We are fortunate that we have what we refer to as “central-air” in our house.  I need it.  My lungs don’t always cooperate and the flow of fresh air is very good for them.  I wish it were not that way.  But I am not going to complain when I have fresh air at the push of a button on a gadget that it mounted to the wall in a hallway of our house.  I would say I am a very fortunate man.

Right now I am on the porch listening to the hum of an outside air conditioning “unit”.  That thing must be one of the toughest pieces of equipment ever made.  How many times that fan goes around….I will never know.  I am just thankful it is there.

In the house I spent the majority of my childhood within in Brownstown, Indiana, we did not have air-conditioning.  But don’t feel bad.  We had some marvelous shade trees.  And…know that we lived on the east side end of town.  The last proper street on the east end of town…Jackson Street.  204 S. Jackson Street to be specific.  The rest of the of town rose uphill from where we were.  Translation?  The sun set very early in our backyard.  On the west side of town, the sun hung up there and baked for a long while after we were already enjoying the cool afternoon/evening breezes of our shade trees.  It was a great place to be.

No…we didn’t have air-conditioning.  I really didn’t think that much of it.  We had the sounds that only a house full of open windows can bring forth.  They are sounds I cherish to this day.  Two blocks up the first hill was the town’s main street.  On it was the county seat of Jackson County and the courthouse.  There was…and still is a bell that rings at the top of the courthouse every hour on the hour.  We knew what time it was as we were playing baseball in the yard.   If my friend needed to be home at 4 and we just heard three CLANGS of the courthouse clock, we knew we had better make the most of the next hour.

On the really hottest of the hot days then, I remember walking into to icebox that was the JC Penney store in Seymour.  My folks did a bit of shopping there.  I don’t know if it is still in business out at the “Jackson Park Shopping Center” on the west side of Seymour, Indiana.  I suppose it is still there.  But oh how I remember it was so cold in that place on a hot summer day.  No-matter how hot it was, or how cold the JC Penney Store was, on the way home we would stop at the little ice cream stand near the east end of Seymour on 2nd or 3rd Street?  Kovener’s Korner.  I just looked it up.  It is on 2nd Street…and yes it is still in business.  You should go.

This ice cream establishment is where I acquired my affinity for chocolate chip ice cream.  I couldn’t tell you when and why I ordered it.  I do remember that is where I had my first scoop of chocolate chip ice cream and when my dear wife, Carrie, and I go to the Massachusetts, Vermont, or New Hampshire to a Friendly’s Ice Cream joint, I always order chocolate chip ice cream and I always think about Kovener’s Korner.

This place opened in 1949.

I may have been five when I ate that first chocolate chip cone…

I don’t know when Friendly’s opened…but I am glad it did.

A chocolate chip cone in Bennington, Vermont.

Stay cool this summer.  Eat some ice cream!

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie and I witnessed some extraordinary history this past weekend.  A drive to Dayton, Ohio was where we found inspiration, sadness, joy, awe, and thanksgiving.

On Friday night we attended a concert by American Rock and Roll icon John Fogerty.  Though I have been well acquainted with his work, and have admired it for some time, this was the first time time I have ever heard John Fogerty play live. He played at The Rose Music Center, an outdoor venue under cover that seats about 4200.  If you are not sure who John Fogerty is, he wrote and sang the hits for a band called Creedence Clearwater Revival in the late 60s and early 70s.  Fogerty was the backbone, as well as most of the other bones of the band.  His songs are timeless classics.

The photo above was the best we could do.  The lighting was terrible.  To his credit, the stage was a stripped down presentation.  A black curtain was behind them.  The lighting was modest. By the way, that is Kenny Arnoff playing drums.  It was all about rock and roll.  And the songs?

To name a few:

Proud Mary, Have You Ever Seen the Rain?,  Centerfield,  Lookin’ Out My Back Door, Fortunate Son, Down on the Corner, Who’ll Stop the Rain?,  I Heard it Through the Grapevine, Lodi, all the great songs that used to be on a commercial when I was kid…and more.  It was like listening to a wing of the best American Music Museum you could dream up.

