It is I-5 day.

That is how I affectionately refer to the Indianapolis 500.  The I-5.

Today will mark a triumph in 2021.  I have heard there will be 135,000 folks in attendance at the famed brickyard.

I have been fortunate enough to visit Indianapolis Motor Speedway a few times.  The first time was ten years ago when my dear wife, Carrie, and I went to watch qualifications for that year’s race.  The roar those cars make is unreal.  I can’t imagine what the start of that race sounds like in turn one.  I can try.  But I don’t think it is possible to know until you have been there.

Ray Harroun’s car, the first Indy 500 winner.

The Borg-Warner Trophy.

As you can imagine, the museum inside the track is a special place to visit if you have any interest in this race and this place.

So many memories.  Your old Uncle Dan can remember having to listen to the race on the radio and then watching a tape delay broadcast on ABC that same night.  Was it our proximity to the track? Perhaps it was.  I really don’t care.

These were good days.

My dear friend Adam Disque was teaching at Medora School when I was the counselor and teacher there.  He invited me to join his class on Education Day trips to Indianapolis Motor Speedway.  For me the Winner’s Circle was never more important than this picture:

Talk about a crew!  Wow.  We had a blast.

How this photo turned out this way I will never know.  But I have gotten a few miles out of it.  Maybe not 500.  This is on the infield side of the Pagoda.  If you follow that yard of bricks through that door and out to the other side, you will find the track’s front stretch.  If you win the race, you get to kiss the bricks.

Yes, this really is a big deal. Believe it or not.

Learning about the cars and all aspects of the track was a great time for these kids and these adults.

I am so thankful Adam asked me to join this group.

Who will win the race today?  Look out for Scott Dixon.

In truth I think those in attendance and those watching the race LIVE from home will be the winners.  The race gets to run on time this year.  But, there is more memorial than ever to this Memorial Day weekend.  Our national loss has been great.  Hug someone you love.  Don’t miss the last dance.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

The great pandemic has not been kind to me.  Nor has it been kind to anyone.

To personalize this, I can report that the pandemic has increased my waistline and I am ready to retaliate.

Working in a school, wondering about the uncertainty of that and being compelled, due to contact tracing to be tested for the Corona Virus twice, I have been a nervous wreck.  I have, in the process, surrendered to the fork and spoon.

Too much pizza.  Too much fried fish.  Too much cereal at night.  Too many burgers.  Too much of….fill in the blank.

I have found solace in good vittles.  In turn, the vittles have not been as good to me as I have been to them.

And so it begins.  This old boy is fully vaccinated and still scared.  As I have reported here before, my lungs are not my friend. I was born that way.  I have been beyond nervous through this pandemic.  I don’t want to lose my breath.  I have felt fear all my life in my pursuit to breathe clearly.  On a few occasions, I have been in doubt.  On a few occasions, trips to Denver, Colorado, I have never felt so revived as clean air was felt in my lungs in places that I did not know existed. I never felt better.

And so it begins.  It is my time to turn my nose up on the pandemic.  It is my time to get back to the mode of self-preservation.

Many of my friends know that in 2012 I went through a transformation.  I lost a great deal of weight and kept it off for the longest time.  No, I am not up to the weight I was then when I knew it was time to change things.  But, I am closer to that point than I was on the better side of it.

So…it is time.

More exercise.  Less fried foods.  Less cereal at night.  And the list goes on.

Can I do it?  Sure I can.  It is about priorities.  This ain’t brain surgery.

It is about getting on the exercise bike in the morning.  Leaving the toast behind afterwards.  Eating more protein.  Drinking plenty of water.  Being disciplined about eating regularly.  Eating and drinking the right things.  Walking more.  Lifting some weights.  Doing a work out that Michael Powell gave me to follow before I went out to the Rose Bowl to kick my field goals (I was 2 for 2 in Pasadena) and making more progress.

On these pages I have spoken the rights.  When my Granny was dying, I told you about it.  When I was having a good time, I told you about it.  I am ready to tell you about this endeavor too.  It is time.  I got a bunch of clothes in my closet yelling out my name.  I have an eye on one particular long sleeve shirt that looks like it came straight from Kings Row.

I am just speaking the rights.

Chicago.

Danny Johnson

Thirty years ago I was in Hawaii with my Granny.  We had such a good time.    We stayed at the Sheraton Waikiki and had a balcony looking at the ocean and Diamond Head to the left.  It was amazing.  I rented a car and drove around the island on my own.  Granny would not go with me.

The things that stand out the most about this trip was a visit to the USS Arizona Memorial and Pearl Harbor, a sun tan than lasted two years, seeing the Don Ho Show, and seeing Bruno Mars impersonate Elvis in the lounge at our hotel.  Thank you, Granny.  It was a blast.

May.

I graduated from high school in May.  That was a long time ago.  My grandparents came up from Shreveport to witness it just to make sure it was true.  It was.

Tom and Gleda Brown were there.  My second parents.  How I miss them.

The last high school graduation I enjoyed was that of my sister, Lynn, who graduated from North Harrison High School two years before I did.  We had a great celebration then.

As a member of leadership for my graduating class, I was called to a meeting to decide the placement or replacement of the chair of a classmate who died in a car crash three days before graduation.  The older I get, the worse this gets for me.  I have made this speech so many times.  When the calendar turns to May I automatically get nervous.

We graduated on a Sunday and buried a classmate on the next day.  My mom, who hosted a lunch after the funeral, said it was the only time there were 8 pairs of black shoes sitting in her living room.  How this can stay so close to the heart this many years on I will never know.  But I am always nervous for the graduating class in my building.  I don’t want them to go through what I went through.  I don’t want them to know this dread and fear.

I finished college #1 in May.  My Bachelor’s degree that led to many years of teaching English.  How I enjoyed that.  I taught English from 1995 to 2015.  Many years of those year I taught while I was also the school counselor.

I finished college #2 in May.  A Master’s degree that led to my becoming a school counselor at the behest of Jim Stewart.  Jim was a principal at Medora I would have run through a brick wall for.  Had he not asked me to come back to Medora, I would not have him to thank for many good times.  Many of those were in his presence.  I miss that man.  He was the best school guy I ever knew.  Well, maybe Bob Mahan is 1B.  Got him to thank for a great deal also.

And so it begins.  The end of a school year like we have never known before.  Masks on, kids on virtual, watching other states not even remotely close to classes, avoiding crowds, not being in the middle of it.  It has been awful for this ole boy.  In a new building as Covid began.  Not being able to be myself.  Masks all the time. Wow.

I just hope and pray all the kids stay safe.  We need them.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

Wow.  I had no plans of writing a post this evening.

I felt fortunate to survive my drive home from Paoli today.  It rained cats, dogs, the kitchen sink, most of Patoka Lake seemed to be displaced over the top of my car on the way home.  Add a little lightning and a great ddeal of wind and you have to tell Aunt Barbara in Mississippi you have to hang the phone up and hope to make it home and hope to somehow call her later.

From Paoli to the English golf course the temperature dropped 18 degrees.   That would be about 17 miles to the south.

I lived to tell the story and actually called Aunt Barbara back to let her know I survived.  I was never in doubt, though peril found a way into my consciousness.

So I went for a walk this evening.  By the time this posts it will probably say April 8 even though it is not quite there yet.  I think I am headquartered in the old country.  Honestly, I don’t care.  I just write.

During my walk I was motivated to write and share a few pictures.

You know Thunder Over Louisville Air Show Practice is going on when you see three planes from the southeast, two from Charlotte and one from Atlanta, flying overhead south to north 40 miles from Standiford Field in Louisville where they were to land.  I pay attention to planes and often look at a Flight Tracker app on my phone.  That is how I figured out where they were from and where they were going in such an odd direction.

First snail spotting of the year.

The colors are coming together on the old walking trail.

I was pleased with the light and could not turn this shot down.

If you look close to this picture you may be able to find a rainbow.  I saw two of them on my hour long walk.

This one you can probably make out a little better.

I had to take one more from a little farther up the hill.

I enjoy how the trees provide a tunnel effect here.

I’ll save the best for last.  Jarrett and I went fishing yesterday in Blue River.  We caught google eye and small mouth.  It was a wonderful time I usually only dream about. He won’t be home long.  But we have had a good time.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

On a portable speaker close to where I type these words, The Cars are singing the song “Drive”.  Never a great Cars fan, I enjoy listening to Benjamin Orr handling lead vocals much more that anything Ric Ocasek put forth.  Drive is far and away my favorite Cars song.  The Cars were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame the same night The Moody Blues were.  I wish Benjamin Orr had lived long enough to see it.

I was reminded today that I have not written a post in a while.  Nice to know someone cares.

Where do we start?  Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way.

Indiana is a great place.  It really is, in spite of ourselves.  My dear wife, Carrie, and I were about to cross the street in Wilmington, North Carolina, when a guy spoke up when he saw Carrie’s sweatshirt that was advertising Indiana University.  Turned out the guy, a half a generation older than us, was an IU grad.  He told us he believed the nicest people he had come across in his travels were from Indiana and North Carolina.  Maybe.

