It is 2017.  So much is going on right now that reminds me of years that end in 7.

1967….this was the year The Moody Blues delivered their landmark album Days of Future Passed  that featured the songs Tuesday Afternoon and Nights in White Satin.  Classic Rock and Roll.  We’ll get back to this.

1977…this was the year I was in the 4th grade and still keep going back to as the year the Brownstown Braves had so much fun playing football.  I mentioned all this in the last post.  Still it stands out so so so much.

1987…our oldest son Jarrett was born.  Uh…if my math is correct that will make him 30 this year.  Why does he still seem so much younger than that to his mother and me?  My grandfather, Herbert D. Johnson, died that year.  He was 66.  Lung cancer.  He smoked one Lucky Strike after another.   Did not prove to be so lucky

1997…the year my dear friend Malcolm Todd “Corner King” Lincoln passed.  I am still scratching  my head at this.  Is that why I have lost so much hair.  No…that is not it.  If it was, I would have been completely bald a very long time ago.

2007…my dear wife, Carrie’s grandfather, Rubert Hawkins died.  I still miss the old cuss.  We had a great many laughs together.

2017…last Sunday I went to a concert in Louisville’s YUM Center.  Roger Waters.  The creative genius behind Pink Floyd…they say.  Well, I saw Pink Floyd sans Roger Waters in, of course, 1987, and I enjoyed the show.  Roger, however, if not the genius, provides the angst that the remaining members of Pink Floyd just didn’t bring to the stage.  It was amazing.  Roger Waters is a powerful presence.  I knew he would be.  But it was more than I expected. He was very political in his show.  I did not agree with all that I heard and saw.  I did agree with some of what I heard and saw…and enjoyed it.

This show was a spectacle unlike anything I have ever seen before.  I really enjoyed it.

On July 1, 2017 I will attend a Moody Blues concert and it will be the last one I make it to.  I have decided this is it.  They are going to play Days of Future Passed in its entirety in the second set of the show 50 years later.  Their first show of the tour is June 3rd.  I first saw The Moodies in 1986 and I thought they were old. I was 18.  They were all 40 or more back then.  I am 49.  Enough said.  It is time.  I hate it.  I bought Days  of Future Passed when I was 15 and it was 16.  I fell in love with it.  None of my friends cared about it.  I was on my own with my music.  I didn’t care.  It carried me above all that.

An old friend on TV….

I was mashing through the channels on Memorial Day.  I tuned into WHAS 11’s Great Day Live.  There was a commercial playing.  I went back to reading the paper.  When they came out of commercial they featured…for a few minutes…an old friend who passed away in 2009.

Tim  Krekel and I made music together.

He tore that very guitar up on a guitar solo on a song I wrote.  I am honored.

GOLF NEWS

As is the custom on Memorial Day weekend, the 4th of July, and Labor Day weekend, I am invited to participate in a friendly golf outing led by the Nolot patriarch, Jim Nolot, pictured above.  We always have a great time.  Less than a week earlier, Jim had 4 stents put in to support his heart.  He did not hit the driver…but he did hit other shots and putted…and was like Minnie Pearl…just proud to be there.  I was proud to be there too.

The first tee.

Waiting for the 9th fairway to clear so we can hit our tee shots.

Good times.

Speaking a great many rights…

Danny Johnson

The primary objective of yesterday’s visit to Blevins Memorial Stadium on the Brownstown Central High School campus was to get a former coach and a former player together one last time on the field and at the stadium where my Dad, Larry Johnson, was the head coach, and my friend, Barry Hall, was a guard and linebacker wearing jersey #71.  This past fall Barry was named one of the 50 Greatest BCHS Brave Football Players in school history.  I still remember watching him play.  He was fearless.  He was quick.  He was spring loaded.  He loved what we used to call “The Romance” of the game.  The physical contact that of knocking someone else silly was called romance back then.  Barry is currently coaching football for BCHS and I have no doubt he does a great job.  I hope they win every game…except the one against the boys in Blue and White.

On May 30th, I am told that is the date, they will tear down Blevins Stadium as we know it.  Brownstown Central is expanding the track to 8 lanes and they are putting in a synthetic turf field.  The stadium has to go to make room.  I can tell you I will miss it.

This season will mark 40 years since Dad and Barry were on the field together as player and coach.  And while there is still an air of that dynamic between them when they are together, as it should be I suppose, they are so glad to of been able to hang on to each other all these years on.  Believe me, I know what I am talking about.  Take a look for yourself.

They talked about games.

They shared stories about people they remembered.

They chatted privately.  We were like flies on a wall inside the confines of the place.  We could have been in Columbus for all they cared at times.

They talked about stuff.

They shared memories.  They didn’t talk about how many games they won or lost or why much either.  It always comes down to relationships in this life.  That is the most important thing.  Sure Dad and Barry enjoyed a nice amount of success together.  But that is not what inspired Barry to ask my Dad to sing at his Dad’s funeral.  Wins and losses are not the reason Barry helped load a truck and move some of our stuff for us when we moved to Harrison County in 1979.  Games are not the reason that once in a while I look at my phone and there is a message from Barry Hall out of the blue to let me know he is thinking of me….that he loves me…and to tell my Dad the same.