Wile I have had Fogerty and Creedence on my music shelf for years, this was the first time I ever heard the man live.  Over Spring Break I read his autobiography, Fortunate Son, in between wistful stares at the Atlantic Ocean.

The best thing I can say about this show was that at age 71, John Fogerty sounds great and his guitar playing was a stunner.  I have never seen a player his age with as much vitality on stage.  He was all over the place.  It was loud.  It was fun.  He told stories.  He seemed to be glad to be there.  It was one of the best shows I have ever seen.  The simplicity of the show was certainly an exhibit of less is more.

On Saturday, at the behest of my Dad, Carrie and I visited the National Museum of the United States Air Force at Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton.  Carrie and I are both still talking about the sights and sounds and nuggets of history the rest of the world will never know about and should, with regard to so many of the brave men and women whose stories we learned of.  I want to go back.  I will share with you some photos from the museum.

This plane dropped an atomic bomb over Japan.

I had heard of The Flying Dutchman.  I read her story and the story of her crew.  It will haunt me for a very long time.  This is a piece of the aircraft.  It will haunt me for some time, I am sure.

Below is the picture that is referenced above…

The bust of Hitler’s head is next to the eagle.

Just an amazing display of birds.

A piece of the fallen Berlin Wall.

This museum is a destination I recommend to anyone.  There is no admission charge to visit.  It is here for us to learn from.  I certainly did.  My respect-a-meter for military personnel …already high…found a higher reading yet after visiting this place.  And we will be back.  We spent four hours looking and we did not see it all.  A new hanger is to open in June.  It will feature presidential planes and space travel.  So yes, we will be back.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

I am on the back porch this evening.

For whatever reason, I am sitting here alone wishing I was back in time listening to the radio as the Cincinnati Reds played baseball.  I am very fortunate.  My Dad took me to see the Big Red Machine.  I actually saw them in person.  Pete Rose, Tony Perez, Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, Dave Concepcion, Ken Griffey, Cesar Geronimo, and George Foster.  These guys, and the pitchers that helped the cause…like Don Gullett and Jack Billingham…won back to back World Series in 1975 and 1976.  They beat the Red Sox in 7 games in ’75 and swept the Yankees in ’76.

They talk about the great Yankee teams and they talk about The Big Red Machine.  They are the last group that is mentioned with a sense of reverence.  They will be that last group.  If you know anything about sports, you know how important some of these names in the Reds line-up are.  My favorite player among them?  Probably not the most popular choice.  I mean, Pete Rose is and will be the greatest.  There will never be a true baseball Hall of Fame until Pete walks through the doors.  He is not my favorite.  To this day I am glad I was at Johnny Bench Day at Riverfront Stadium in 1983.  We celebrated the end of an era.  Johnny was gone after that season.  He was not my favorite Red.  Tony Perez?  Who is cooler than Tony Perez?  Well, he is not my favorite Red.  Joe Morgan?  God bless him.  What a talent.  What a steady talent.  When he showed up in Riverfront Stadium in a Houston Astros uniform I thought I was going to cry.  That was my first…and maybe last…sense of sports surrealism.

My favorite Cincinnati Red of all time?  That would be #15…left fielder…George Foster.  He was awesome.  Cool as a cucumber.  Swinging his black bat.  Weighing no more than 180 pounds….and hitting for some serious power.  You know when you see a guy hit the ball and you KNOW it is gone?  It was never more fun to see that…and feel that sensation when Foster turned one loose.  It was a summer night in 1978.  I was at Riverfront Stadium with my Dad and some of his high school football players. Talk about a flashback.  How cool was it that these guys had a high school football coach that took them to Wilmington College to see the Cincinnati Bengals practice and then that night took them to see the Cincinnati Reds play a Major League Baseball game.  That just don’t happen these days folks.

I still remember.  George Foster came up to bat and planted a fast ball quick and hard into the RED SEATS of Riverfront Stadium.  That was the “UPPER” deck of the four-tiered stadium.  The blues seats on the bottom.  The green seats were next.  The yellow seats, albeit a short section was next.  The the “loge”  and “reserved” red seats were where home runs became that of legend.  There were nineteen “red seat” homers hit by Reds from 1970 to 2000 in Riverfront Stadium.  The one we saw from George Foster was July 29, 1978.  I am so glad I was there.  By the way, Foster hit six of those nineteen.  Yes.  That is the most of any player.

When I sat here I thought I was going to write about how much I miss listening to Marty Brennaman and the late Joe Nuxhall call Reds games on the radio.  I truly miss that.  They were the greatest baseball broadcast team ever.

What I would give to hear Joe Nuxhall say “Thank you, Marty”  one more time.  He said that every time Marty Brennaman  introduced him to call the next inning.

What I am fortunate to have is the ability remember.  Though I had not thought about  the “RED SEAT SHOT” by George Foster in a long time, I can still see it.  I can still feel it.  I can still see George Foster clapping his hands a couple times as he rounds second base.

I know that I have made many allusions on this site that I am a fortunate guy.

I hope you too know this is oh so true.  I have been blessed.

As always, speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

Last Saturday my dear wife, Carrie, and I were back  on campus in Huntington, West Virginia. We attended the Marshall University Thundering Herd Spring Football Green-White Game at the Joan C. Edwards Stadium.  A place known as “The Joan”.

Last November on this site I wrote about Carrie and I being present at the ceremonial turning off of the fountain on campus that is silenced every November 14th to honor the 75 victims of a plane crash carrying players,  coaches, staff, fans, and flight crew of a Southern Airlines flight that just didn’t quite make the runway in the hills east of town.  That story was chronicled well in the movie “We Are Marshall”.   It just so happened that last November 14th fell on a game day.  We were there to watch the Herd play Florida International University.  The Herd won easily.

There were thousands in attendance for the ceremony to turn off the fountain that game day.

Last Saturday there were hundreds of fans to see the fountain turned on again.

Of course the players and the coaching staff were on hand.

Former player Bob Dardinger was the featured speaker.  His twin brother, Richard Dardinger, was killed in the November 15, 1970 crash.  It was the first time Bob Dardinger had attended a fountain ceremony.  He was almost apologetic in his remarks.  His visit back to the school was a homecoming for him that he did not know was in store.  He said he was back home.  He seemed relieved to be back.   Mr. Dardinger gave us words from the heart, not rehearsed, not an attempt to be genuine.  He was genuine. There was a passion and a thankful quality in his voice, like what you hope you will hear.

There were also remarks from one of the 1996 I-AA Championship players.  Aaron Ferguson told stories about his playing days and seeing teammates from twenty years ago.  He too was a good speaker.  It was good to hear from an interior lineman at one of these things for a change.  It was fitting.  The line is anchor of the team…offense and defense.

If you saw the movie “We Are Marshall”, you certainly remember assistant coach Red Dawson.  Red is above in the green hat shaking a gentleman’s hand.

After the ceremonies players signed autographs for kids, friends posed for pictures and mingled, the was a youthful feeling.  The fountain made it back.  It is time for football again in Huntington, West Virginia.

Folks looking on as the fountain is turned back on.

One of my favorites is this lineman signing an autograph for a young fan.  After he gave the autograph to the youngster, he turned around and got a big hug from his mother.

Athletic Director Mike Hamrick, on the far right in the black jacket, poses with some that were undoubtedly old teammates.  Athletic Directors get VERY little respect.  I work with one down the hall from my guidance office.  Mike Hamrick will never get the “attaboys” that he is due.  I hope he is okay with that.

Carrie and me in a very rainy Joan C. Edwards Stadium.

After the Green-White Game, fans were invited to the field to listen in on the closing of Spring Practice.  Above is defensive coordinator, Coach Chuck Heater, giving his words about the defensive play.

Listening in on this was a treat.  The coaches spoke candidly.  We were at practice folks.  It was very interesting.  As the son of a football coach, I appreciated and understood the moment.

Head Coach Doc Holliday had the final words before we went into the indoor practice facility where players sign autographs and posed for pictures.  Coach Holliday has done a fantastic job of leading the Herd back to national prominence…where they belong.

Carrie and I looked around but did not stay around.

I never get tired of telling the story, and I did this past week, of how Carrie and I came to know Marshall Thundering Herd Football.  After years of passing by Huntington to and from North Carolina on vacation, one year, I think it was 2007,  we stopped in trying to buy a few extra hours on the road before we got back home in Southern Indiana.  Everywhere we went folks were talking football.  It was early July, I think.  At the gas station, Herd talk.  In the restaurant, Herd  talk.  In the stores, Herd talk.  Carrie and I looked at each other and loved every minute.  We didn’t have to say a word.  We knew what the other was thinking.  We drove over the stadium and as fate would have it, they were holding a “pick your seat” season ticket drive.  We walked right in.  That was the first time I stood on the field of “The Joan”.  We have been back ever since.  And we have seen road games at Louisville, Purdue, Western Kentucky, and Miami of Ohio.  We will be back this fall in Huntington.

In a place in time when history is being knocked around, distorted, put into mothballs, or just plain done away with, it is good that Marshall honors its football program, and more importantly the ones that gave all they had for Herd Football.

These guys will be forever green and white each Spring and there is a fountain to prove it.

Go Herd!

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

This morning I administered a test.  I hate those things.  Very little I saw on any or all of the standardized tests I took to get a teaching license has come up in conversation or practice since I took them.   To quote the line from the great philosopher Lewis Grizzard, “How many times have you been asked about Rutherford B. Hayes?”  Lewis was on to something.

But I did sit there in the quiet today as kids rued over Calculus and I was glad I was observing instead of taking the tests.

The kids worked hard to answer the questions.  And as I looked around the room, I thought about where these kids will be in thirty years.  And…I could not help but to look back.  I thought about some folks I knew thirty years and more ago and I wondered to myself…where are they now?

He was the other Danny in my class in elementary school.  He was a husky built youngster.  He was always polite.  His clothes were not as new as what the rest of us were wearing.  In earnest, I felt for the guy.  I knew darn well he did not have it as well as I did in the 4th grade.  He had a consistence barrel of a cough that bothered him.  But there we are, in Mrs. Perry’s class picture and the other Danny has a content smile on his face.  It was 1977, one of my favorite years.  One of the kids in the picture had a Jefferson Airplane t-shirt on.  I wonder where the other Danny is today?  I have no idea.  I moved away 2 years later in 1979.  Over the past 37 years I have kept in touch…somewhat regularly… with a few of my old cronies.  I have yet to hear a one of them ask about the other Danny…and I have not asked.  Shame on me.  I wish he were here on the back porch with me.

Her name was Miss Myers.  She was my algebra teacher.  Many of my classmates thought she was a looker.  She was a rookie teacher.  She was attractive, I suppose.  I didn’t notice much.  If I ever did, she took care of it the day she took me out in the hall.  For whatever reason, I have always had the ability to hold court as they say.  It is not for a great deal of effort.  It just sort of turned out that way.  My marks in algebra were up and down.  If I got the content, I would run with it and set the woods on fire.  If I did not get the content, I was probably contentious.  That was probably the case the day Miss Myers took me out in the hall and we had the following exchange.

Miss Myers:  Well it seems you have more influence on some of your classmates than I do.

Me:  Well, maybe.

Miss Myers:  I am trying to teach algebra.  You can’t do that.

Me:  No…no I can’t.

Miss Myers:  What is it going to take to get you and your friends to listen?

Me:  Well, you put (him) in one corner and (him) in another corner and (him) on the other side of the room….and so on.

I was telling her to keep us apart.  If she could do that, we’d all have a better chance of success.

Miss Myers succeeded in putting me in my place like no other teacher ever did.  She was right and I knew it. She was honest and straight with me.  That too was a novel approach on her part.   I also knew she had a tough job and she wanted to do her best.  That is why I was serious in my response.

I have no idea where Miss Myers is today.  She made me feel low by putting the onus on me.  It worked.  And I thank her.

I am sure you have a person out there you wonder what happened to.  I could go on.  One day I will.  But it is getting late and cold on the old back porch.  I am delighted to be here.  I hope you are too.  I had a few folks ask me where I have been with speaking the rights…it has been too long.  Have a great day tomorrow and if you get the chance…

Speak the Rights!

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie, and I cleaned the porch this past weekend.  I am sitting in the very spot I had a close encounter with a loose piece of lightning that penetrated my right bicep, made the metal fork I was holding flash like an old time flashbulb, and caused me to loose feeling in my side for a few minutes.  There is some bad weather heading this way.  When I get the feeling it is time to go in I will.

