It’s a big day in my small world. Moving day.
For the first time since the Clinton administration (B.M., before Monica), I am relocating.
Full disclosure: it’s a pickup truck move. In fact, barely that. The new abode, in the final stages of total completion, is just the outfield grass away from where I sit tonight. An infield fly. A chip shot. A decent high school-length field goal.
Have recruited a couple of Northwestern State football players, agreed to an NIL deal, and they’re doing the heavy lifting. Mike McConathy, being the good neighbor and great friend he is, is lending his pickup, and knowing him, won’t be satisfied just making the shuttles from carport to garage. Uncle Bubba is inbound as the on-site handyman.
I don’t consider myself a pack rat, but I am reconsidering. The alarming collection I am facing, fortunately, is nothing like the attic of my grandmother, who had neatly organized stacks of Readers’ Digest editions from the 1930s and ‘40s. I do have a select pile of mid-1960s Sports Illustrated issues the late Tynes Hildebrand gave me when he and Julia moved from their longtime Natchitoches home to The Oaks in south Shreveport over a decade ago.
Couldn’t pass on a 1965 Masters’ preview cover of Jack and Arnie, with analysis by Dan Jenkins his own self. Mr. Jenkins again, from steamy Congressional CC in 1964 (not Mr. Jenkins’ headline, as his pal Teddy Allen can attest: “The Open: Venturi’s Sizzling Victory” across the cover).
A year later, “New York Yankees, End of an Era” with the Mick wiping his brow. He milked three more seasons out of his knees, but it was the start of a decade-long downturn for the pinstripers.
Different sport, dynastic franchise, but this one in the midst of its greatest run – and pro sports’ most mind-blowing stretch. Ten NBA titles in 12 years for the Celtics, including 1965, with SI featuring John Havlicek on the cover.
A year later, a personal favorite because he’s from my parents’ hometown of Butler, Penna.: “A New Legend At Notre Dame” featuring quarterback Terry Hanratty, written by of course, Mr. Jenkins. Published Nov. 7, 1966, a dozen days before the infamous 10-10 stalemate with Michigan State, which somehow left the Irish as No. 1 at season’s end, prompting much growling from Bear Bryant, whose undefeated Alabama Crimson Tide were stuck at No. 3 in the final polls.
No collection of SI editions is complete without a swimsuit showcase. “Bahamas, The Out Islands Are In.” Sixty years ago “out” did not carry the same connotation it does now.
There could not have been any angry letters by parents – not yet – protesting the display of bare skin. That erupted 13 years later when Cheryl Tiegs graced the cover in a fishnet top. Point of reference: she’s 77 now, and still a sight for sore eyes.
That’s the extent of my SI collection – none saved from the decades I was on the subscription list, starting in 1968 as a birthday gift from Mother Ireland. Did. Not. Save. One. Arrrrrggggghhhh.
Same for those shoeboxes of baseball cards. No telling how many high-priced gems found the trash in Jonesboro when I left for college. Oh, the humanity!
There is much to move, and some to toss today and the rest of this week. Treasures to transport, more items once prized (VCR tapes of Miami Vice and Moonlighting stuck in a cabinet) but useless for years now.
The memories travel, hopefully undiminished for the rest of my run. Since I moved in while 42 (not Jackie Robinson) was in the White House, here’s a Clinton tale from those days.
The 1998 Southland Conference Outdoor Track and Field Championships were hosted by Stephen F. Austin, and it was hot in mid-May in Naca-nowhere. I ducked out of the sun into the AC of the hospitality room to grab an ice-cold Snapple (there’s a time stamp), and several of the track event officials were watching the Lewinsky-sparked impeachment proceedings.
They were disgusted. Mortified at the president’s conduct. I couldn’t hear the testimony, just their commentary, which was fine. I sipped my tea, and as I was about to head back out, I walked over to the gents.
“Fellas, I can’t disagree with anything you’ve said,” I opened. “But, to be fair, I think he’s not a complete disgrace. Look at his daughter.
“She’s a freshman at Stanford, an exceptional student. You hear about her doing all sorts of community service. Seems like a really good young lady, and I guess that makes the President a pretty decent dad.”
That produced a murmur and grudging agreement. Then they were back to the hearing. I was headed out the door, and on my way, I was met by a young woman wearing an SFA Athletic Training polo shirt.
“Thank you,” she said, looking at me.
“Pardon me?” I replied.
“For what you said. You’re right. Chelsea is as good as it gets. She’s marvelous. I know. She’s my first cousin. I’ve been to Hope, and Little Rock, and the White House to visit her, and she’s come to see me in Houston. She is so impressive.”
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” I said. “That is sure how it seems.”
She replied: “But Uncle Bill? He’s a scumbucket.”
Contact Doug at sbjdoug@gmail.com