Time to let it linger, on Veteran's Day

First appeared on November 10th, 2015
in The Lebanon Reporter

Francis Scott Key penned the Star Spangled Banner after watching the British shelling Fort McHenry during the War of 1812. Fortunately for us Mr. Key didn’t have a Smart Phone or he’d probably have missed most of the rocket’s red glare. For you and I this means our national anthem would most likely be “YMCA” or something by Dylan we’d all be forced to mumble in unison.

The first time I realized the flag was special was watching my older brother playing varsity basketball. The way a gym packed to the gills would rise together in silence, the energy of the impending contest and eager conversations of the blustery hayseeds suddenly tamed by a sober reverence for the flag.

And when the people sat down and the ball went up, I watched my brother throwing himself around on the floor, playing his guts out and he became a hero. November is reserved for heroes of a different lot. Those who personified honor, sacrifice and duty. The words often fall short for those of us on the outside looking in.

However, the flag bridges those two worlds. An omnipresent reminder that the duty of those who never served is to honor those who have. The flag is a one dimensional time machine capable of dropping you onto a battlefield in Gettysburg where you’re asked to charge across a vast open plain with nothing more than a blade of grass to hide behind, all the while a hailstorm of hot metal rains down upon you. And above the din of cannon fire and muskets, the piercing cries of men surround you, haunting and final.

It can take you to Normandy, where you’re shoulder to shoulder with a kid a country mile from the prime of life. And, when the panel of that landing craft drops, he glimpses for the first time the insurmountable odds awaiting him. The flag stands for the courage he showed to vault himself into the waist-deep tide. Water stained pink from the blood of friends, Nazi flak buzzing and ricocheting around him.

So you catch your eleven year old fooling with his phone during the Star Spangled Banner and, oh say, you can definitely see you’ve failed as a parent. This was it, your Final Exam and you just posted the old one legged A.

Mortified, you tell little Johnny he won’t see his phone until he’s 25 before throwing him in the car. You tear out of town, barreling east across the Ohio, pointing your wheels towards D.C. And somewhere around Harrisburg you find yourself hopelessly lost and have to ask Johnny to Google a new route.

By dawn’s early light you find yourself at the intersection of history, architecture, tradition and new ideas, the seat of change and heartbeat of freedoms continued evolution. But Washington is also a living celebration of those Americans who dared to defend our ideals. Stone figures with strong jowls, faces racked with determination, men who gave themselves up for a nation, a nation of people they would never come to know.

Old dead men who today find themselves surrounded by hot dog vendors and tee-shirt hockers, googly eyed tourists lost in a jungle of copper, bronze and limestone. And the limestone, my god the limestone, walls and halls and corridors, benches and arches, cornices, balustrades, everything we so proudly hailed carved from limestone.

Streets choked with slow moving tour buses carting anxious, pimply faced pre-teens. Kites of bright red and yellow, tails dragging in the wind, waving high above the rangers in broad-brimmed hats. Brave men and women charged with corralling the interest of these precocious pre-teens.
Bleary eyed, over medicated and restless children who don’t know George Bush from George Washington. And all this exploration and congestion and protestation rages before the watchful eyes of Honest Abe from his perch at the end of the Mall, his brow bent with uncertainty over the scene before him.

So stately upon his throne, high overlooking the reflecting pool, Lincoln has become the poster child for standing up for ones ideals. And as great as he was, how easily we forget Honest Abe’s line in the sand was defended by the hearts and souls of thousands.

We have to find a way to stop our lives, forgo the order and rigid scheduling and prioritized lists that shape our time. We owe this to all who’ve protected the freedoms we as Americans cherish.

So there you stand, in the shadow of Lincoln. You and little Johnny and little Johnny’s Smart Phone. And you linger as the pimply faced pre-teens race up and down the steps before an incredulous Ranger. You linger as the kites race higher and higher. You linger with little Johnny’s hand in yours. You linger so that these dead shall not have died in vain.

© 2015 Eric Walker Williams

Proof in the Pudding Sweet for Big Ten

First appeared on March 27th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

When I was 14 I saw Rex Chapman in the Indiana-Kentucky All Star Game. After it was over I asked Kentucky’s Mr. Basketball for his autograph and he punched my dad in the face and burnt down the orphanage for handicapped Somali children my parents ran out of their home. OK-so maybe that didn’t happen exactly as I recall, but for a myriad of reasons I did learn to loathe Chapman while he was at Kentucky.

Who knows where my Rex-o-phobia began, perhaps it’s simply the hatred for Kentucky that, like a love for anything breaded and deep fried, comes to Hoosiers naturally. More likely it’s, despite our similar age and love of basketball, Chapman was a high school All Star, Division one stand out and 10 plus year veteran of the NBA and I clearly was not.

But recently Rex erased any doubt of my overall disdain for him when the former Kentucky Wildcat said the Big Ten was “overrated” and the Big East was “the best conference in America”. This affront led me to settle things in true Hoosier fashion; one on one with Rex Chapman.

Arranging a game with Chapman wouldn’t be easy considering getting him back in Indiana would probably be the equivalent of helping Robert E. Lee book a vacation to Gettysburg or asking Magic Johnson to come back to late night TV. Ours would be a virtual tussle.
Chapman made millions in the NBA and has a job as an analyst on the Tru TV Halftime show. In between diaper changes and my many other duties as a patriotic American, I hammer out stories of debatable journalistic merit that the local paper uses as filler when things are so slow they’re unable to locate other, more relevant news. Advantage Chapman.

Chapman was a two time participant in the NBA Dunk Contest and I…well advantage Rex. Once sporting a proud hair helmet that was half mullet, half jerry-curl and entirely backwoods fabulous, Chapman has since moved on to the ever popular shaved head look so many aging sports stars subscribe to. Begrudgingly, advantage Chapman.

As for the picks, the part time pretend journalist in me wanted more information but after googling “Rex Chapman’s bracket” all that came up was some obscure fishing rod contraption Chapman may or may not have endorsed when money got tight after retiring from the NBA. I’d have to stick to his man-crush on the Big East.

After the first three rounds of the Men’s Tournament the Big East Conference has gone 6-5 while the Big Ten has posted a sparkling 10-3 record. Advantage me. Of these six wins, it should be noted two came from Marquette who could have lost twice if not for a boneheaded cross court pass and botched out of bounds play by Butler.

The Sweet 16 includes four Big Ten teams and three from the soon to be imploded Big East including the aforementioned Marquette and what’s left of their nine lives. Point me. According to CBS.com the Big Ten’s conference RPI is second only to the Mountain West; and while I’m no mathematician and haven’t studied the full list, I’m fairly certain this places the Big Ten ahead of the Big East. Advantage clearly me.

So we stand eye to eye, score knotted at 3. Thursday’s showdown between Indiana and Syracuse looms featuring two legendary programs. And, because we’re both too out of shape to continue, Chapman offers the couch on his front porch and we agree to let it ride on Thursday’s Big Ten/Big East face off. Winner takes all, once and for all.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams