They're all gone.
The four men who stimulated my childhood television viewing experience every Sunday night at 9 p.m., and for decades later in syndication, have now all died.
The show was Bonanza. The last living resident of the Ponderosa Ranch, Pernell Roberts who played the role of Adam Cartwright, the eldest of Ben Cartwright's three sons, died of cancer Sunday at the age of 81.
Roberts turned his back on the show that catapulted him to stardom after six seasons. Ben (Lorne Greene), Hoss (Dan Blocker) and Little Joe (Michael Landon) carried on. David Canary, who still stars in one of the soap operas, replaced Roberts on the show, but only as a ranch-hand, not a Cartwright.
When Pernell goes to his final resting place, he brings with him a huge part of my youth.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
TWEETING WAS FLEETING
A few months ago I experienced a very unusual surge.
This mysterious force convinced a man who prefers black-and-white movies over computer-generated aliens, Have Gun Will Travel over the Simpsons and the literature of James Fenimore Cooper over Steven King suddenly decided to look into this social networking phenomenon that's sweeping us up.
Yes, the guy who has watched Casablanca 30 times and wouldn't go see Avatar if he had an engraved invitation, a free bucket of popcorn and a limousine ride to the theater decided to peer into the present.
Sorry, I didn't like what I saw.
I was tweeting for awhile, and I must say that speaking my mind in the framework of 144 characters is hardly my style. On top of that, my Twitter account was hacked and threatened to bring down my computer, which as you would gather I use quite conservatively. So to my young colleagues, I say, tweet to your heart's content but you'll no longer find me among the songbirds.
Then there's Facebook.
The moon must have been aligned with Jupiter or something the day I signed up for Facebook. At first, I enjoyed it. I wrote some notes about what I was up to and chatted with friends and colleagues. Then I came to my senses.
Why the heck do I want everybody to know what I'm doing all the time? It's not that I'm ashamed of it. What can possibly be decadent about covering high school basketball or disruptive about taking long rides through the countryside listening to the Grateful Dead? And I'm not even lighting up.
I don't cheat on my wife nor do I have the slightest urge to do so. Thus, I'm not particularly interested in rekindling old flames. Any old friends with whom I'd like to reconnect aren't going to be on Facebook anyway. Many of them may not even have computers. Heck I have friends who refuse to allow the internet to invade their homes, and I'd be fibbing if I said I hadn't given that some consideration.
But the bottom line is this: I have no urge to thrust my thoughts and meanderings into the face of others. I truly couldn't care less that somebody's kids are going to a birthday party and another's are playing hockey. I'm not interested in the weather in Orlando or somebody's family photos from their European vacation. Thus, I don't figure anybody's interested in my visit to Goodwin Tech last night, or the fact that I'm looking for a good restaurant in Springfield tonight before the New Britain boys play. I'm not figuring anybody cares who I think is going to win the Super Bowl. I'm sure I'd be wrong anyway.
I have regressed, or perhaps progressed, to the point where neither Twitter nor Facebook will soak up my free time. I'll check Facebook now and then to see who wants me to be their friend or to see if any long lost buddies are buzzing around, but I'm not prone to feign such self-importance that I'm going to prattle on about the accomplishments of my offspring, siblings or myself.
So crank up another episode of Gunsmoke. Time for another chapter in my Humphrey Bogart biography. Think I'll drive around the corner an extra time to hear the end of "Truckin," but I believe for the time being, the only tweeting done around here will be by the robins come April.
This mysterious force convinced a man who prefers black-and-white movies over computer-generated aliens, Have Gun Will Travel over the Simpsons and the literature of James Fenimore Cooper over Steven King suddenly decided to look into this social networking phenomenon that's sweeping us up.
Yes, the guy who has watched Casablanca 30 times and wouldn't go see Avatar if he had an engraved invitation, a free bucket of popcorn and a limousine ride to the theater decided to peer into the present.
Sorry, I didn't like what I saw.
I was tweeting for awhile, and I must say that speaking my mind in the framework of 144 characters is hardly my style. On top of that, my Twitter account was hacked and threatened to bring down my computer, which as you would gather I use quite conservatively. So to my young colleagues, I say, tweet to your heart's content but you'll no longer find me among the songbirds.
Then there's Facebook.
The moon must have been aligned with Jupiter or something the day I signed up for Facebook. At first, I enjoyed it. I wrote some notes about what I was up to and chatted with friends and colleagues. Then I came to my senses.
Why the heck do I want everybody to know what I'm doing all the time? It's not that I'm ashamed of it. What can possibly be decadent about covering high school basketball or disruptive about taking long rides through the countryside listening to the Grateful Dead? And I'm not even lighting up.
I don't cheat on my wife nor do I have the slightest urge to do so. Thus, I'm not particularly interested in rekindling old flames. Any old friends with whom I'd like to reconnect aren't going to be on Facebook anyway. Many of them may not even have computers. Heck I have friends who refuse to allow the internet to invade their homes, and I'd be fibbing if I said I hadn't given that some consideration.
But the bottom line is this: I have no urge to thrust my thoughts and meanderings into the face of others. I truly couldn't care less that somebody's kids are going to a birthday party and another's are playing hockey. I'm not interested in the weather in Orlando or somebody's family photos from their European vacation. Thus, I don't figure anybody's interested in my visit to Goodwin Tech last night, or the fact that I'm looking for a good restaurant in Springfield tonight before the New Britain boys play. I'm not figuring anybody cares who I think is going to win the Super Bowl. I'm sure I'd be wrong anyway.
I have regressed, or perhaps progressed, to the point where neither Twitter nor Facebook will soak up my free time. I'll check Facebook now and then to see who wants me to be their friend or to see if any long lost buddies are buzzing around, but I'm not prone to feign such self-importance that I'm going to prattle on about the accomplishments of my offspring, siblings or myself.
So crank up another episode of Gunsmoke. Time for another chapter in my Humphrey Bogart biography. Think I'll drive around the corner an extra time to hear the end of "Truckin," but I believe for the time being, the only tweeting done around here will be by the robins come April.
Monday, January 4, 2010
NBHS HOOPS: A GREAT PLACE TO BE
My experience at Monday’s boys basketball game between New Britain and Northwest Catholic reinforced my appreciation for high school sports.
It starts with the people.
There’s John the ticket seller. I never walk into a New Britain sporting event without John having something nice to say about my work. With the intense nature of getting out stories with a 10 p.m. deadline, I really don’t have the time to chat with him to the extent that I’d like but every writer likes to hear that people are reading the stories and blogs.
The Northwest Catholic folks are terrific. Athletic director Josh Reese and boys coach John Mirabello are two of the nicest people around. No wonder kids love to play hoops there. I’ve always wished that the Herald could cover Northwest. I haven’t seen girls coach Karl Herbert yet this season but no one is more deserving of the success that he’s enjoying. He’s got his club at the top of the state polls and it wouldn’t surprise me if he ends up there.
