Today’s edition: What Payne Stewart learned from watching Arnold Palmer; Smalltown News; A Town Called Santa Claus; and a 2010 Christmas blog post about the lies we all long to hear.
“Use All The Crayons!” Tip of the day …
No. 890: “Ask children if they believe it ever bothered Jesus His birthday was the same day as Christmas.”
Arnold Palmer: On This Day in …
1994 -- Payne Stewart tells reporters about the first time he played a round with Arnold Palmer. “It was in the L.A. Open at Rancho Park. I was in the second-to-last group with Arnie and Lanny Wadkins. This was back in 1983 so I’m a pretty young guy on the tour. I remember the galleries were lining both sides and it’s ‘Go Arnie!’ and ‘Sign my tractor. I use Pennzoil!’ People were hanging from the trees. On one hole I hit one inside 10 feet and it’s polite applause. Then Arnie hits it to about 40 feet and it’s a huge roar, ‘Yay, Arnie!’ Another hole, I hit one through the green and the gallery hardly moves. I mean, they leave me a hardly any alley to hit through. I go back there and my first chip hits the edge of some lady’s chair. I’m steaming. My next shot, I chip in and some guy applauds and says, ‘Nice shot.’ I got a very important lesson in my golf career that day. I learned if I wanted the galleries to support me, I’d have to learn to behave like Arnold Palmer.”
Today’s Reason to Visit Latrobe, Mister Rogers’ REAL Neighborhood …
Latrobe is where Fred learned all his good manners.
Days Until Pittsburgh Steelers Come To Latrobe for Training Camp: 222
Small Town News
Jym Walters, Saint Vincent College director of campus life and head coach of the women’s lacrosse team, this week delivered his 3,500th meal to students isolated or quarantined across campus due to the coronavirus. “I like to help out where I can,” Walters says, “and with the quarantine, the need is great. I’m glad to do it.”
What to do today in the Laurel Highlands …
Wax the skis! National Weather Service is forecasting 7- to 10-inches of snow at Seven Springs and other Highland ski resorts.
Bonus “Crayons!” … “William Shakespeare is a famous writer. William Shakesbeer is a guy you don't want to be next to at the party.”
Today’s post (from the past)
“The Lies We All Long to Hear” (from Dec. ’10)
I had my stand-offish Sunday morning face on. I hadn’t showered and didn’t want any human interaction other than that six or so words I’d exchange with the clerk where I buy gas.
I finished pumping, crossed the parking lot and pulled open the door to the local Sheetz convenient mart.
It was like I walked into a one-man surprise party and I was the guest of honor.
“Bill! Hey, Bill! Man, is it good to see you!”
I looked around. I was all alone. I was Bill.
Now careful readers of this blog know I am not Bill and have never pretended to be Bill.
But the elderly stranger who thought I was Bill was thrilled to see someone he was convinced was Bill.
He was probably in his late 60s. He had a very kind face that was enlivened by seeing what he thought was an old friend. He had his fist salute extended and was waiting for me to bump knuckles.
I realized I was in a common social predicament. He’d confused me with a good friend.
He looked coherent, but who knows? Maybe he was one of our numerous village idiots. I’m friends with most of them, but they are accumulating like snow these days and it’s difficult to keep track of them all.
What was I to do?
I raised my fist, gave him my warmest buddy-buddy greeting and said, “Hey, how the hell you been! You look great!”
And he did. He looked like I look when I’m driving down the road and hear John Fogerty and Creedence singing, “Doo! Doo! Doo! Looking out my backdoor!”
He was delighted.
My still-slumbering mind was racing through dozens of calculations. What was the risk here? Should I let him down gently or play along? What if the real Bill walked in?
You can converse with a stranger for about 90 seconds of generic conversation involving some form of the question, how are you?
Then the gentleman upped the ante. He wanted to know how Bonnie was doing.
We’d reached a turning point. I was left with a choice of either backing down and, perhaps, ruining the splendid start to his day or pushing another stack of lies to the center of the table.
“She’s great! Just finished all her Christmas shopping. Her mom slipped on the snow last week, but she’ll be all right.”
He was sorry to hear that. He asked me how work was going, allowing me the opportunity to venture into a rare burst of honesty.
“It’s been slow, but things are turning around. I’m optimistic better days are on the way.”
The guy at the counter was buying lottery tickets and the other clerk was fetching change. My high-wire act couldn’t endure forever. C’mon, let’s get those registers ringing.
“And how about Mark? How’s he doing?”
He was a family guy so I figured Mark was my son. I know kids today have their problems, but it was the holidays. I wasn’t going to ruin his day by telling him Mark’s in rehab.
“He’s great. He’s up at Clarion University. He wants to be a veterinarian.”