Being a football coach’s son means you have to share your Dad with many people…many other young men.  Though I can’t in earnest recall a time I wished Dad would have stopped talking so much about one of his players, I have no doubt it must have gone through my mind once in a while.  But I don’t remember that.  What I do remember are memories of how great it was to have grown up in a town for the first eleven years of my life with so many people there to look after me.  I was a known little fella.  I have no doubt I was a pain now and again myself.  That’s life.  And for me, it has been a wonderful time thanks in part to guys like Barry Hall, Jim Brown, Gil Speer, Nuts Goss, I could on and on.

We had to leave Brownstown in 1979.  The school board there decided they did not want my Dad to be the head football coach  anymore.  He had spent 12 years coaching at BCHS, nine of them as the head coach.  It did not take Dad long to find employment two counties to the south at North Harrison High School, the same place I have been a school counselor going on two years now.

At North Harrison we were now playing against Brownstown.  That was odd.  In fact in 1984, on this very field where I had played pee-wee football, I was on a North Harrison team that beat Brownstown Central 59 to 0…the worst defeat ever to this day on this field.   Ironically, in 1975 my Dad’s Brownstown Central team beat Paoli 76 to 0.  That was and still is the largest shutout victory margin in school history.  The 2015 BCHS team tied that mark against Clarksville.  Good for them.

This was Blevins Stadium in 2014.  I was glad to be there that night.

This was Blevins Stadium yesterday.  I was even more delighted to be back one last time to the place as we know it on this afternoon.  I kicked some extra points and field goals in high school.  Meant to be, I think, on the field I grew up on as a child I also kicked my first point …for the other team in 1984.

Thanks to my dear wife, Carrie, for being there and taking pictures like only she can.  She too enjoys the time we get to reminisce and share good time and one another’s company.

Whatever they were looking for, I think they found it.

I know I did.

I will file this experience like I have so many others.  I will reach for it now and again when I need it  and be so glad we took a few hours out of an afternoon to make a few memories that will live forever.  I believe that.

My gym bag from the late 70s.   A mesh BC football shirt circa 1977.  It doesn’t fit anymore. My 1977 2nd place Punt Pass and Kick Trophy from a fall day on the same field. My BC Football Alumni visor.  I am the only player that played against BC ever to get one of these and probably the last.  But in 2011 my name was called out over the PA before the game with the rest of the players and coaches being recognized, including my Dad, in attendance.

I am so thankful to be able to live this and share it.

Speaking the last day at the Stadium Rights…

Danny Johnson

It was 95 degrees today in Amherst, New Hampshire.  So said weather.com.  I got confirmation of the heat via email from a friend there.  I keep Amherst as one of my weather spots on my weather page.  The other three are Holly Ridge, North Carolina, Ramsey, Indiana, and Chicago.  I keep up with Amherst, Holly Ridge, and Ramsey because they are significant to both heart and skin.  Chicago is still there from the trip my dear wife, Carrie, and I made in February and I have not changed it.  I think a trip to Jackson, Mississippi is on the horizon in July….so perhaps I will put Jackson on there.

I am on the porch as I write these words.  It is very humid.  I just did 42 minutes on the elliptical a little while ago.  I was in the cool of an air conditioned basement.  It was nice.  I worked up a sweat in the basement and now I am sitting here sweating for no other reason than sitting here and moving my fingers.  I doubt it was this humid in New Hampshire.  I am sure it wasn’t.  I say that because I look forward to a trip there so I can breathe better.  I was not made to live in the Ohio Valley.  I live here anyway.   I enjoy trips to places where I can breathe better.  Colorado comes to mind.  I have said it before.  I will say it again.  In Colorado, the two times I have been there, my lungs felt air in places I didn’t know I had lungs.  It was amazing.  It was also weirdo.  The elevation can make a feller feel kind of funny.

When Carrie and I go to the Berkshires in June we stay a place that has nice air and plenty of great newspapers.  I drink too much coffee and read newspapers for a couple hours of the morning.  Boston Herald, Boston Globe, The Daily News, The New York Post, The New York Times, The Albany Union, The Berkshire Eagle…Carrie and I were in a photo in The Berkshire Eagle once while we were visiting the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Mass.

31

Thirty-one years ago today I graduated from high school.  1986.  Seems like longer than that at times.  I was asked what I miss about high school.  I miss some of my teachers.  I had some great ones.  I miss seeing my cronies on a regular basis. It was great then.  Doubt it would be as great now.  I miss playing football with my pals.  I miss playing music in a cassette player.  I miss seeing The Moody Blues in concert for $14.50. I miss cheaper gas prices.  Check out the prices in 1986.  We was having us a gas war of some kind. I miss the days when we were at odds with the Russians instead of playing political footsie with them.  Don’t get me started.  I miss President Reagan.  Who in their right, sane, normal, nonsensical, separation of church and state mind would not?