The Indians lost to New Britain, 63-59, yet Mirabello, as always, stressed the positive after the game. He truly felt that the lessons gained by his young club will pay dividends down the line. I don’t doubt it. He’s got a nice mix of veterans (Julian Harris, J.C. Carr, Tom Bourdon) and perhaps the best freshman in the state in 6-foot-8 Kuran Iverson.
Again because of how pressure-packed it is to get a story out, I rarely have a chance to chat with the fans. There were so many former NB players and parents and I’d love to sit down for a cup of coffee with them all. I just hope they fully understand that stringing together a game story in a matter of minutes chips away at my free time.
The same goes for the New Britain administration.
The work of athletic director Lenny Corto, site director Bill Ackerman, clock operator Paul Majeski, official scorer Michelle Abraham and the other coaches like Mimi Parks who lend a hard is generally unnoticed. The atmosphere wouldn’t be as pleasant if the PA system is malfunctioning but Ackerman makes sure everything is in order. Abraham balances the scorebook quicker than anybody I’ve ever worked with, and that’s a huge bonus when you’re trying to get a story out. The PA work turned in by Randy Brochu gives Chick Shea Gym a college-like aura.
East Hartford’s talented 6-foot-6 forward Jakarri McCalop went out of his way to stop by to say hello after the game. He wanted to know when I was going to cover one of his games. I hope I get the pleasure because New Britain and East Hartford are not scheduled to play during the regular season. Maybe I can catch him when the Hornets play Newington. His kindness warmed my heart.
I had the chance to chat with Tebucky Jones after the game. I could talk to him for hours. I hope I can find the time to do that soon. What a great job he’s done raising his family. Tebucky Jr. is a terrific young man.
The New Britain coaching staff headed by Stan Glowiak is outstanding. Stan is a true friend. Todd Stigliano and Darwin Shaw, too.
I saw Mayor Tim Stewart walk in and provide his support. You’ve got to appreciate that he can find the time to attend the games and he’s at quite a few. Every mayor should be as sports-minded and supportive. Former principal Paul Salina rarely misses a game. He’s there with his camera, snapping photos that he’ll give to the kids. Current principal Mike Foran put in a full day at school and doesn’t have to be there, but he is … almost all the time.
The pep band and cheerleaders add to the atmosphere.
Gradually, the crowd thins out. I’m typing like a madman as the custodians clean up, roll up the bleachers and prepare the gym for Tuesday’s school day. I don’t know all their names but their work is indispensible and their kindness is greatly appreciated. The one I do know is former NBHS lineman and Northeastern grad Corey Thomas. I’d be proud to call him my son, but I don’t think that great dad of his is giving him up any time soon.
Then there was the game. It was just a great high school game, close all the way, well-officiated and extremely well-played. So many people said so as they left the gym. What a great night!
The season is still young. Many great games both at home and on the road remain. Why don’t you consider joining the family.
It starts with the people.
There’s John the ticket seller. I never walk into a New Britain sporting event without John having something nice to say about my work. With the intense nature of getting out stories with a 10 p.m. deadline, I really don’t have the time to chat with him to the extent that I’d like but every writer likes to hear that people are reading the stories and blogs.
The Northwest Catholic folks are terrific. Athletic director Josh Reese and boys coach John Mirabello are two of the nicest people around. No wonder kids love to play hoops there. I’ve always wished that the Herald could cover Northwest. I haven’t seen girls coach Karl Herbert yet this season but no one is more deserving of the success that he’s enjoying. He’s got his club at the top of the state polls and it wouldn’t surprise me if he ends up there.
The Indians lost to New Britain, 63-59, yet Mirabello, as always, stressed the positive after the game. He truly felt that the lessons gained by his young club will pay dividends down the line. I don’t doubt it. He’s got a nice mix of veterans (Julian Harris, J.C. Carr, Tom Bourdon) and perhaps the best freshman in the state in 6-foot-8 Kuran Iverson.
Again because of how pressure-packed it is to get a story out, I rarely have a chance to chat with the fans. There were so many former NB players and parents and I’d love to sit down for a cup of coffee with them all. I just hope they fully understand that stringing together a game story in a matter of minutes chips away at my free time.
The same goes for the New Britain administration.
The work of athletic director Lenny Corto, site director Bill Ackerman, clock operator Paul Majeski, official scorer Michelle Abraham and the other coaches like Mimi Parks who lend a hard is generally unnoticed. The atmosphere wouldn’t be as pleasant if the PA system is malfunctioning but Ackerman makes sure everything is in order. Abraham balances the scorebook quicker than anybody I’ve ever worked with, and that’s a huge bonus when you’re trying to get a story out. The PA work turned in by Randy Brochu gives Chick Shea Gym a college-like aura.
East Hartford’s talented 6-foot-6 forward Jakarri McCalop went out of his way to stop by to say hello after the game. He wanted to know when I was going to cover one of his games. I hope I get the pleasure because New Britain and East Hartford are not scheduled to play during the regular season. Maybe I can catch him when the Hornets play Newington. His kindness warmed my heart.
I had the chance to chat with Tebucky Jones after the game. I could talk to him for hours. I hope I can find the time to do that soon. What a great job he’s done raising his family. Tebucky Jr. is a terrific young man.
The New Britain coaching staff headed by Stan Glowiak is outstanding. Stan is a true friend. Todd Stigliano and Darwin Shaw, too.
I saw Mayor Tim Stewart walk in and provide his support. You’ve got to appreciate that he can find the time to attend the games and he’s at quite a few. Every mayor should be as sports-minded and supportive. Former principal Paul Salina rarely misses a game. He’s there with his camera, snapping photos that he’ll give to the kids. Current principal Mike Foran put in a full day at school and doesn’t have to be there, but he is … almost all the time.
The pep band and cheerleaders add to the atmosphere.
Gradually, the crowd thins out. I’m typing like a madman as the custodians clean up, roll up the bleachers and prepare the gym for Tuesday’s school day. I don’t know all their names but their work is indispensible and their kindness is greatly appreciated. The one I do know is former NBHS lineman and Northeastern grad Corey Thomas. I’d be proud to call him my son, but I don’t think that great dad of his is giving him up any time soon.
Then there was the game. It was just a great high school game, close all the way, well-officiated and extremely well-played. So many people said so as they left the gym. What a great night!
The season is still young. Many great games both at home and on the road remain. Why don’t you consider joining the family.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
POWERLESS
The week from Christmas through New Year’s Day traditionally has been vacation time for my wife Lisa and me.
We truly wanted to get away this year – a quiet few days at a New England bed and breakfast is our cup of holiday brew – but the economy dictated that we stay at home. We did some things around the house, bought ourselves an HD plasma TV and enjoyed each other’s company.
Then came Tuesday, with its high winds and Arctic chill.
We had a horrific incident in the neighborhood when the wind blew down a massive pine tree within sight of our house. The power lines were ripped down. The toaster oven with my leftover pizza slices (boy does Pagliacci’s of Plainville make good ones) suddenly went cold. The power went out.