Yes.  I have been struck by lightning.  I have had a very interesting life.  I was struck by lightning, my babysitter killed  over on me when I was five, and I once sat on a bench with Karl Malone in a football locker room and asked him if he ever played basketball?  Karl would probably have a better chance of being struck by lightning than being asked that question on the campus where he earned the nickname “The Mailman” in the big gym not far from where we were sitting.

My brother-in-law, Stevarino is watching the Pacers play an NBA playoff game right now.  He told me some of the home crowd against the visiting Pacers were being unkind.  They were throwing verbiage around aimed at a Pacers player and it was not nice.  I do hope the Pacers win.  I think they are playing Toronto.

The older I get the more I think about my childhood when I see an NBA game on television.  There was a time when I could stay up really late at night.  On the weekends local television showed “The Late Show”…a movie would play.  I was always a sucker for romantic films.  I saw “Mahogany” on the late movie and enjoyed it as a kid.  The Alan Alda…and I can’t remember the female co-star’s name….movie “Same Time Next Year” would show up on the late movie and I would watch every frame.  I remember watching the Anthony Hopkins pic “Magic” about the ventriloquist/dummy that comes to life.  That scared the crap out of me.

On Friday nights…..oh my….it is starting to rain out here….CBS would put on a late NBA game.  West coast games…ones you never saw when you watched regional action on Sunday afternoons.  Most of time we got the Sixers or the Celtics on Sundays.  They were good.  I’m talking 1977,1978.  Portland Trailblazers, Seattle Supersoncis,  LA Lakers.  Days of Bill Walton, Jack Sikma…good times.  Downtown Freddie Brown was throwing in long shots for Seattle.  These are the guys you could see on Friday night.

Thunder?  I think I hear it.  Chocolate Thunder!  Now that was Darryl Dawkins.

Opps.  That is just about my cue.  Something wicked this way comes.

In addition to the weather, the pollen count could get me.  I will need an allergy shot tomorrow.

Know this…it is good to be out on the porch again writing these words.  See you out here again soon.

We’ll….speak the rights.

Danny Johnson

Sunday afternoon last, Carrie and I went to Jeff Carpenter’s studio.  If I can figure out to import a few pictures here I will.  Carrie took some with her phone.  She has an intelligent phone.  I have an unintelligent phone.

Well…maybe I can make this work.

It starts something like this.

Then turns into this…

Then we listen to it here…

My friend and engineer, Jeff Carpenter.  We recorded 11 demos.  That is to say we recorded 11 songs with just me singing and playing the guitar.  It was a good time.  We are too economical with our time.  We did this in less than three hours.  As much as we enjoy working with each other, we are so efficient that it hurts.  I suppose that is part of the charm and the gift we have in working with one another.

We take the demos and decide what kind of treatment they are to receive later.  Speed it up?  Slow it down?  Guitar solo here?  Fiddle here?  It is a puzzle that is a joy to put together.  I enjoy writing songs.  I went over all that not long ago.  These new songs are really a nice collection, I think.  Putting headphones on and listening to music with such an intimate sound and purpose is kind of a surreal experience.  If you have not done it, or you can’t hear it, you won’t get it.  For you types out there that don’t get it and wish you do, you say things like, “That must be a pretty awesome time.”  You would be right.

That is speaking the rights!

Danny Johnson

I have been asked how I write songs.  Truth is, I have no clue.  I just do it.  Last month I went on a tear writing more songs than I had in the last five years.  In fact, I did most of it in the space of four days sitting on a peaceful second story deck looking out at the Atlantic Ocean from a North Carolina perch.  Though I did not eat perch, I did eat flounder and shrimp on that trip.