Having travelled many Interstates, highways, and backroads in the Tar Heel State, I have yet to find a road that resembles a public landfill like that of my walking trail on St. Louis Road NW of the house.  It is unreal.  You would think there was sign along this road that says “DUMP YOUR TRASH HERE!”

I know every zip code has its share of hilljacks and idiots.  I just wish the ones in my zip code were not so close.

Case in point…I am convinced that Hansel and Bubba were on my walking trail recently and Hansel was not throwing popcorn out for Bubba to follow the trail.  Hansel was throwing Busch Light beer bottles.

Here’s one.

Here’s two.

There’s three.

And just in case Bubba needed an extra clue, Hansel threw out the six pack holder as well so Bubba was not to be confused again.

This was not an isolated incident.  Business is going well for Jimmy John’s Subs, McDonald’s, Burger King, Taco Bell, Lite Beer from Miller, and Subway.  At the very least, I encountered trash from these establishments on my semi-serene .85 mile walking trail.

Indiana.  We’re soooooooo proud of you!

I apologize.  I should throw the book at Harrison County, Indiana.  If you go to Dubois County, Indiana (not far from here) there is a whole different level of pride along the roadside.  God Bless them!

Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way.  I was taken aback when I saw this infomercial on TV when I obviously hit a button and found a Twilight Zone selling channel.  Make your  hair great again?  Dear Lord help us.  What is this?  Trump Hair Loss?  Is this the Trump Defense Fund at work?  How embarrassing.   This is just affirmation on why I sadly gave up on the Republican Party.  Lord how I hope liberals look like the foolish ones again some day.  We need you now, John Kasich.

On a GREAT note, I saw two Bald Eagles on Rothrock Mill Road a few days ago.  They were in a tree right along the road.  I thought I was going to faint.  You go half a century hoping to see Bald Eagles in your environ and now I can tell you I have seen more than I can sit and name for you.  It is a wonderful thing to behold.

Looking at my photo catalog, I found this picture we made light of at the time.

Me handing off a roll of toilet paper to my Mother last March.  Little did we know what was ahead and what it all meant.  How could we?  We still don’t know.  But I am a little more optimistic than I was six months ago.  I have received my compliment of Moderna vaccines.  We shall see, won’t we?

This old Outfield promo flat finally found its way to a wall in my home office.  My sister game me the frame.  It looks great.  If there are two songs that remind me of my senior year in high school it is The Outfield’s smash Your Love and The Moody Blues’ last Top Ten hit Your Wildest Dreams.  Yes, I know.  It was 35 years ago.  The Moodies have been on the wall for years.

I tip my cap to Brenda Eubank.  This is in the library at Paoli High School.  I have to think Brenda had a hand in putting it there.  I think it is awesome.  Thanks to Brenda and e.e. cummings.

The field behind the house.  I like the camera on my new phone.  I just wish it was not subject to trash on the side of my waking trail.

Speaking the rights.  And, know I pick Alabama to win the NCAA Men’s Basketball Championship.

Danny Johnson

I did not expect this post to be as difficult to write as I intended.

This afternoon I spoke to my Aunt Barbara Hines.  Lord, I cherish that woman!

She is my Ole Miss football watching buddy.  Aunt Barbara and I have seen the Ole Miss Rebels play, in person,  Arkansas in 1989, Arkansas in 1991, LSU in 1996, Georgia in 1999, Kentucky in 2001, and South Carolina in 2003.  The Arkansas games were in Jackson.  The Kentucky game was in Lexington.  The other three were glorious days in Oxford.  She has returned the favor with visits to Indiana to watch the Hoosiers play Minnesota in 1994 and Penn State in 1996.  Good times, I tell you.

March 4th, 1988.  Oh to be 19 again!  Two weeks before my 20th birthday, I worked a 3:30 to 9 shift at the now defunct Sears department store in Clarksville.  After my Sears gig that night I drove to my parents’ home where, bags packed, I threw them in my parents’ mini van and drove all night to Shreveport, Louisiana.

My great-grandmother, Ila Ashley, had taken a turn for the worse in Shreveport.  Grandma Ila was always a tough customer.  All four foot nine inches of her.  That she was ailing was something I could not process.

While in Shreveport, early in that week, we got word from Jackson, Mississippi, that my Uncle Durwood Hines was in peril also.  There was only one thing to do.  Point that minivan East on I-20 and get to Jackson.  We did just that.

My Uncle Durwood was one of the kindest, well-mannered, Southern Gentleman you would ever meet.  Always wanting to make sure all in the room were taken care of, he made a great impression on me.  He loved country music.  He enjoyed telling a joke and laughed as hard as the rest of us at the punch line, and on more than one occasion, I asked Uncle Durwood a question to find him asleep in his chair…sitting straight as an arrow.  How I miss those days.

In the 1970s we annually had a family reunion in Forest, Mississippi at Uncle Bob and Aunt Nell’s house on Thanksgiving day.  What a celebration.

Okay.  To put some needed perspective on this, my mom had nine older sisters and seven brothers.  W.E. and Levi Jane Hines had 17 youngun’s.  We had a LARGE family reunion.

On the Friday after the family reunion, my parents and my sister and I would visit a wide array of folk in Jackson, Mississippi.  There was Mr. Anderson, a great man my Mom befriended while she was in Nursing School in Jackson.  There was Mrs. Prewitt, a neighbor to my Great-Great Grandparents.  She complained a great deal, though she made a great raisin pie. There was Edna Bell, the house keeper for my Great-Great Grandparents. She was a precious lady there is not room for here today. Miss Doby was a step-grandparent to my Dad.  Stricken by a stroke that left her speech quite limited to a few phrases…I will never forget the look on her face the day we introduced her to my little brother, Darrell, on what may have been the last time we saw her.  Struggling to get the words out, she said, “I know.”  She meant she knew what she was trying to say.

I’m dancing here.  I need to get to the heart of the matter.

When my Mom and I got to Jackson to check on Uncle Durwood he was about to have a biopsy on his brain.  He had a brain tumor.

My memory is better than most, I can tell you.  I am thankful for that.

But I am still shaking writing about the last time I saw my Uncle Durwood.  He said something I will never forget.

At his bedside after his biopsy, Uncle Durwood’s head was completely bandaged up.  I looked at him and said, “Look at you.  You look like you have a football helmet on and you’re first string.”  He looked at me and smiled the best he could, “I think I’ll have to be the water boy” he faintly said.  I had his hand in mine as he spoke those words.  After this moment, my memory gets as cloudy as my eyes are right now.   It was the sweetest good-bye I have ever been a part of.

Uncle Durwood died on April 18, 1988.  I was on the phone in the Sears paint stockroom when my Mom told me over the phone.  Choking up, I walked out to the loading dock, sat on some steps, and sat there for a long time.

I don’t have many regrets.  I don’t.  That I did not make it to Uncle Durwood’s funeral is one of them.  But, I know there were plenty of folk there for Aunt Barbara.  I just wish I had been one of them.

March Forth!

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

This post written while listening to Justin Hayward’s 1985 solo album Moving Mountains.

The song Lost and Found is on here.  It is the song my dear wife, Carrie, and I danced to at our wedding reception.  As usual, I picked out the tune.  Carrie expects this, of course.  Rediscovering vinyl has been fun for me.  I first acquired Moving Mountains on cassette.  Then I ordered it from Camelot Music at the Jefferson Mall in 1990 or so on CD.  Oh my. Music was such a treasure then.  I miss that.  I miss that for me.  But even more, I miss it for the kids today.

For the Glory that is hard to come by is my thought about Indiana University men’s basketball.  Coach Teri Moran, from Seymour, has the women’s program sailing along.

Archie Miller and the men’s program don’t have that going on right now.  It’s tough to look at it.  When a football guy is feeling bad for you at Indiana, something is bad wrong.

I know plenty about my love/hate affair with Indiana.  When they fired Bill Mallory on Halloween of 1996 I was done with them.  It took a great deal to get me back.  Ironically enough, I had a candid conversation with Coach Mal’s replacement, Cam Cameron on a hot summer day during football camp.

I told Coach Cam I was mad when they fired Coach Mallory.  I also told him it was not his fault.  But it all still stung.  He asked me to hang in there.  Cam had a step-dad who was fired as a high school coach.  I told him about my Dad’s similar treatment at Brownstown many years ago and we found some common ground there that not many folks can share. Cam was let go and the Indiana athletic department in their rumbling fumbling bumbling stumbling way that is their way fumbled another hire in Gerry Dinardo.  Then came Coach Terry Hoeppner.  Had he lived to tell the story, I think it would have been a good one for Indiana.  God rest his soul.

Bill Lynch was next.  He didn’t have the support he needed.  It was just a matter of time.