We were told by the CL&P recording that normalcy would be returned in two hours. That hardly seemed likely and sure enough, it wasn’t. We were in for a long haul for the second time in three years.
The fact that modern conveniences were unavailable was nothing compared to no water and thus no plumbing to accommodate certain functions that human beings can't ignore for very long. After all, nobody has outhouses anymore. Nonetheless, we tried to rough it.
We had plenty of firewood and that’s always fun and romantic to sit in front of a blazing fire on a cold night. I puffed on my pipe and sipped some alcoholic concoctions to while away the hours, keeping in mind what our forefathers did 250 years ago. No SmartPhones back then, Virginia. Folks amused themselves with simple pleasures, glad to be warm and elated to be sharing quality time with their loved ones.
The power went off at 12:50 p.m. The sun set and wind-chill numbers became unfit for the warm-blooded. We had plans to meet another couple for dinner at Sadler’s Ordinary, a quaint spot in Marlborough. We got out of the house early, had a cup of coffee at Barnes and noble, then hit Route 2 for the ride to Sadler’s. We hoped all along that the power would be back by the time we got home, but nothing doing.
As we pulled into our neighborhood, we found the road to be closed. What lay before us looked like footage from London in 1942 after a German air attack. A utility pole had been snapped in two, leaving the transformer broken in pieces on the ground. Wires hung low. The intrepid CL&P linemen braved the numbing cold to put things back in order but we could see it would take awhile.
We circled around into Burlington and returned home. Thankfully, son Jason and his girl Brittany kept the home fires burning.
We talked, I read my stirring Humphrey Bogart biography by candlelight and the fire raged. Finally, a few minutes before 2 a.m., the lights went on. By Wednesday morning 10 a.m., we had telephone service, internet and cable TV restored. Our time of living like the Pilgrims came to a close after 12 hours.
I went around the house to make sure everything was in order and noticed the toaster oven was on. I had eaten the pizza cold (still pretty tasty) but we didn't think of turning the oven off when the power went out. If the power had been restored when we were in Marlborough, we may have come home to a smoldering pile of embers. As it turns out, we were fortunate that events transpired in the manner they did.
I’ve gotten very philosophical over the years. That, combined with my deep respect for what our forefathers had to endure, set me to reflecting on how thankful we should be for the luxuries we have.
Denied of watching more meaningless bowl games or some obscure college basketball, I picked up a book with cold fingers and read through squinting eyes. So what! We weathered the storm. We could have spent the night at my in-laws home or even at a local inn but that could have resulted in disaster, one of the worst of our lives.
Somebody was listening to our prayers, and a couple hours without TV, telephones and internet access didn't do us any harm. In fact, it did us some good.
We truly wanted to get away this year – a quiet few days at a New England bed and breakfast is our cup of holiday brew – but the economy dictated that we stay at home. We did some things around the house, bought ourselves an HD plasma TV and enjoyed each other’s company.
Then came Tuesday, with its high winds and Arctic chill.
We had a horrific incident in the neighborhood when the wind blew down a massive pine tree within sight of our house. The power lines were ripped down. The toaster oven with my leftover pizza slices (boy does Pagliacci’s of Plainville make good ones) suddenly went cold. The power went out.
We were told by the CL&P recording that normalcy would be returned in two hours. That hardly seemed likely and sure enough, it wasn’t. We were in for a long haul for the second time in three years.
The fact that modern conveniences were unavailable was nothing compared to no water and thus no plumbing to accommodate certain functions that human beings can't ignore for very long. After all, nobody has outhouses anymore. Nonetheless, we tried to rough it.
We had plenty of firewood and that’s always fun and romantic to sit in front of a blazing fire on a cold night. I puffed on my pipe and sipped some alcoholic concoctions to while away the hours, keeping in mind what our forefathers did 250 years ago. No SmartPhones back then, Virginia. Folks amused themselves with simple pleasures, glad to be warm and elated to be sharing quality time with their loved ones.
The power went off at 12:50 p.m. The sun set and wind-chill numbers became unfit for the warm-blooded. We had plans to meet another couple for dinner at Sadler’s Ordinary, a quaint spot in Marlborough. We got out of the house early, had a cup of coffee at Barnes and noble, then hit Route 2 for the ride to Sadler’s. We hoped all along that the power would be back by the time we got home, but nothing doing.
As we pulled into our neighborhood, we found the road to be closed. What lay before us looked like footage from London in 1942 after a German air attack. A utility pole had been snapped in two, leaving the transformer broken in pieces on the ground. Wires hung low. The intrepid CL&P linemen braved the numbing cold to put things back in order but we could see it would take awhile.
We circled around into Burlington and returned home. Thankfully, son Jason and his girl Brittany kept the home fires burning.
We talked, I read my stirring Humphrey Bogart biography by candlelight and the fire raged. Finally, a few minutes before 2 a.m., the lights went on. By Wednesday morning 10 a.m., we had telephone service, internet and cable TV restored. Our time of living like the Pilgrims came to a close after 12 hours.
I went around the house to make sure everything was in order and noticed the toaster oven was on. I had eaten the pizza cold (still pretty tasty) but we didn't think of turning the oven off when the power went out. If the power had been restored when we were in Marlborough, we may have come home to a smoldering pile of embers. As it turns out, we were fortunate that events transpired in the manner they did.
I’ve gotten very philosophical over the years. That, combined with my deep respect for what our forefathers had to endure, set me to reflecting on how thankful we should be for the luxuries we have.
Denied of watching more meaningless bowl games or some obscure college basketball, I picked up a book with cold fingers and read through squinting eyes. So what! We weathered the storm. We could have spent the night at my in-laws home or even at a local inn but that could have resulted in disaster, one of the worst of our lives.
Somebody was listening to our prayers, and a couple hours without TV, telephones and internet access didn't do us any harm. In fact, it did us some good.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
A HALL-OF-FAME WEEKEND
I wasn’t sure where my trip to sports writers’ heaven would take me but I knew where it would begin and end.
It began on the tarmac of Bradley International where my oldest and among my dearest friends stepped off his plane from Fort Myers, Fla., at about 11 a.m. Andy Vaspasiano (we call him Vas for the same reason they call me Lip) was coming home to celebrate my induction into the Connecticut High School Coaches Association Hall Of Fame.
Vas and I go back to when I was 3. I had just moved from Westville in New Haven to our new post-war ranch in Hamden on Belden Road. We’re literally friends for life.
The dinner festivities were to begin at 6. He would need some time to relax and we would need an hour before the gala to prepare.
When I asked him on the phone Wednesday night what else he’d like to accomplish in his four-day visit, I knew what he was going to say. Pepe’s. Vas, you’re in luck. Old Frank, the pizzamaker supreme, left some pretty savvy descendants in charge (including my former Helen Street Scholl buddy Francis Roselli). Pepe’s has a restaurant in Manchester now.