Justin Hayward said it best.  He, like me, does not try to analyze the gift of songwriting.  He just enjoys it.  The song “Nights in White Satin” is a song I can easily play.  It changed the lives of a great many people and it just took Justin a few minutes to write.  He wrote it in a few minutes 50 years ago and it is still here.  It is still sending shivers up the spines and bringing folks closer together than they thought possible.  As I have heard Justin say about songwriting, “It is something from nothing.”  Something that was not there ten minutes ago is now a part of your life.  I can attest.  It is a magical thing.  I have been blessed with the ability to pick up a guitar and in a few minutes come forth with something that sounds reasonable. Better yet, the songs I wrote in North Carolina were ones where I wrote the words and had the tunes in my head and I brought them out when I pulled out the guitar to chord them.  Yes.  I say it again.  I was blessed when it comes to songwriting.

I have songs that I wrote fifteen years ago.  I pull out my guitar and they are still alive and well.  One of those songs, I recorded it in 2001, is a tune I am going to record again.  It needs some better treatment.  It needs a reflective voice…one I can provide now….and not the reactionary one I sang with the first time I recorded it.

In earnest, I have not played much guitar or sang as much as I once did in the last few years.  That is not to say I did not hear things.  That is not to say the music ever left me.  I have no choice.  It is a part of me.

I made a conscious effort when Carrie, my dear wife, and I went to North Carolina in March.  My mission was to write some songs.  They came out like cheese whiz through a water hose.   They were thick and true.They just came out.

I have been asked what I write songs about.  Whatever I am led to write is what I write about.  My base in music comes from the church.  Some of my most cherished songs are still the songs I learned as a child.  I remember singing “Jesus Love the Little Children”.  In that song I sang in a town I love, part of the lyric said “red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight….”  Even as a young child I was puzzled by this.  Not that I did not believe it.  The problem was I had many around me at the time that did not adhere to these lyrics.  I know.  It is just part of it.  Even that old excuse does not make it right.

I am looking forward in my songwriting these days.  I am looking forward by looking back, on occasion.  That is the way it seems to me.  And I am more excited and optimistic than ever heading into the studio this time.  I feel I have more to offer this time.  The first time I recorded properly I didn’t feel like I belonged there.  I was surrounded by quality musicians and there I was.  I felt like I was crashing the party….even thought they were my songs.  The second great recording venture saw me working under the guidance of Tim Krekel.  He played on a produced my next record.  If you have not heard of him, too bad for you.  Chances are you have heard him play the guitar on the radio or at a Jimmy Buffett concert in the 70s or 80s, if you made it to one of those.  I was just glad to be in the same room with him.  The greatest moment I had with Tim was not in the studio.  It was at a gig we played in the building I now work.  When I walk close to the patch of stage where we sang that night, I get an empty feeling.  I miss Tim.  He died of cancer in 2009.  Carrie and I talked to him ten days before he died.  It is a moment that still haunts me.  We played a song one night that I sprang on the group.  It was a live performance and I just told them to follow my lead.  It was the guttiest thing I have ever done.  The boys caught up to me and ran with it.  When the song was over…and I was the one who nodded to the guitars and the drummer to end it, Tim looked at me and said, “Where was that tune when we were recording?”  I will never forget the look on his face.  It helped to give me the courage to keep going on with my music.  I owe it him.  I owe it to the Good Lord for giving me this seamless gift.  I don’t consider songwriting work.  I hear guys talk about how they agonize over writing songs.  That is a joke.  If you can write a song…any song…and make it presentable…just be thankful and keep making progress.

And…in my case…I will keep singing and….speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

Busy.  That does not begin to cover it.

My inability to communicate on these pages is due, in large part, to my being so busy lately.

We are in the midst of testing season in the Indiana schools.  That is always a great deal of fun.  Yes, I am being sarcastic.  I will leave it at that.  Part of that “if you can’t say anything nice…”  Our state lawmakers would think twice if they had to take a test to be qualified to hold their office.

A good deal of time has also been given to making music.  I am going into the studio this weekend to record some demos of new songs I have written and I also hope to re-record a couple of tunes just for good measure.  It is time.

Until we meet again…speak the rights!

Danny Johnson

As a child I watched golf on the television long enough to realize what was on so I could change the channel.  I was the victim of the stereotype that golf was a rich man’s game when I was growing up.  And no, I can’t blame that on my Dad.  I never heard him put down a golfer.  To the contrary, when he did mention a golfer, it was complimentary.  Dad did not watch golf on TV when I was growing up.  We did watch Wimbeldon tennis.  That was fascinating to watch a game I was closer to…the tennis court was close to the football practice field at my  old school….and the one that would be my new one for that matter.  Golf just was not our thing.