Fortunately when I look at the younger set I see more wisdom from them than I do the group that has no business trying to lead.  They couldn’t get along in 60s and now it has just gotten worse as time has gone on.  We are victims of the residuals of the protesters on both sides from 50 years ago.   Let’s hope this nightmare doesn’t last long.  Have you heard and seen some of the kids in the 30-something set talk and act lately.  They have some sense about them.  They are subject to terrible examples and they want something better.  I hope I live long enough to celebrate with them on a grand scale.  What we are doing to this country now won’t work out nicely.  It does not take a orange peeler to figure that out.

Did I say don’t get me started?

Oh well.  Just one man trying to…

Speak the Rights.

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie, and I just finished a clandestine mission.  Unbeknownst to her, when Mom gets home is less than an hour she will find her Mother’s Day present on the counter and ready to make a single cup of coffee.

My Mother, Tressie Johnson, would never buy a Keurig machine.  One of those machines that makes a single cup of coffee without one needing to fire up the coffee pot full blast.

A few time over the years I have heard my Mother mention an affinity for a machine like this.   It was time to get her one so she can easily come into contact with coffee, or hot chocolate, or hot tea whenever her heart desires.  That is the idea.  Not to mention my Dad will get his enjoyment out of it too when he states like only he can that he wants to cup of coffee.

So…Happy Mother’s Day.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mom’s out there.

I am fortunate that I have had a mother who has taken good care of me over the years.  Even when I was a pain in the butt, she would not remind me that I was one.  I may be one today, given how Carrie and I made a slight rearrangement of her kitchen to accommodate the new coffee machine.  But, I doubt I will hear about it.  Mom and Dad will appreciate it and I think they will truly like it too…eventually.  That will not change the fact that we came in under the cloak of night…no…make that a sun-shiny warm morning while they were not around and made the change.  When we are gone for the day and Mom and Dad are to their private speaks, they may shake their heads at our actions…but certainly not our intentions.  It’s the thought that counts!  Man has that sentiment gotten me out a jam or two over the years!  Some things simply never change.  Thank God for that.

Mother’s Day should be changed.  There really should be Mother’s Week!  That because our mother’s, or at least the ones of us fortunate to know the love of their mother’s first hand know what this means to us.  I also know I am fortunate in the regard that I do know my mother loves me.  There are many out there, God bless them, that never had that knowledge or warmth or the ability to recall and remember so many good times with their mothers.  I feel for them.  I have had that.

And my Mom just showed up.  Gotta go.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

Mike Hunsucker was my friend.  That was it.  We worked in close proximity.  I as a school counselor and English teacher.  He was a school bus driver and custodian.  He did great work.  I hope he thought I did at least good work.

Today I sent his wife, Bonnie, a text message.  I asked how she was doing.  I told her Carrie, my dear wife, and I miss seeing her.  She replied in part with the following:

“Been thinking about you both and all you did when Mike got worse. How you brought dinner up to us on Derby Day and spent time with us…one of Mike’s last good days.”

It took a calendar to reiterate my suspicions as I write this on the evening of May 3, 2017. Three years ago today was that Derby Day Carrie and I spent with Mike and Bonnie.  Did we ever have fun.  We laughed and talked good sense to one another.  But that was all Mike and I ever did.  We had fun.  I couldn’t drive a bus and he couldn’t teach English.  We didn’t care.

At Mike’s funeral two weeks after Derby Day, I was fortunate enough to get up and hold forth about our friendship, our faith in God, our families, our extended families, and what he meant to me.  Mike was not a great conversationalist.  He usually did most of the listening while I did most of the talking.  He wanted it that way.  But when he spoke…it was like E.F. Hutton was in the building.

One time on a field trip, I know I have told this story here before, we visited a college with a group of seniors.  The kids were taken care of with leaders from the school on their long and informative tour.  I asked Mike if he wanted to hear a good story?  I proceeded to tell him about some of the roadblocks I encountered on the way to finishing my college education.  He sat wide-eyed and never moved.  He told me he appreciated that I felt like I could share with him.  How could I not?  He was Mike!

One of the things I said at Mike’s funeral is that there is a frame around each of our lives.  None of the frames are completely straight and narrow.  There are imperfections.  There might be a burn mark or two.  There might be a narrow place.  Some parts may look immaculate.  All the features matter.  Mine frame includes a nice spot reserved for Mike and Bonnie Hunsucker.  Mike was 58 when he died.  To me, he will be that forever young I spoke of in a post or two back.

Lord knows I miss him.  I truly do.  I asked Carrie today how three years can seem so long about some things and so short about others.

The last conversation I had with Mike is planted firmly and clearly in my framework.  He barely had any strength.  He raised his head up and looked at me and said two words.  The first was “Kids..” as in a question…”(How are the) Kids (at school)?”  He paused and looked up at me again and said “Thanks”.  That was thanks for being my friend.  I thanked him and told him I loved him.   That was a great way to end things.  I am so fortunate.

But I am still sad.  I will be for as long as I can remember how this happened.

Taking us on a field trip.  He took us everywhere.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson