In the spring of 1964, my senior year in high school, a tennis exhibition was held in our school gym.
The court boundaries were marked off with duct tape on the wooden gym floor. Volley-ball poles secured the net. The gym was not air-conditioned.
The players were Rod Laver and Ken Rosewall.
The cost for a student to attend was twenty-five cents.
There was maybe as many as 300 students attending. Many had no interest in tennis, but were using their 25 cents as a ransom to legally cut a couple of classes.
This was in a time before the upswing in the popularity of tennis in America. Also, this was a time before open tennis. The greatest players in the world, upon turning professional, were banned from the Grand Slam events and toured on a fledgling pro circuit. Laver and Rosewall were two of the greatest players in the world.
If you do a little math (300 students x .25= $75) and assume that the players were able to put on a total of 3 exhibitions a day, the extrapolation would be $225 for the day's work. This amount to be divided among the players and their handler(s). Not a very compelling amount, even in 1964.
About 14 years later, the company that I worked for was a sponsor for a tennis exhibition. The vice-president of our company, his wife, another man and myself played doubles early every Sunday morning. We were very enthusiastic sponsors.
The players in this exhibition were Laver, Bill Cosby, Ron Ely (Hollywood's current Tarzan) and another player whose name I can't recall.
Sponsors attend a post-exhibition cocktail party along with the players, officials, local press and other hangers-on. Cosby had a large crowd around him. He was cracking jokes and chewing on a huge cigar; he was and still is an entertaining dude. Laver stood in a little out of the way spot, smiling affably and looking out over the crowd. He looked almost frail except for his gigantic left fore-arm; his shock of red hair and freckles were a banner to his presence.
I introduced myself to him and reminded him of my high school experience...and the 25 cent price. He laughed and we talked about trying to hit tennis balls off of a wooden basketball court. Smiling and again looking out over the crowd, he said "We were really scrambling in those days,"then turning to me,"sounds like you got yourself a pretty good deal back then." I agreed (our cost of sponsorship for this event was $2 thousand) shook his hand and made way for the next person to visit with him. Later that evening, as he was leaving, Laver gave me a wave and a smile.
Over the years, I watched exhibitions featuring Conners, McEnroe and other notable players. But in many ways they were only harvesting the fields that Laver, Rosewall, Pancho Gonzales and others had plowed. They never had to play in high school gyms and be paid in pocket change. The pro players in the pre-open era were scorned by the tennis establishment for not taking part in the hypocrisy that was then amateur tennis...but that's another story for another day.
And Rocket Rod Laver was correct...
It was a pretty good deal.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Longhorn Reality Bite
In Austin. we look at things, this time of year, through orange-colored glasses. We drink the orange kool-aid. We mark the game dates on our calendars, even though we have several pocket-sized schedules at our disposal...it seems as though half the businesses in this town give them out.
It wasn't always that way.
When Mack Brown arrived in Austin, the football program was in depression. Former players and coaches were alienated; even the most rabid boosters were apathetic.
You could walk in to many Austin grocery stores on game day and buy a ticket for less than ten dollars.
But Brown came in with a plan and he stuck to it. He reached out to Coach Royal and former players. He sought the advise of powerful alums. He built lines of communication with the state's high-school coaches. He launched a public relations campaign that shook Longhorn Nation wide awake.
He also recruited like crazy.
The phrase "he can talk a hungry dog off a meat wagon" has been oft used to describe Mack Brown. His voice, ingrained with a southern twang, communicates honesty and integrity. He sells a family atmosphere at a high- level university and all the implied amenities that come with it.
But not everything went perfectly.
Austin is full of critics and Brown felt their sting. He would often become prickly with the press; at press conferences he would recite game stats and leave little time for critical questions. His handling of the Applewhite/Sims quarterback controversy put a bad taste in many mouths. He was seen to be pandering to the national media and spurning the local news outlets. In spite of a winning record and high-profile recruits, he was becoming viewed as a so-so game day coach.
Then came Vince Young.
Vince Young came to Austin with a troubled past and a father in prison. But he also was a huge high school talent. Within a couple of years, Young led Texas to a Rose Bowl win over Michigan in a game in which he dominated. That was the first time that I ever heard him speak...and I cringed. The language that spewed from his mouth was pure Houston-ghetto. I know people to whom English is a second language and their grammar was 100 times better. I was embarrassed for my school. What were they teaching this guy? How was this guy scholastically eligible?
The next year brought the Rose Bowl again along with the BCS Championship...and Young's language was just as abysmal.
Following that great game, Young showed up at White House to meet the President in a sort of jump suit. All his team-mates and coaches were dressed in coats and ties. He had decent start in the NFL, but things started spiraling downward: strip club fights, feuds with his coaches and booed by his team's fans. He was cut by his team earlier this year and signed to play a back-up role. It is probably his last chance.
Mack Brown, along with UT, catapulted to the financial top of college football. The stadium was expanded to hold nearly 100,000 people and runs close to being sold out. Brown makes in the neighborhood of $5 million a year plus perks. Many of his assistant coaches make near or over $1 million a year...and yes, they get perks also. UT is on the threshold of launching it's own television network, due to launch August 26th.
But there is large number of UT faithful that do not trust Brown.
Is he too politically correct? Is his smooth talk now appearing to be oily? Is he misjudging recruits and coaches? Has he relegated himself (no matter what he says) to the role of CEO rather than head coach? Is he a poor game day coach?
I sure as hell don't know.
But one thing for sure...You can't buy UT game tickets at a grocery store anymore.
It wasn't always that way.
When Mack Brown arrived in Austin, the football program was in depression. Former players and coaches were alienated; even the most rabid boosters were apathetic.
You could walk in to many Austin grocery stores on game day and buy a ticket for less than ten dollars.
But Brown came in with a plan and he stuck to it. He reached out to Coach Royal and former players. He sought the advise of powerful alums. He built lines of communication with the state's high-school coaches. He launched a public relations campaign that shook Longhorn Nation wide awake.
He also recruited like crazy.
The phrase "he can talk a hungry dog off a meat wagon" has been oft used to describe Mack Brown. His voice, ingrained with a southern twang, communicates honesty and integrity. He sells a family atmosphere at a high- level university and all the implied amenities that come with it.
But not everything went perfectly.
Austin is full of critics and Brown felt their sting. He would often become prickly with the press; at press conferences he would recite game stats and leave little time for critical questions. His handling of the Applewhite/Sims quarterback controversy put a bad taste in many mouths. He was seen to be pandering to the national media and spurning the local news outlets. In spite of a winning record and high-profile recruits, he was becoming viewed as a so-so game day coach.
Then came Vince Young.
Vince Young came to Austin with a troubled past and a father in prison. But he also was a huge high school talent. Within a couple of years, Young led Texas to a Rose Bowl win over Michigan in a game in which he dominated. That was the first time that I ever heard him speak...and I cringed. The language that spewed from his mouth was pure Houston-ghetto. I know people to whom English is a second language and their grammar was 100 times better. I was embarrassed for my school. What were they teaching this guy? How was this guy scholastically eligible?
The next year brought the Rose Bowl again along with the BCS Championship...and Young's language was just as abysmal.
Following that great game, Young showed up at White House to meet the President in a sort of jump suit. All his team-mates and coaches were dressed in coats and ties. He had decent start in the NFL, but things started spiraling downward: strip club fights, feuds with his coaches and booed by his team's fans. He was cut by his team earlier this year and signed to play a back-up role. It is probably his last chance.
Mack Brown, along with UT, catapulted to the financial top of college football. The stadium was expanded to hold nearly 100,000 people and runs close to being sold out. Brown makes in the neighborhood of $5 million a year plus perks. Many of his assistant coaches make near or over $1 million a year...and yes, they get perks also. UT is on the threshold of launching it's own television network, due to launch August 26th.
But there is large number of UT faithful that do not trust Brown.
Is he too politically correct? Is his smooth talk now appearing to be oily? Is he misjudging recruits and coaches? Has he relegated himself (no matter what he says) to the role of CEO rather than head coach? Is he a poor game day coach?
I sure as hell don't know.
But one thing for sure...You can't buy UT game tickets at a grocery store anymore.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Life Values
Life does not go by with the graceful, measured steps of a minuet, but rather with the starts, stops and stumbles of toddlers attempting to break-dance. We do not control the circumstances of our birth: our parents and their degree of wealth or poverty.
As we grow older, we attend school, go to work, marry and start families...all with varying levels of success. As we grow closer to the end, we tend to measure the worth of our lives. Some may measure worth by material means...or familial...or spiritual; we grade our success or failure against what we believe measures us as humans. As we age, these measures often change, as do our values. How a person values their life will change during ebbs and flows of everyday life. When our value is high, we are looking to the future with hope; when low, we look to the past with regret.
But between our triumphs and tragedies, it is our hum-drum day to day life creeping by which ultimately defines us.
When young, we have no past so we live in the present and look to the future. When old, we have a tome of personal history filled with regrets, unrequited hopes...and a few shining moments. Our ever-shortening future contains hopes for the well-being and success of our kids and grand-kids...We know we will not live to see much of what we hope for.
But that's the cycle of life...
And that is the value of a life.
As we grow older, we attend school, go to work, marry and start families...all with varying levels of success. As we grow closer to the end, we tend to measure the worth of our lives. Some may measure worth by material means...or familial...or spiritual; we grade our success or failure against what we believe measures us as humans. As we age, these measures often change, as do our values. How a person values their life will change during ebbs and flows of everyday life. When our value is high, we are looking to the future with hope; when low, we look to the past with regret.
But between our triumphs and tragedies, it is our hum-drum day to day life creeping by which ultimately defines us.
When young, we have no past so we live in the present and look to the future. When old, we have a tome of personal history filled with regrets, unrequited hopes...and a few shining moments. Our ever-shortening future contains hopes for the well-being and success of our kids and grand-kids...We know we will not live to see much of what we hope for.
But that's the cycle of life...
And that is the value of a life.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
BAR STORIES
I've been to a lot of bars. I have swallowed scotch in Tiki Bars on Maui; scarfed Chevis at the Ritz in San Francisco; and dealt with filthy glasses at the Watering Hole in New Braunfels. The amenities vary from a valet standing by to offer a warm hand-towel all the way to a scoop of ice resting in the urinal.
The people that I have met in these bars range from an anarchist attorney...to a born-again hooker...to a stock-broker who was pitching Enron stock...and he got a promotion.
People, I learned long ago, are self-centered. They love talking about themselves, their kids and their jobs. Allow them to do so and you will found a basis for a cordial relationship. Be an attentive listener.
One Friday night I met a man we shall call Chaz. Every Friday, I would travel to the Houston-Galveston market to do business; on Friday evenings I would spend 2 or 3 hours at Perry's Steakhouse before driving back to Austin. Perry's is a chain of restaurants in the greater Houston area. They all have a stylish bar with a small jazz combo and a fine dining menu. The quality of the food and wine does not match their inflated prices, however. But I liked the place; the guys in the band became friends and the bar-tenders made sure that I got some free drinks whenever I was there...for which I tipped them generously.
The evening that I met Chaz, I arrived at the bar shortly before 6; the band guys came over for a short visit before their first set which always began at 6:30. After they began their set, I discovered I was alone at the bar except for a tall man seated 2 seats down from me. He was gray and distinguished-looking with the ram-rod posture of a military man. Having noticed him at the bar a couple of times before, I smiled and nodded and he returned the gesture.
Over the next few hours we introduced ourselves and began talking. The bar stayed empty, rare for a Friday night so we talked uninterrupted except for when the band took their breaks. I introduced Chaz to the band guys and we continued talking. During our time that night, I learned he was a graduate of Annapolis, had been a fighter pilot, had taken early retirement, was operating an international shipping concern and had been divorced twice. He confided that he was trying to hire one of the bar-tenders who had just graduated the University of Houston. I stood to go and told Chaz that I was in town every Friday and hoped to see him again.