“Is it as good as Wooster Street?” said Vas, with his typically mysteriously and skeptical tone. Oh boy, I’d better answer this one right. Who knows more about pizza than the guy whose mom was born in Italy, a guy who went to St. John the Baptist School on the Hamden-New Haven border that literally was attached to the Venice Restaurant. Vas had to sit through classes smelling the world’s best pizza every school day.
We pulled into the parking lot and I looked down. A shiny quarter looked back at me. Now I knew my four-day dream was going to feature divine intervention.
If you haven’t had a Pepe’s pepperoni pizza yet, for God’s sake go out and get one right now. Vas says he isn’t leaving Connecticut without eating another one. He let me have my pepperoni. He got sausage and mushrooms before he boarded his return flight Sunday evening.
Our bellies bulging with pizza and hearts with nostalgia, I stopped in East Hartford to show him UConn’s new football palace, Rentschler Field. While there, we visited the CHSCA’s display of plaques.
We perused the plaques slowly. Vas saw many familiar faces from back in the day. Contemplating how absorbed he was and thinking about what was in store later that night, I became totally inspired about my induction. I would soon be joining these esteemed purveyors of state sports. Me! I still can’t believe it, but that stop at The Rent had much greater implications than I considered when we pulled off I-84. It was definitely the thing to do.
THE DINNER
Every moment at the induction dinner was heavenly. Every time I glanced in another direction, I saw another dear friend.
First and foremost, there was “The Family” – not my wife, son and sister, all of whom were with me and I love dearly, but “The Family.” There was me Vas, (former O’Brien Tech-Ansonia coach and administrator) Ray DeAngelis, John Coassin and “The Godfather,” Ron Sambrook.
We were inseparable back in the day. We were back together for the first time in 25 or so years.
There was another “Godfather” in the crowd.
Legendary Southington High baseball coach John Fontana is a driving force behind the CHSCA. When the Godfather says, “Keep your speech to 5 minutes,” well that’s exactly what you do. My first take of my speech lasted 4:45, so I added a sentence but couldn’t possibly thank all the people who I wanted to acknowledge.
I’ll do my best to do that here.
My colleagues at The Herald were there in number – sports guys Matt Straub and Ryan Pipke, executive editor Jim Smith and publisher/owner Michael Schroeder.
The coaches. Where do I begin? It all starts with New Britain High, which elicits the kind of camaraderie between coaches that I’ve never seen anywhere else.
Former football coach, now athletic director and CHSCA president Len Corto works long and hard for his school and the organization. He’s tireless, compassionate and wouldn’t he have loved to been at Pepe’s with us.
Ken Kezer, former NBHS baseball coach, was my presenter. After I made my speech, he handed me the commemorative diamond ring that all nine honorees received. Can you imagine? A diamond ring!
Basketball coach Stan Glowiak, a nicer man would be hard to find. Volleyball coach Michelle Abraham, stunning and tanned to perfection as always.
Track coach Darwin Shaw hands me a bag and says, “You ever have sweet potato pie? I never had the pleasure but I will now. As if Coach Shaw isn’t doing enough, he’s marketing his amazing version of the popular Southern confection. If you want one after your Pepe’s Pizza, I’ll put you in touch with him. (Why does it always get back to food? Not-so-small wonder.)
It touched me deeply that my Rock Cats family came in force. My dear friend Jeff Dooley, busy as he is with his full-time job and Hartford Hawks radio gig, was there. Cats owner Bill Dowling, perhaps the sincerest man on the planet, came despite suffering from the effects of the flu.
My press box buddies Larry Michaels and Ed Smith, Rock Cats photographer Buddy Robinson with his camera clicking away, Buddy’s wife Lynn. How wonderful it was to see them all.
Hamden friend Kirk Shultz came along with his parents. His father, “Big Dutch,” said he’d make it despite having to tote that oxygen tank around. His mother is my second mother. Since my mom died in 1990, she and my dear mother-in-law Fayna Birnbaum provided that irreplaceable maternal love.
I can’t mention Fayna without her husband and my father-in-law Dave. He isn’t the type to gush with emotion but his eyes told the story when he came up after the dinner and saw the ring.
Former NBHS coach Paul Majeski came up to me with a stern look on his face and said, “I want you to know that I usually don’t come to these things but for you, I came. You really deserve this award. You’ve done so much for the kids of New Britain.”
If Jerry Garcia was still alive, I’d have him lay down a guitar track for music that sweet.
And here’s the second and third stanza.
New Canaan football coach Lou Marinelli ranks as one of the state’s finest. He barely has enough fingers to contain the state championship rings and before he’s done, he may have to start using his toes.
New Canaan is way down there in Fairfield County and I’ve never had the pleasure of covering one of his teams but nonetheless, here’s what he said to me.
“I’m honored to be sharing the same stage with you tonight.”
He’s honored to be sharing the stage with me!? Here’s another, “Are you kidding me?”
After I made my speech, I was walking behind the esteemed people at the head table. Another Fairfield County legend – former Trumbull High coach and administrator Jerry McDougall – stopped me.
“That was a great speech you made,” he said as he grasped my hand. “It was from the heart.”
For those of you who couldn’t be there and would like to see the speech, here it goes:
First, I would like to congratulate the other eight honorees and thank all those who have come here tonight to support them.
I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of love, friendship and respect that my friends and family have bestowed on me by attending this glorious dinner in such number. I never thought so many of them could be gathered in one place in my honor, at least while I’m still alive.
What makes this award so incredibly important to me is where it comes from, the high school coaches. Coaches provide guidance for our student-athletes so they can learn the value of team dynamics, working together with their peers toward a common goal. They’re role models of the highest order.
Most of you have either coached or played so you know first-hand about the sacrifices coaching requires. The time spent with their families and in the pursuit of leisure activities are curtailed to help kids. When you consider how impressionable our kids are and how little these coaches are paid, their efforts are as noble as they are vital to our future.
I never heard that notion put more eloquently than in this very room when Geno Auriemma received a Gold Key from our CT Sports Writers’ Alliance. He dedicated his Gold Key to the high school coaches. Without them, he said, the success he’s achieved would be impossible. I consider that pretty staunch testimony.
Sports writing is not an individual application. It takes a lot of teamwork, and I’m excited to have some of my colleagues who have made this honor possible here tonight. After a story gets written, somebody has to be on the other end to format it, put it on a page and write a catchy headline, and I would like to thank those who have performed that and other functions over the years at The New Britain Herald and The Bristol Press.
I’d like to thank our publisher Michael Schroeder, who has saved both of those newspapers from the brink of oblivion so they can continue to be true partners in the communities they serve. Jim Smith, executive editor, sports editor Matt Straub and assistant Ryan Pipke. It’s all about teamwork, and that’s a great team.
Neither would this award be remotely possible without something compelling to write about. For that, I thank all the wonderful student-athletes, who have been so accommodating over the years.
