April.  There is a reason why they love to show off their flowers up there when they are in bloom.  They won’t be in bloom for long!  They will be covered with frost soon after the 4th of July.

So now I am going to head downstairs, loosen up my aching joints and move my limbs about as I try to continue to make progress as long as I am vertical.

That and I will….speak the rights!

Danny Johnson

This is the epitome of speaking the rights:

20 years ago I did a great thing and had a great day.

I married my dear wife, Carrie, at Hancock Chapel Church in the country.

It was shirt sleeve weather that day in February.  Today it is COLD.

Happy Anniversary to us.

Speak the rights!

Danny Johnson

I laugh these days when I watch television weatherpersons.  When a breeze over 5 miles per hour is in the air you better watch out!  An upper-level disturbance is bound to be upon us.  That means we could have a thunderstorm, a hurricane, a snowstorm, or a potential drought.  Yes, I am in jest.

I can’t help it.  The folks doing the weather these days make me laugh.  Not all of them make me laugh.  I just can’t see the venerable legendary Al Bolton putting any major inflection in his voice that is aimed to make you hesitate, think what might be next, worry, or challenge your inhibitions toward buying ice-melt.  I suppose that was because he worked for KSLA Channel 12 in Shreveport for decades.  Not much snowing there.

Still, you get the point.  Al Bolton was a gentleman.  He spoke with a voice that made you swear he must be Jack Buck”s cousin and he always spoke to you like you had good sense.  I doubt he believed all of us did; he still sounded that way though.

Though I knew he was not a spring chicken, I did not know that Al Bolton died in April of 2014 until I just peeled away from the browser that holds the words to a different browser that told me of his passing after I typed in his name, city, and the station’s call letters.  Bolton was 88 when he died.  What most will never know is how he lived.

I know I get sad when I think about Peyton Manning retiring and how he has had such a great career.

Peyton has done nothing compared to Al Bolton.

Al Bolton graduated high school at an Alexandria, LA school.  He was born in Alexandria.  After high school he enrolled at Tulane University and was accepted into the US Navy ROTC.  While there his country came calling.  His service was needed.  He served well.  When called upon, he was on the U.S.S. Hart, a destroyer in the western and southwestern Pacific Theater in  World War II.  He returned to finish his education in 1949 at Louisiana College in Pineville.  What then?  He returned to duty and served aboard the aircraft carrier, U.S.S. Rendova during the Korean War.

In January of 1954 KSLA Channel 12 in Shreveport went on the air.  Al Bolton moved to Shreveport in February.  He wanted to do the weather.  Apparently no one else wanted to.  The gig was his from 1954 to 1990.

Having served his country in the manner he did, it is easy to know why he just told us about the weather.  Told us if it was going to be a nice day.  Told us to take shelter if need be.  Told us to wear some rain gear when we needed it.  He just told us.  He just…spoke the rights.  He could never scare us with the weather.  It was not his way.  Folks depended on Al Bolton.  I can only imagine how they felt in 1990 when he was no longer on the air.

KSLA was the news of choice in my grandparents’ house at 1439 Alma Street in Shreveport.  My grandfather liked some tool at KTBS too.  I don’t remember the guy’s name.  He did the news.  None of us liked him, except for my grandfather.  Go figure.  Herbert Daniel Johnson just liked the KTBS guy.

Alright.  I found him.  His name hit me.  I looked him up and I will not use his name.  It would not be nice after I referenced him as a “tool” in the previous paragraph.  The internet is a funny thing.  It can bring back moving images thought to be long gone.  I just watched a piece of a KTBS newscast.  I was right.  The guy was a tool.

I also found a guy named Bob Griffin.  He was on KSLA doig sports when I was a kid.  He is on KTBS weekend duty.  Bob Griffin is three years older than baseball.  Wow.  Awesome Bob!  You go Bob!

The next time I hear one of our local weather guys try to make us wonder if we will live through occasional showers I will think of Al Bolton.  Here’s to you, Al.  You were the best.

Speaking the Al Bolton rights.

Danny Johnson