This pleased him. He had fond memories of Mark.
The guy at the counter was putting his change in his wallet and I was hoping Bonnie and I didn’t have any more kids.
Finally, it was his turn to pay just as the other clerk stepped up. At just about the same time, we both realized our little holiday was over. We looked each other in the eye and put our right arms around the other’s left shoulders for brief man hugs.
It was a beautiful moment.
We wished each other a Merry Christmas and I told him I’d be sure to tell Bonnie he’d said hello.
It reminded me of the final scene of the great 1995 movie “Smoke,” in which the Harvey Keitel character tells the William Hurt character about an encounter he had with an elderly blind woman who thought he was her nephew. He wound up staying for dinner. Hurt thinks he made it all up, but as the credits role they show the scene he recalled as the Tom Waits’s song, “Innocent When You Dream” plays.
It’s magnificent.
I thought about the right and wrong of what I’d done as I drove home. I’d told a slew of lies to a kind-hearted gentleman who may one day wind up very confused next time he sees Bill or Bonnie out getting gas.
But I think my bigger sin was not the lies. It was the size of them.
They were all too puny.
I should have told him our bowling team won the league championship, that Bonnie had a book of poems published, her mom had won the state lottery and that Mark was studying to be an astronaut.
I should have told him they’d discovered a cure for cancer, the wars were all over and they’d discovered a way to fax leftovers to the hungry.
I should have told him that this Christmas everything was going to be all right.
Because, really, that’s what he wanted Bill to tell him. It’s what we all want to hear.
I hope even a fraction of all that happens.
And I hope Bill, Bonnie and Mark have a wonderful Christmas and Mark doesn’t ruin the holiday by drinking too much.
Bonus “Crayons!” Tip no. 176 … “The literalist in me was furious to visit the Air & Space Museum and see it has both walls and ceilings.”
Oddly enough …
Do you believe in Santa Claus? Answer no in this small southern Indiana town and you'll be considered more than a Grinch: You'll be an obstacle to civic advancement. That's because the village of 1,800 merry souls is the only place in America officially named after St. Nick. Townsfolk are so crazy for Christmas every street is named in honor of the holiday, including Candy Cane Lane, Mistletoe Drive and Arctic Circle. Each December, the normally sleepy Santa Claus Post Office, ZIP code 47579, goes from handling 3,000 pieces of mail a day to more than 50,000. This Christmas alone, postal workers will help deliver more than 500,000 pieces of mail from all over the world. Santa Claus is also home Holiday World, named by Forbes Magazine as one of the top 10 must-visit amusement parks in the world.
The Page 1 “Crayons!” Pledge (still applies)
The Book Is STILL Free
That’s right. Free. Anyone who wants a copy mailed to his or her home, no charge, is welcome to one. Just ask.
Author Chris Rodell, of course, encourages you to buy it and hopes you’ll support him and the people who distribute, promote and sell books. But if you’re one of those Americans who are out of work and having a tough time, or if you know a US serviceman or woman who might benefit from a book that aims to brighten daily lives, then Rodell wants you to get in touch at storyteller@chrisrodell.com.
He doesn’t believe a book that, at its heart, aims to help people be happy should be withheld from anyone over a few dollars. “It’s said the best things in life—love, friendship, laughter—are free,” Rodell says. “I don’t presume this book is among the best things in life but, by God, there’s nothing to say it can’t keep good company.”
And finally …
“Crayons Tip no. 1001” … “Learn the fine art of knowing precisely when to quit.”
About …
Chris Rodell is the author of six books, the most recent being “Undaunted Optimist: Essays on Life, Laughter & Cheerful Perseverance.” Pennsylvania Gov. Tom Ridge says, “Rodell writes about life the way Sinatra sings about New York, unflinching about the gritty realities, but with abiding affection and relentless positivity abut the future.”
A swashbuckling freelance writer since 1992, Rodell has rassled alligators, raced Ferraris, jumped out of cloud-cruising airplanes and in one week gained 20 pounds eating like Elvis.
Besides unconventional biographies on Fred Rogers and Arnold Palmer, his other books include “Use All The Crayons! The Colorful Guide To Simple Human Happiness,” and “The Last Baby Boomer: The Story of the Ultimate Ghoul Pool,” a 2016 satiric novel about the life and death of the last baby boomer (winner of the ’17 TINARA Award for best satire).
He is a sought-after and entertaining motivational public speaker and as seen in this 2015 clip the recipient of the greatest author ovation of all-time.
Rodell lives in Latrobe with his wife Valerie, their daughters, Josie and Lucy, and a small loud dog named Snickers.
He’ll write for anyone who’ll pay him. He is a PROSEtitute.
All Chris’s books can be purchased through www.ChrisRodell.com