When you come across former high school athletes, years removed from their days of glory, and they pull out a shredded piece of newsprint, well how can you not be touched by that. So many have gone on to become leaders in business, politics or education. I’d like to think that I had a little something to do with that.
I look out over the people here on my behalf and I see a table full of Rock Cats. They are more than friends; they are extended family. Thanks so much for being here and for what you’ve contributed to my life.
Special thanks to the people who are primarily responsible for putting me up here tonight. The New Britain High coaches are truly a special breed, and I know I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for Ken Kezer and Lenny Corto. Heartfelt thanks to John Fontana and Larry McHugh and the tremendous work they’ve done as coaches and administrators. Getting to know and work with these four gentlemen has surely enriched my life.
And where would I be without the support of my family. My wife Lisa and son Jason have been in my corner 100 percent of the time so I could keep plugging away with my labor of love that totally transcends what most would consider just a job.
Thank you, everybody, for being a part of one of the most special moments in my life.
People said it was good. That isn’t for me to say, but I crammed in most of what I wanted to say while satisfying Fontana’s Five-Minute Frontier. People say I talk too much. Geez, and they say that to my face!
I understand my Herald colleagues were timing the speech with most betting it would go into overtime. Sorry, boys, but I wasn’t going to get on Godfather Fontana’s bad side. Mr. Straub said he had to hand it to me. Thanks, Matt. Coming from you, that’s high praise.
COOPERSTOWN
On Friday, Vas, Ronnie “Samlione” Sambrook and I hopped in my Chevy Avalanche and drove to Cooperstown, N.Y., and the National Baseball Hall of Fame.
The long ride (3 ½ hours) was anything but tedious. With my two best buddies sharing stories of our glorious past and a day of baseball reminiscing, the day went by like the snap of your fingers.
Vas was into the first boutique he saw and had a Whitey Ford display scoped out. Old Vas is a lefty himself, and that combined with the interlocking NY makes Ford one of his favorites. Whitey now joins the Vas Pinstripe Hall of Fame, which occupies its own Cooperstown-like room in Bonita Springs, Fla.
Vas refused to believe Dooley when he said Joe Mauer was winning the MVP. Oh, no, it had to be Jeter. Sorry, Vas. You got the world title but former Rock Cat Joe got the MVP hardware. I told you Dooley knows these things.
Vas wasn’t finished shopping. He was piling up stuff in the Hall of Fame store, too, including a photo of opening day at the new Yankee Stadium. Ronnie and I don’t share Vas’ Yankee passion. We can’t stand ’em.
Ronnie is a longtime Orioles fan, and he’ll tell you he hasn’t smiled since Ripken was playing. He got in front of the Orioles display case at Cooperstown and you’d think he was in church.
COUPE DE GRAS AT CONFETTI
The Family – Vas, Ronnie, John Coassin, Ray DeAngelis and I – got together again for a gala dinner Saturday night at Confetti (Farmington Avenue, Route 10, Plainville), the restaurant owned by a fellow Hamdenite and Belden Road girl, Joanie Spinato-Lemniotis.
My wife Lisa and son Jason accompanied me. John’s wife Linda and Ray’s wife Liz accompanied them. Also on hand were dear friends David and Amy Dippolino, who thankfully honored me with their presence at the Hall of Fame Dinner, too.
What a great time!
Afterwards, we posed for “Family” photographs. Combined with those taken at the Hall of Fame Dinner, they are priceless and will forever populate the walls of my cozy home office.
Joanie, her husband Peter (who was Lisa’s paper boy in New Britain long before he became a talented chef, especially with fresh fish) and her brother/bartender John were gracious hosts. John Spinato and David Dippolino were best buddies growing up on Belden Road. Some of these friendships should give you an idea what it was like in Hamden’s Pine Rock region in the 1960s. There are so many more friendships that are too many to mention, and some of them continue to live on.
AND FINALLY …
The time went by too quickly. I wish every minute could have been an hour and every hour a day. Friendship, camaraderie, sincerity and love were all around. I couldn’t have imagined that something so wonderful could ever come together.
Sincerest thanks to everybody who was a part of it, and to those without whom it would have been just another Thanksgiving. Coach Kezer, Coach Fontana, Coach McHugh and Coach Corto – I’m not sure if you will ever fully realize how grateful I am.
It began on the tarmac of Bradley International where my oldest and among my dearest friends stepped off his plane from Fort Myers, Fla., at about 11 a.m. Andy Vaspasiano (we call him Vas for the same reason they call me Lip) was coming home to celebrate my induction into the Connecticut High School Coaches Association Hall Of Fame.
Vas and I go back to when I was 3. I had just moved from Westville in New Haven to our new post-war ranch in Hamden on Belden Road. We’re literally friends for life.
The dinner festivities were to begin at 6. He would need some time to relax and we would need an hour before the gala to prepare.
When I asked him on the phone Wednesday night what else he’d like to accomplish in his four-day visit, I knew what he was going to say. Pepe’s. Vas, you’re in luck. Old Frank, the pizzamaker supreme, left some pretty savvy descendants in charge (including my former Helen Street Scholl buddy Francis Roselli). Pepe’s has a restaurant in Manchester now.
“Is it as good as Wooster Street?” said Vas, with his typically mysteriously and skeptical tone. Oh boy, I’d better answer this one right. Who knows more about pizza than the guy whose mom was born in Italy, a guy who went to St. John the Baptist School on the Hamden-New Haven border that literally was attached to the Venice Restaurant. Vas had to sit through classes smelling the world’s best pizza every school day.
We pulled into the parking lot and I looked down. A shiny quarter looked back at me. Now I knew my four-day dream was going to feature divine intervention.
If you haven’t had a Pepe’s pepperoni pizza yet, for God’s sake go out and get one right now. Vas says he isn’t leaving Connecticut without eating another one. He let me have my pepperoni. He got sausage and mushrooms before he boarded his return flight Sunday evening.
Our bellies bulging with pizza and hearts with nostalgia, I stopped in East Hartford to show him UConn’s new football palace, Rentschler Field. While there, we visited the CHSCA’s display of plaques.
We perused the plaques slowly. Vas saw many familiar faces from back in the day. Contemplating how absorbed he was and thinking about what was in store later that night, I became totally inspired about my induction. I would soon be joining these esteemed purveyors of state sports. Me! I still can’t believe it, but that stop at The Rent had much greater implications than I considered when we pulled off I-84. It was definitely the thing to do.
THE DINNER
Every moment at the induction dinner was heavenly. Every time I glanced in another direction, I saw another dear friend.
First and foremost, there was “The Family” – not my wife, son and sister, all of whom were with me and I love dearly, but “The Family.” There was me Vas, (former O’Brien Tech-Ansonia coach and administrator) Ray DeAngelis, John Coassin and “The Godfather,” Ron Sambrook.
We were inseparable back in the day. We were back together for the first time in 25 or so years.
There was another “Godfather” in the crowd.