The next Friday, there was Chaz waiting at the bar, saving me a seat. It was harder to speak as the bar was crowded, but we still found things to talk and laugh about. He had hired the bar-tender and said he was now in training.
Over the next several weeks, we continued our serial conversation. Chaz became more verbose, I noticed, when he had more than 3 or 4 drinks. He also became very profane...loudly profane.
I skipped going to the coast the next week-a holiday weekend-but the following week I walked into Perry's to find no Chaz. But the bar-tender he had hired was there, once again on the working-end of the bar. He told me things didn't work out and from the set of his usually pleasant expression, I could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it.
The next Friday again found no Chaz, but one of my band-buddies told me that Howard, the general manager of that Perry's, has kicked Chaz out for arguing about his bar tab. Howard was the perfect hospitality manager: deferential and discrete, friendly and very willing to please. But before I could ask him what happened, Howard came to me and told me what had happened: Chaz had become abusive to the bar-tender (his former employee) and then to Howard himself.
The following Friday, to my surprise, found Chaz on his usual stool, smiling sheepishly and waving me over. Shaking hands with me, he had kissed Howard's ring and swore to be a good boy henceforth. He told me he was thinking of selling his business.
The next week I walked into the bar and found Chaz sitting next to a very, very pretty woman, about half his age who he introduced as is wife, Carrie. She was sexy and smart and we passed a pleasant evening together.
I skipped the next week, but the subsequent week when I walked into the bar, Howard followed me to my seat. He told me he had to kick Chaz out again: this time for accosting a lady at the bar. My band-buddies told me it was a pretty ugly scene-Chaz left before the police arrived...
Several weeks later I arrived at the bar to find that the bar-tender (Chaz's former employee) was on duty. He told me that he was in grad school. I bit my tongue and asked what had happened between him and Chaz. No hesitation: "Chaz is a phony and his company is some sort of f___g scam!"
Months pass, as they tend to do and then, one night, as I am ready to tab out, 3 very attractive women enter the bar. One of them I recognize as Carrie, Chaz's wife. As she passes me, I ask her how Chaz is. She looks right through me and keeps on walking with her friends. I ordered some coffee to go and tabbed out. I was waving so-long to my band-buddies when there was a light tap on my forearm. It was Carrie. "Let's go outside for a smoke," she said. We went outside to the patio. "Look,"she said,"it was the easiest $300. I ever made, but I'm not that jerk's wife...he hired me...he said to show all of those clowns at Perry's...well, you know." We smoked without another word. She reached out and patted my cheek and handed me a business card. It said:" CARRIE...for a discrete good time" and of course it had a phone number which I won't pass on.
The drive back to Austin that night seemed to take no time at all.
I didn't go back to Perry's for several weeks.
No one ever heard another word about Chaz.
The people that I have met in these bars range from an anarchist attorney...to a born-again hooker...to a stock-broker who was pitching Enron stock...and he got a promotion.
People, I learned long ago, are self-centered. They love talking about themselves, their kids and their jobs. Allow them to do so and you will found a basis for a cordial relationship. Be an attentive listener.
One Friday night I met a man we shall call Chaz. Every Friday, I would travel to the Houston-Galveston market to do business; on Friday evenings I would spend 2 or 3 hours at Perry's Steakhouse before driving back to Austin. Perry's is a chain of restaurants in the greater Houston area. They all have a stylish bar with a small jazz combo and a fine dining menu. The quality of the food and wine does not match their inflated prices, however. But I liked the place; the guys in the band became friends and the bar-tenders made sure that I got some free drinks whenever I was there...for which I tipped them generously.
The evening that I met Chaz, I arrived at the bar shortly before 6; the band guys came over for a short visit before their first set which always began at 6:30. After they began their set, I discovered I was alone at the bar except for a tall man seated 2 seats down from me. He was gray and distinguished-looking with the ram-rod posture of a military man. Having noticed him at the bar a couple of times before, I smiled and nodded and he returned the gesture.