Here is the chasm of that kept golf “over there” for me when I was younger and took into early adulthood.  They guys on TV playing golf had slacks on.  That is all it took.  If they are wearing slacks while they are playing a sport, they probably hold their pinkies out when they drink their tea.  Right or…well, wrong, that was the prevailing sentiment for this game for me and my young cronies.

My attitude for the game of golf took a turn for the best in 1992.  I was coaching high school football.  Our team’s head coach was a golfer.  We became friends and ultimately he showed me how to play the game of golf.  He gave me a hand me down set of clubs and I put them to good use.  The bag was green…about the color of the jacket the guys will be playing for this weekend.  There were some old Taylor Made woods (metal) and they hit the ball true.  I had no idea what had been given to me.  These were some good tools for a first timer.  Thank you, Mark Black.

So Captain Black took me to the golf course.  I then took to it.  Soon after Carrie, my dear wife, and I were married we got a membership at the The Old Capitol Golf Club in Corydon.  I dear friend Gus, we lived in the same New Salisbury neighborhood, joined me.  We played a great deal of golf together.  The Corydon Course is an 18 hole behemoth.  We walked every hole.  It was expensive enough for a young couple to be there.  Paying for a cart was out of the question.  Anyway, like Pete Rutherford told the club attendant on a 101 degree day when he and I were walking the course, “It ain’t a game if you don’t walk!”

To date,  my best 18 hole round was an 84 at Corydon.  I shot 39 once on the nine hole course in New Salisbury.  I kept the card for my 84.  The ball I shot 39 with is just a few feet to my left in a safe place. 5 pars and 4 bogeys.  One of the bogeys was on a par 3 I negotiate more times than not.

And of course I play in a tournament, the Corner King Classic every year.  I have written about it on these very pages.

For me, golf goes back to Tom Watson and Jack Nicklaus in the 1970s.  Though I did not watch the game on TV, I did read the newspapers and Sports Illustrated.  Remember there was no ESPN to screw up what we were leaving to our imaginations.

When Fuzzy Zoeller won The Masters in 1979 I was watching.  He was a local guy compared to Seve Ballesteros or Gary Player.  We could understand what Fuzzy was saying without having to adjust our hearing.

When I was a senior in high school, thirty years ago, Jack Nicklaus won The Masters at age 46.  And we thought he was old.  Well, no one older than that has won it since.  I guess he was.  Phil Mickelson is 45 this year.  Many are picking or pulling for Lefty.

When Tiger Woods won his first Masters in 1997, we figured the Green Jacket tailor could probably take most of next two decades off while Tiger collected the same size or just put on the same jacket.  Tiger has won this tournament four times.  The last one came in 2005.  And he is not competing this year.

When Tiger lost his crown, or got hit in the crown, folks thought golf was in for a bad time.  Yes, rating are probably better when Tiger is playing in the hunt for a championship.  He is Tiger.  Still, the game is in good hands with a great many exciting young golfers.  Rickie Fowler, Rory McIlroy, Jordan Spieth, Bubba Watson, Adam Scott, and the 37 year-old Matt Kuchar, my pick for to win the 2016 Masters, are fun to watch.  There are many more here that I have not mentioned.

And the course at Augusta.  Oh my.  That is worth tuning in to watch.  You may not like golf, but you can watch it being played at this place and enjoy it.  Amen Corner, the azaleas, Rae’s Creek, The Hogan Bridge, it never gets old.  The best thing is that it lasts for four days and looks better the next day every time.  When Sunday comes and a Green jacket is fitted, there is a bit of sadness that comes when the winner puts his arms inside and shrugs his shoulders a bit to get the right fit.  It is over.  It is sad for a moment.  Then I always think bring on The US Open Championship the second of Golf’s four MAJORS in June. Though my second favorite is The British Open…or should I say…The Open. That is in July.

If you get a chance, watch The Masters.

There is a Green Jacket waiting.  I think Matt Kuchar is the man this year.

Speaking the Golfing Prognosticating Rights…

Danny Johnson