Legendary Southington High baseball coach John Fontana is a driving force behind the CHSCA. When the Godfather says, “Keep your speech to 5 minutes,” well that’s exactly what you do. My first take of my speech lasted 4:45, so I added a sentence but couldn’t possibly thank all the people who I wanted to acknowledge.
I’ll do my best to do that here.
My colleagues at The Herald were there in number – sports guys Matt Straub and Ryan Pipke, executive editor Jim Smith and publisher/owner Michael Schroeder.
The coaches. Where do I begin? It all starts with New Britain High, which elicits the kind of camaraderie between coaches that I’ve never seen anywhere else.
Former football coach, now athletic director and CHSCA president Len Corto works long and hard for his school and the organization. He’s tireless, compassionate and wouldn’t he have loved to been at Pepe’s with us.
Ken Kezer, former NBHS baseball coach, was my presenter. After I made my speech, he handed me the commemorative diamond ring that all nine honorees received. Can you imagine? A diamond ring!
Basketball coach Stan Glowiak, a nicer man would be hard to find. Volleyball coach Michelle Abraham, stunning and tanned to perfection as always.
Track coach Darwin Shaw hands me a bag and says, “You ever have sweet potato pie? I never had the pleasure but I will now. As if Coach Shaw isn’t doing enough, he’s marketing his amazing version of the popular Southern confection. If you want one after your Pepe’s Pizza, I’ll put you in touch with him. (Why does it always get back to food? Not-so-small wonder.)
It touched me deeply that my Rock Cats family came in force. My dear friend Jeff Dooley, busy as he is with his full-time job and Hartford Hawks radio gig, was there. Cats owner Bill Dowling, perhaps the sincerest man on the planet, came despite suffering from the effects of the flu.
My press box buddies Larry Michaels and Ed Smith, Rock Cats photographer Buddy Robinson with his camera clicking away, Buddy’s wife Lynn. How wonderful it was to see them all.
Hamden friend Kirk Shultz came along with his parents. His father, “Big Dutch,” said he’d make it despite having to tote that oxygen tank around. His mother is my second mother. Since my mom died in 1990, she and my dear mother-in-law Fayna Birnbaum provided that irreplaceable maternal love.
I can’t mention Fayna without her husband and my father-in-law Dave. He isn’t the type to gush with emotion but his eyes told the story when he came up after the dinner and saw the ring.
Former NBHS coach Paul Majeski came up to me with a stern look on his face and said, “I want you to know that I usually don’t come to these things but for you, I came. You really deserve this award. You’ve done so much for the kids of New Britain.”
If Jerry Garcia was still alive, I’d have him lay down a guitar track for music that sweet.
And here’s the second and third stanza.
New Canaan football coach Lou Marinelli ranks as one of the state’s finest. He barely has enough fingers to contain the state championship rings and before he’s done, he may have to start using his toes.
New Canaan is way down there in Fairfield County and I’ve never had the pleasure of covering one of his teams but nonetheless, here’s what he said to me.
“I’m honored to be sharing the same stage with you tonight.”
He’s honored to be sharing the stage with me!? Here’s another, “Are you kidding me?”
After I made my speech, I was walking behind the esteemed people at the head table. Another Fairfield County legend – former Trumbull High coach and administrator Jerry McDougall – stopped me.
“That was a great speech you made,” he said as he grasped my hand. “It was from the heart.”
For those of you who couldn’t be there and would like to see the speech, here it goes:
First, I would like to congratulate the other eight honorees and thank all those who have come here tonight to support them.
I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of love, friendship and respect that my friends and family have bestowed on me by attending this glorious dinner in such number. I never thought so many of them could be gathered in one place in my honor, at least while I’m still alive.
What makes this award so incredibly important to me is where it comes from, the high school coaches. Coaches provide guidance for our student-athletes so they can learn the value of team dynamics, working together with their peers toward a common goal. They’re role models of the highest order.
Most of you have either coached or played so you know first-hand about the sacrifices coaching requires. The time spent with their families and in the pursuit of leisure activities are curtailed to help kids. When you consider how impressionable our kids are and how little these coaches are paid, their efforts are as noble as they are vital to our future.
I never heard that notion put more eloquently than in this very room when Geno Auriemma received a Gold Key from our CT Sports Writers’ Alliance. He dedicated his Gold Key to the high school coaches. Without them, he said, the success he’s achieved would be impossible. I consider that pretty staunch testimony.
Sports writing is not an individual application. It takes a lot of teamwork, and I’m excited to have some of my colleagues who have made this honor possible here tonight. After a story gets written, somebody has to be on the other end to format it, put it on a page and write a catchy headline, and I would like to thank those who have performed that and other functions over the years at The New Britain Herald and The Bristol Press.
I’d like to thank our publisher Michael Schroeder, who has saved both of those newspapers from the brink of oblivion so they can continue to be true partners in the communities they serve. Jim Smith, executive editor, sports editor Matt Straub and assistant Ryan Pipke. It’s all about teamwork, and that’s a great team.
Neither would this award be remotely possible without something compelling to write about. For that, I thank all the wonderful student-athletes, who have been so accommodating over the years.
When you come across former high school athletes, years removed from their days of glory, and they pull out a shredded piece of newsprint, well how can you not be touched by that. So many have gone on to become leaders in business, politics or education. I’d like to think that I had a little something to do with that.
I look out over the people here on my behalf and I see a table full of Rock Cats. They are more than friends; they are extended family. Thanks so much for being here and for what you’ve contributed to my life.
Special thanks to the people who are primarily responsible for putting me up here tonight. The New Britain High coaches are truly a special breed, and I know I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for Ken Kezer and Lenny Corto. Heartfelt thanks to John Fontana and Larry McHugh and the tremendous work they’ve done as coaches and administrators. Getting to know and work with these four gentlemen has surely enriched my life.
And where would I be without the support of my family. My wife Lisa and son Jason have been in my corner 100 percent of the time so I could keep plugging away with my labor of love that totally transcends what most would consider just a job.
Thank you, everybody, for being a part of one of the most special moments in my life.
People said it was good. That isn’t for me to say, but I crammed in most of what I wanted to say while satisfying Fontana’s Five-Minute Frontier. People say I talk too much. Geez, and they say that to my face!
I understand my Herald colleagues were timing the speech with most betting it would go into overtime. Sorry, boys, but I wasn’t going to get on Godfather Fontana’s bad side. Mr. Straub said he had to hand it to me. Thanks, Matt. Coming from you, that’s high praise.
COOPERSTOWN
On Friday, Vas, Ronnie “Samlione” Sambrook and I hopped in my Chevy Avalanche and drove to Cooperstown, N.Y., and the National Baseball Hall of Fame.
The long ride (3 ½ hours) was anything but tedious. With my two best buddies sharing stories of our glorious past and a day of baseball reminiscing, the day went by like the snap of your fingers.
Vas was into the first boutique he saw and had a Whitey Ford display scoped out. Old Vas is a lefty himself, and that combined with the interlocking NY makes Ford one of his favorites. Whitey now joins the Vas Pinstripe Hall of Fame, which occupies its own Cooperstown-like room in Bonita Springs, Fla.
Vas refused to believe Dooley when he said Joe Mauer was winning the MVP. Oh, no, it had to be Jeter. Sorry, Vas. You got the world title but former Rock Cat Joe got the MVP hardware. I told you Dooley knows these things.
Vas wasn’t finished shopping. He was piling up stuff in the Hall of Fame store, too, including a photo of opening day at the new Yankee Stadium. Ronnie and I don’t share Vas’ Yankee passion. We can’t stand ’em.
Ronnie is a longtime Orioles fan, and he’ll tell you he hasn’t smiled since Ripken was playing. He got in front of the Orioles display case at Cooperstown and you’d think he was in church.
COUPE DE GRAS AT CONFETTI
The Family – Vas, Ronnie, John Coassin, Ray DeAngelis and I – got together again for a gala dinner Saturday night at Confetti (Farmington Avenue, Route 10, Plainville), the restaurant owned by a fellow Hamdenite and Belden Road girl, Joanie Spinato-Lemniotis.
My wife Lisa and son Jason accompanied me. John’s wife Linda and Ray’s wife Liz accompanied them. Also on hand were dear friends David and Amy Dippolino, who thankfully honored me with their presence at the Hall of Fame Dinner, too.
What a great time!
Afterwards, we posed for “Family” photographs. Combined with those taken at the Hall of Fame Dinner, they are priceless and will forever populate the walls of my cozy home office.
Joanie, her husband Peter (who was Lisa’s paper boy in New Britain long before he became a talented chef, especially with fresh fish) and her brother/bartender John were gracious hosts. John Spinato and David Dippolino were best buddies growing up on Belden Road. Some of these friendships should give you an idea what it was like in Hamden’s Pine Rock region in the 1960s. There are so many more friendships that are too many to mention, and some of them continue to live on.
AND FINALLY …
The time went by too quickly. I wish every minute could have been an hour and every hour a day. Friendship, camaraderie, sincerity and love were all around. I couldn’t have imagined that something so wonderful could ever come together.
Sincerest thanks to everybody who was a part of it, and to those without whom it would have been just another Thanksgiving. Coach Kezer, Coach Fontana, Coach McHugh and Coach Corto – I’m not sure if you will ever fully realize how grateful I am.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
THE NEW HAVEN ELMS
The name resonated with me but I couldn't immediately figure out why.
Former NBA player and coach Al Cervi died Sunday at 92. His playing career happened well before I was born. His coaching career in the NBA took place in my early days of grade school.
Finally I realized that Cervi had coached an Eastern Professional Basketball League team based in New Haven called the Elms that flashed across the bow of my youth at a time when becoming a sports fan was a poignant part of my life and growth.
I remember one wonderful Saturday when I started the day working as an usher in Portal 14 at Yale Bowl and came home just in time for a neighbor to take me to the old New Haven Arena for an Elms game. The Elms were the state's very first EBL franchise.
The EBL would later become the Continental Basketball Association, which younger fans may recall had a franchise in Hartford that played in the Armory called the Connecticut Pride.
When the Elms started out, they had a pretty good team. Former Hillhouse High coach Sam Bender was their coach. Among their players were Woody Sauldsberry and Bruce Spraggins. I had never seen such outstanding players and such big men up close before. Saulsberry was picked up by the Celtics after just a few games and the Elms received veteran guard Sihugo Green in return.
Frank Keitt and Cleo Hill were dynamic guards. Former Hillhouse star Mike Branch gave the team some local flavor. So did 6-foot-8 Wayne Lawrence, who was from the New London area as I recall. Walter Byrd could leap out of the gym and Wilbert Frazier was a decent center.
Cervi later replaced Bender and inherited a team that couldn't compete having sold off its players to other teams, like the Hartford Capitals. Former two-sport star Gene Conley (Celtic forward and Red Sox pitcher) replaced Cervi the next season but the team was horrible. Attendance fell off as the novelty of having pro basketball in New Haven diminished.
Much to my delight, the team was purchased by the Bic Pen Co. of Milford and moved to Hamden. The Bics played in the Hamden High Gym. A few of my friends and I went to all the games, sat high in the bleachers, made signs and plenty of noise. The late and great New Haven Register sports writer George Wadley actually wrote a story about us.
I plied the recesses of my mind for memories and it dawned on me how deeply those days
affected me and what I was to become. The experience fired up my enthusiasm for minor league sports. In the days before the Whalers, UConn's athletic explosion and the super-saturation of sports on TV, minor league was as good as it got for fans who couldn't pick up and go to Boston or New York.
Cervi was a very small part of it but I'll never forget him. Rest in peace, Al.
Former NBA player and coach Al Cervi died Sunday at 92. His playing career happened well before I was born. His coaching career in the NBA took place in my early days of grade school.
Finally I realized that Cervi had coached an Eastern Professional Basketball League team based in New Haven called the Elms that flashed across the bow of my youth at a time when becoming a sports fan was a poignant part of my life and growth.
I remember one wonderful Saturday when I started the day working as an usher in Portal 14 at Yale Bowl and came home just in time for a neighbor to take me to the old New Haven Arena for an Elms game. The Elms were the state's very first EBL franchise.
The EBL would later become the Continental Basketball Association, which younger fans may recall had a franchise in Hartford that played in the Armory called the Connecticut Pride.
When the Elms started out, they had a pretty good team. Former Hillhouse High coach Sam Bender was their coach. Among their players were Woody Sauldsberry and Bruce Spraggins. I had never seen such outstanding players and such big men up close before. Saulsberry was picked up by the Celtics after just a few games and the Elms received veteran guard Sihugo Green in return.
Frank Keitt and Cleo Hill were dynamic guards. Former Hillhouse star Mike Branch gave the team some local flavor. So did 6-foot-8 Wayne Lawrence, who was from the New London area as I recall. Walter Byrd could leap out of the gym and Wilbert Frazier was a decent center.
Cervi later replaced Bender and inherited a team that couldn't compete having sold off its players to other teams, like the Hartford Capitals. Former two-sport star Gene Conley (Celtic forward and Red Sox pitcher) replaced Cervi the next season but the team was horrible. Attendance fell off as the novelty of having pro basketball in New Haven diminished.
Much to my delight, the team was purchased by the Bic Pen Co. of Milford and moved to Hamden. The Bics played in the Hamden High Gym. A few of my friends and I went to all the games, sat high in the bleachers, made signs and plenty of noise. The late and great New Haven Register sports writer George Wadley actually wrote a story about us.
I plied the recesses of my mind for memories and it dawned on me how deeply those days
affected me and what I was to become. The experience fired up my enthusiasm for minor league sports. In the days before the Whalers, UConn's athletic explosion and the super-saturation of sports on TV, minor league was as good as it got for fans who couldn't pick up and go to Boston or New York.
