Category Archives: Personal History

Mays in centerfield

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It is 1958. July. About dusk. I’m standing in deep centerfield of the baseball diamond at Jones Memorial Park. I can hear music coming from the ice cream place across the street, behind me. I’m not really daydreaming but I’m not completely focused on the game, either. I might be closer to the ice cream place than to home plate.

A sharp “crack” yanks me back to the game. The crowd is yelling and looking in my direction. But up. A high, fly ball is coming my way. I frantically search the sky. If I don’t get a visual lock on the fly ball, it could land at my feet. It could smash into my face and kill me. I spot it. Coming straight down. It seems almost motionless, just getting larger and larger. There’s no time to raise my glove hand but I manage to get it open at my waist. Two thousand miles to the west, another Mays is standing in centerfield, Candlestick Park, executing a far more relaxed version of this same maneuver.

Back at Jones Memorial Park, the ball ricochets off my bony, ten-year-old chest and into my glove. Because of the distance and the angle, the crowd sees only Mays, in deep centerfield, making a perfect “basket catch.” But we’re not related.

Junior High Basketball Team

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I think Frank Proctor made me memorize the state capitols and all of the U. S. presidents (I no longer know either). One summer he started his “Merry Mobile” business. He drove up and down the streets of Kennett selling frozen treats. He was also the junior high basketball coach and one of my greatest achievments was “making” the team. I loved playing basketball in the back yard but was terrible at the real thing. I warmed benches through the 10th grade before hanging up my Chuck Taylors and rediscovered the joy of the game at the city park. The Web cannot be complete without this photo of the Kennett Junior High Basketball Team.

Kennett 8th Grade Basketball Team

Back Row: Terry Hunter, Mike Shipman, Robert Taylor, Phil Ayers, Buddy Shivley, Jerry Bird, Otis Mitchell, Randy Carter, Brett Baker. Front Row: Tommy LaTurno, Ben Pickard, Larry Hale, Bruce Baker, Steve Mays, John Robison, Tommy Saunches, Darrell Jackson, Tony Stewart.

Imus was right

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Thirty years ago (during my KBOA days) I was attending the annual meeting of the National Association of Broadcasters. Lots of big name talent on hand, including Don Imus and Robert W. Morgan. I spotted them sitting at the bar (the Mint Julip according to the bar napkin) and couldn’t resist going over, introducing myself, and asking for their autographs (I know, I know). They saw my name tag and asked me what station I was with. I assured them they’d never heard of it. Then Imus asked how long I had worked there.

“About ten years,” I said. To which Imus replied, “If you’ve stayed at one little radio station for ten years without getting fired or quitting, you’ll never go anywhere in this business. You should pack it in.”

Robert W. Morgan thought that was a little harsh and told Imus so. I made my escape. I thought about it many times over the years and Imus was right. There are a million small town radio guys who lack the talent or the ambition or both to make it to the Bigs. I’m proud to have been one of them.

Christmas in Kennett

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We’re blogging this Christmas Eve from Terry and Nancy’s home in Kennett. Everyone but Ripley and I are packed in at the First Presbyterian Church for the annual choral extravaganza.

A few minutes ago I had some delicious chicken salad that Nancy made. She said it was quite likely that Lance Armstrong enjoyed some of this very same chicken salad earlier today. He and Sheryl Crow were in for an early Christmas and Nancy sent over some sandwiches. We are but two ships, knoshing in the night.

Untold stories

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I think the best part of publishing (?) a website is connecting with others. I get the most amazing email from strangers who google their way to my sites. Got a couple tonight. Maybe it’s the holidays. People are wondering about old friends:

“By chance I typed into Google the name Norman Shainberg as part of the research I’m helping my father with. Mr. Shainberg and my father were in the same room together at Stalag IX C known as Meiningen, during the WWII. IX C was a camp for Krieges who were recovering from wounds prior to being shipped out to more permanent locations. Dad’s note book indicates that Mr. Shainberg was the pilot of a Boston, and that he had lost his leg to the propellor upon bailing out over Pas de Calais, France in July 1944. Is Mr. Shainberg still alive? My father is well and lives in Montreal. I’ll have to direct Dad to your web site, he’ll be very interested.”

Unfortunately Mr. Shainberg died about 20 years ago. But it sounds like he lived an amazing life.

Larry Thomason: 1948-2003

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Larry Thomason died today. He was having some kind of routine surgery and his heart stopped. I’ve known Larry Joe since high school and he was a big part of The Basement Diaries. Great poker player. Good photographer. Loved politics.

The incoming rounds are getting closer.

The Cleanest Tastee Freeze in Town

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In 1987, Jeff Salzman co-authored a little book entitled: Real World 101: How to Find a Job, Get Ahead, Do It Now, and Love It! A year or two later, Salzman spoke to a small group of our company managers and told what I think might be the best management story I ever heard.

It’s the story of a Tastee Freeze, the man who cleaned it and his boss. To insure the Tastee Freeze was cleaned properly, the manager made a list of all the necessary cleaning products and tools; drew up a little chart showing where everything in the supply closet went (color coded); and made a numbered list of the proper order for cleaning the Tastee Freeze. He couldn’t understand why the cleaning guy had trouble following his carefully thought out plan.

One day a new manager showed up at the Tastee Freeze and asked the cleaning guy what he did at the Tastee Freeze. The cleaning guy showed him the precisely organized supply closet; the list of approved mops and buckets; and the printed list of steps for cleaning the Tastee Freeze.

The new manager immediately tore up the lists and told the cleaning guy, “Look, I just want the cleanest Tastee Freeze in town. I don’t care how you do it or what supplies you use. If you run into a snag, let me know and I’ll try to help.”

I must confess that I was too often the first type of manager during the 25 years I “managed” others. All I really wanted was a clean Tastee Freeze but it was so much fun to pick out the mops and make the lists. Alas.