Over the next few hours we introduced ourselves and began talking. The bar stayed empty, rare for a Friday night so we talked uninterrupted except for when the band took their breaks. I introduced Chaz to the band guys and we continued talking. During our time that night, I learned he was a graduate of Annapolis, had been a fighter pilot, had taken early retirement, was operating an international shipping concern and had been divorced twice. He confided that he was trying to hire one of the bar-tenders who had just graduated the University of Houston. I stood to go and told Chaz that I was in town every Friday and hoped to see him again.
The next Friday, there was Chaz waiting at the bar, saving me a seat. It was harder to speak as the bar was crowded, but we still found things to talk and laugh about. He had hired the bar-tender and said he was now in training.
Over the next several weeks, we continued our serial conversation. Chaz became more verbose, I noticed, when he had more than 3 or 4 drinks. He also became very profane...loudly profane.
I skipped going to the coast the next week-a holiday weekend-but the following week I walked into Perry's to find no Chaz. But the bar-tender he had hired was there, once again on the working-end of the bar. He told me things didn't work out and from the set of his usually pleasant expression, I could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it.
The next Friday again found no Chaz, but one of my band-buddies told me that Howard, the general manager of that Perry's, has kicked Chaz out for arguing about his bar tab. Howard was the perfect hospitality manager: deferential and discrete, friendly and very willing to please. But before I could ask him what happened, Howard came to me and told me what had happened: Chaz had become abusive to the bar-tender (his former employee) and then to Howard himself.
The following Friday, to my surprise, found Chaz on his usual stool, smiling sheepishly and waving me over. Shaking hands with me, he had kissed Howard's ring and swore to be a good boy henceforth. He told me he was thinking of selling his business.
The next week I walked into the bar and found Chaz sitting next to a very, very pretty woman, about half his age who he introduced as is wife, Carrie. She was sexy and smart and we passed a pleasant evening together.
I skipped the next week, but the subsequent week when I walked into the bar, Howard followed me to my seat. He told me he had to kick Chaz out again: this time for accosting a lady at the bar. My band-buddies told me it was a pretty ugly scene-Chaz left before the police arrived...
Several weeks later I arrived at the bar to find that the bar-tender (Chaz's former employee) was on duty. He told me that he was in grad school. I bit my tongue and asked what had happened between him and Chaz. No hesitation: "Chaz is a phony and his company is some sort of f___g scam!"
Months pass, as they tend to do and then, one night, as I am ready to tab out, 3 very attractive women enter the bar. One of them I recognize as Carrie, Chaz's wife. As she passes me, I ask her how Chaz is. She looks right through me and keeps on walking with her friends. I ordered some coffee to go and tabbed out. I was waving so-long to my band-buddies when there was a light tap on my forearm. It was Carrie. "Let's go outside for a smoke," she said. We went outside to the patio. "Look,"she said,"it was the easiest $300. I ever made, but I'm not that jerk's wife...he hired me...he said to show all of those clowns at Perry's...well, you know." We smoked without another word. She reached out and patted my cheek and handed me a business card. It said:" CARRIE...for a discrete good time" and of course it had a phone number which I won't pass on.
The drive back to Austin that night seemed to take no time at all.
I didn't go back to Perry's for several weeks.
No one ever heard another word about Chaz.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Still Naive at 65
I went for a 3-day sail with my sons a few weeks ago. During the course of the trip, I realized that they were sophisticated much more than I was at any time in my life. My wife and I were seemingly kids when we married and lived paycheck to paycheck until our early 30's when we became marginally affluent. In those days of earning a living and raising a family it seems as though we never had any time to concern ourselves with national economy. Were we ignorant?...maybe. Naive?...certainly, but we were...busy. Both of my sons are attorneys and have done very well for themselves and their families. I read the other day that never before in America was there more advanced college degrees per-capita. This revelation leads me to ponder a rather obvious question: If there is more knowledge than ever before in this country, why are things such a mess? Did all those diplomas come from Grenada? Or online?...or from a box of Rice Crispies? It is a hissing shame that all the knowledge that those diplomas allege have not averted the morass that we observe on the evening news. In the 18th century, the term "sophisticated" meant something that might have been tampered with: a bottle of whiskey may be "sophisticated" by adding a little water to it.
Think about it...
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