Cervi was a very small part of it but I'll never forget him. Rest in peace, Al.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
THE POLITICAL GAME
As a sports writer who has refined my craft by occasionally venturing out of my league, I had the recent opportunity to do an Election Night story in Southington. Delving into news not only tightens my writing style and sharpens my acumen as a reporter, but it enables me to rub elbows with folks I've met before through 18 years with the New Britain Herald and Bristol Press, in addition to some new ones.
I was assigned to cover a rather mundane school board race in which nine candidates out of the 12 nominated are elected. I positioned myself at Democratic headquarters at Machiavelli's Restaurant on Center Street and watched the returns come in as Pat Saucier, father of former All-Herald athlete Erin, entered them.
The room had been filled with the revelry that great food and camaraderie that political parties can muster, but it soon went silent. The first numbers posted gave veteran observers an immediate sense that this night would belong to the GOP.
Caught up in the Democratic defeat was school board candidate Robert Galati. I have known Bob through covering his sons, excellent athletes at Southington High, and his frequent attendance at New Britain High athletic events as a proud and supportive former teacher there.
As I prepared for my coverage Tuesday, I read The Herald’s superb Q & A forum that our news department ran for the candidates and voters. I scanned Galati's credentials and what he said. I would like to share some of that with you.
Galati is a retired math teacher, although he still teaches at Tunxis Community College. He has a BS degree in mathematics and a Masters in guidance from CCSU. When he was asked to compose his thoughts about the budget crisis tightening its grip on local issues, he expressed the following:
“Lean budgets usually mean a reduction of co-curricular programs, once called extra-curricular programs. Co-curricular programs are vital to providing all students varied opportunities to expand their experiences and knowledge in a non-academic setting. In addition, co-curricular activities allow students the chance to work with life issues. Students who participate in these types of activities have opportunities to build self-esteem, develop leadership skills, and appreciate the dynamics of being a team member.”
Elegantly put, I’d say.
If you read between the lines, he’s referring to varsity sports among the many other outstanding programs offered by our schools, most in desperate need of funding. We all feel the specter of pay-for-play lurking in the shadows, a program that is doomed to failure for among other reasons, parents paying to play expect their athletic little darlings to play. The dilemma is thus placed on the coaches, who spend an inordinate amount of time trying to craft success at very little compensation.
Well, Bob and his wife sat on the floor at Machiavelli’s as the streaming rays of light from Saucier’s projector splashed the results on the wall. Galati's mouth was agape as he watched numbers from the last of Southington’s 12 districts produce final totals.
All six Republicans were elected. Galati was fourth among the Democrats, one vote behind the third and last elected candidate. After absentee ballots were counted, he trailed by three.
Galati, a soft-spoken man, is not a lifelong politician. I’m sure he learned something about the process, and that he’ll spend plenty of time contemplating how he could have coaxed a few more votes. I’m not from Southington but if I were, I’d want a man like him protecting the interests of our youth during very trying financial times.
It makes me wonder how many voters actually read the issues. The Herald made them available both in the paper and on the website. However, races like this become popularity contests, and I’m as guilty for voting for folks in Farmington I know rather than those I do not.
In the case of Farmington, I did not see as comprehensive a package on candidates as I did in the Herald. The Herald no longer actively covers that town. But in Southington, people could have found the platforms if they were so inclined.
This isn’t to say that the people elected to the Southington board are any less competent. I had the pleasure of interviewing school board chairman Brian Goralski, who accumulated the most votes in the race. Goralski is dynamic, knowledgeable, and a passionate family man who no doubt will continue guiding this board to great things. I have no doubt that the other members also have good intentions.
Perhaps it all works out in the end, but from a personal standpoint, I’ve gotten to know a few more terrific people and I think I’ve become a better sports writer.
I was assigned to cover a rather mundane school board race in which nine candidates out of the 12 nominated are elected. I positioned myself at Democratic headquarters at Machiavelli's Restaurant on Center Street and watched the returns come in as Pat Saucier, father of former All-Herald athlete Erin, entered them.
The room had been filled with the revelry that great food and camaraderie that political parties can muster, but it soon went silent. The first numbers posted gave veteran observers an immediate sense that this night would belong to the GOP.
Caught up in the Democratic defeat was school board candidate Robert Galati. I have known Bob through covering his sons, excellent athletes at Southington High, and his frequent attendance at New Britain High athletic events as a proud and supportive former teacher there.
As I prepared for my coverage Tuesday, I read The Herald’s superb Q & A forum that our news department ran for the candidates and voters. I scanned Galati's credentials and what he said. I would like to share some of that with you.
Galati is a retired math teacher, although he still teaches at Tunxis Community College. He has a BS degree in mathematics and a Masters in guidance from CCSU. When he was asked to compose his thoughts about the budget crisis tightening its grip on local issues, he expressed the following:
“Lean budgets usually mean a reduction of co-curricular programs, once called extra-curricular programs. Co-curricular programs are vital to providing all students varied opportunities to expand their experiences and knowledge in a non-academic setting. In addition, co-curricular activities allow students the chance to work with life issues. Students who participate in these types of activities have opportunities to build self-esteem, develop leadership skills, and appreciate the dynamics of being a team member.”
Elegantly put, I’d say.
If you read between the lines, he’s referring to varsity sports among the many other outstanding programs offered by our schools, most in desperate need of funding. We all feel the specter of pay-for-play lurking in the shadows, a program that is doomed to failure for among other reasons, parents paying to play expect their athletic little darlings to play. The dilemma is thus placed on the coaches, who spend an inordinate amount of time trying to craft success at very little compensation.
Well, Bob and his wife sat on the floor at Machiavelli’s as the streaming rays of light from Saucier’s projector splashed the results on the wall. Galati's mouth was agape as he watched numbers from the last of Southington’s 12 districts produce final totals.
All six Republicans were elected. Galati was fourth among the Democrats, one vote behind the third and last elected candidate. After absentee ballots were counted, he trailed by three.
Galati, a soft-spoken man, is not a lifelong politician. I’m sure he learned something about the process, and that he’ll spend plenty of time contemplating how he could have coaxed a few more votes. I’m not from Southington but if I were, I’d want a man like him protecting the interests of our youth during very trying financial times.
It makes me wonder how many voters actually read the issues. The Herald made them available both in the paper and on the website. However, races like this become popularity contests, and I’m as guilty for voting for folks in Farmington I know rather than those I do not.
In the case of Farmington, I did not see as comprehensive a package on candidates as I did in the Herald. The Herald no longer actively covers that town. But in Southington, people could have found the platforms if they were so inclined.
This isn’t to say that the people elected to the Southington board are any less competent. I had the pleasure of interviewing school board chairman Brian Goralski, who accumulated the most votes in the race. Goralski is dynamic, knowledgeable, and a passionate family man who no doubt will continue guiding this board to great things. I have no doubt that the other members also have good intentions.
Perhaps it all works out in the end, but from a personal standpoint, I’ve gotten to know a few more terrific people and I think I’ve become a better sports writer.
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