More rumbling fumbling bumbling and stumbling when Indiana named Kevin Wilson to be head football coach.  Who gets a team not used to getting to a bowl game to be played in Yankee Stadium tell all within earshot in a press conference that he is not much of a baseball fan?  I rooted for David Cutcliffe and the Duke Blue Devils in that game.  I did.  I got to watch a closed scrimmage in March of 2003 when Coach Cut was at Ole Miss and Eli Manning was the QB.  Wide receiver Bill Flowers was rehabbing that day running steps in the stadium that still had a grass field before turf was there for the regular season.

When Indiana had the good sense to hire Tom Allen as the new head football coach I was elated.  Sometimes you just know.  There is a perpetual chip on Tom Allen’s shoulder that goes back to folks wondering if he was up to being an assistant at Ole Miss on Hugh Freeze’s staff.  Coaching football at Indiana has plenty of chips to go around.  I just knew he was the one Indiana finally hit a home run with.

I will not purport to know a great deal about basketball.  Have seen a great deal of high school basketball and a few basketball coaches I count among the best friends I have ever had.

I have never attended a college basketball game in person.  College football is a different story.  I have seen more than 70 of the current FBS teams play in person.

When I look at Indiana University and the treatment of the basketball program since the demise of Bobby Knight, I see the same rumbling fumbling bumbling stumbling that the football program has been subject to half of forever.  Bad hires.

Replacing a legend is never easy.

Indiana University is a good place.  I believe that.  Academically, it holds up.  Athletically it has been suspect for some time when it comes to the biggest money making sports on campus.

Archie Miller, I don’t wish an ounce of bad will on him at all.  I also believe he may privately hope that someone out there will pony up on that buyout his owed if IU terminates him without cause.  I’d say he has earned a great deal of it.  And he can probably go elsewhere and find a place where the old specters are not the most important aspects of a basketball floor like they are at Assembly Hall.

What coaches are paid in college athletics, it is not a good look.  But, that is where we are when deep pocketed donors rule the landscape and pave the roads along with fat TV contracts by the networks.  I don’t blame the coaches.

Look, I too look back to my favorite Indiana Basketball eras.  Playing in the basement with a friend and he was Scott May and I was Kent Benson.  Absolutely GLUED to the local broadcasts I miss so much with Chuck Marlowe and John Laskowski when Ted Kitchel was firing up long range shots from the corner.  Watching Steve Alford and Keith Smart win it in New Orleans in 1987.  Waiting for Clarksville’s Chuck Franz to be put in the game.  Randy Wittman.  Ray Tolbert.  Don’t get me started.  We’d be here for hours!

Sure.  I love Indiana Football.  But I also know my little southern third of the Hoosier state  is a mighty cool place to be when Indiana Basketball is the one holding the handle of the mop when the cleaning of the floor is going on.  I miss that.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

Took to the South St. Louis Rd walking trail today.

Have mercy it is amazing what 58 degrees and snow nearly all gone will do for a person.

It was so nice out.  I did not want the walk to end.

There’s the Blue River reflecting the sun down there.

As I took this picture I was feeling guilty.  I was wishing I was in the Paoli High School Gym to see the RAMS take on the North Harrison Cougars.  I came home instead.  I wish I was ready to walk into a gym at 50 percent capacity.  I am not.  Not even close.

As I continued my walk a song came on my Amazon mix by chance.  It was Eddie Money’s tune “I Wanna Go Back”.  Every time I hear that tune I think of an old friend and his memorial service.  That song blared over all in attendance.  I smiled every time I hear it.  And I think about Ken.

I wanted to be in the gym tonight.  I would of loved to have seen Ken there.

But, I am not there yet.

I wanna go back.

When I got in from my walk this afternoon, I asked my dear wife, Carrie, “Have you heard anything?”

Our dear old friend Judy Johnson was taken off a ventilator today.  Carrie told me Judy’s husband, Donald, called her as I was walking.  Judy died this afternoon due to Covid.  Don and Judy’s son, Phillip, was in Carrie’s class for many years as she taught kids with difficulties I can’t begin to understand even though I know very well of them.

Philly Willy has Muscular Dystrophy.  He is in a wheelchair full time.  Has been for years and years.  But a quicker wit you will never find.

This hurts.  Good people.  The best.  They adopted Phillip. And now this. Makes me want to shake my fist just a little bit.  But that never helps.

If I heard it once I heard it too many times.  “When the election is over, the virus will be gone.”  I wish that were true.

I wanna go back.

Speaking the sad rights.

Danny Johnson