GOOD-BYE, MAUREEN SLOAN

Maureen Sloan.

She was one of the first girls I met when I walked into Deerpath Junior High School
in the fall of 1977. Our family had moved to Lake Forest, Illinois and as a 13-year-old kid,
I was starting over in a new town, a new school, and challenged to make new friends.

Maureen was one of my first friends in my new school. She was one of  the prettiest girls
in Lake Forest who seemed wise beyond her years. She was smart, sweet, and seemed to
have the beginning of real life figured out well before the rest of us.

I had a mad crush on Maureen Sloan, too. She didn't return the crush. As I mentioned,
she was wise beyond her years. :)

Maureen was one of the truly incredible people I met during my short stay in Lake
Forest. Our family moved back East after just two years. It was an amazing place
where I forged friendships that still remain strong today.

Thanks to Facebook, I reconnected with Maureen nearly 38 years after first meeting
her. Man, when I write "38 years" it doesn't seem real. Has life gone by this quickly?
Despite the time that accumulated between our last conversation, Maureen and I had
an easy time picking up right where we left off.

She seemed happy in her first year of life after 50. There had been demons that many
of  us face through this journey of life, but it seemed as though she had overcome
them and enjoying herself. That was evident in a text she wrote to former
classmate and good friend, Lisa Pharris.

As I was browsing through Facebook a few days ago, a short blurb caught my eye:
Maureen Sloan R.I.P.

I was hoping against hope it wasn't the Maureen Sloan I knew from Lake Forest in 8th
grade. I went to her Facebook and I read posts confirming that it was.

Maureen Sloan, 51, was hit by a car on New Year's Eve while crossing a busy
street in Sarasota, Florida. Gone tragically and way too early. She was loved and
had an impact on many of her friends, as many posts on her Facebook page indicated.

"I LOVED Maureen Sloan...I am so incredibly sad to hear of this horrible news...
My First friend at LFHS...A TRULY dear and gorgeous soul...You will be missed.
CANNOT believe this....! "  --Maria Salidas.

"RIP Maureen Sloan you truly impacted my life, many serious chats we shared
and how often you comforted me.... I will never forgot you or that beautiful smile....
Such a genuine, strong woman. Say hello to my brother up there!" ---Julie Hilliker

Maureen Sloan, you were truly loved. Anyone who met you, admired and respected
you. Good-bye, Maureen, you will be missed.

GOOD-BYE, DAVE HENDERSON

As Dave Henderson grew into a man and major league baseball player, the little boy in
him never left him. His gap-toothed smile that seemingly stretched from Seattle to Boston,
two of the cities that adored him, expressed a love for a game that often disappears in
others once they make it to the big-time.

The pressure of performing under a magnifying glass can make a smile vanish, the love for
the game can disappear with the expectations that come with a multi-million dollar contract.

That never happened to Dave Henderson, who always made it appear like he was the luckiest
guy in the world. His expression screamed out to the world, "Do you mean they are actually
paying me tons of money to play this game? Who is fooling who?"

I watched him play many times and don't ever recall a helmet thrown or bat shattered. If
he struck out, Henderson always seemed to have a look on his face that said, "Oh, well.
I gave it my best shot. I'll get him next time."

In the 1986 ALCS against the California Angels, there was a next pitch for Henderson
who was playing for the Boston Red Sox at the time, acquired in a late season trade with
the Seattle Mariners. Badly fooled by Angels closer Donnie Moore, Henderson and the
Red Sox were down to their  last strike in the game and the series.

Moore hung a split-fingered fastball just enough for Henderson to get the fat part of
the bat on the ball. As it sailed towards the left-field fence, Henderson watched in both
excitement and anticipation. He was like the kid and Little League staring at what could
be his first-ever home run. Henderson knew it had a chance. He skipped, hopped, and
landed awkwardly as the ball cleared the fence. I said to myself, 'man, that looked like
it hurt.'

 

It very well may have, but there's no way Henderson felt any pain. The adrenaline took care
of it. He all of a sudden became that little kid who just did the greatest thing he could've
ever imagined with his parents and all his friends watching. He became a somebody.
The home run helped win the game and made Henderson a hero in Boston forever.

Henderson played in the World Series four times, winning once with the Oakland A's
in 1989.  Few people can rattle of the career stats of Henderson, but many remember his
fu Manchu and mega-watt smile. Dave Henderson loved the game every single day whether
he was on a hot streak or a dreadful slump. With Henderson, you could never tell which
one he was in the midst of.

Henderson made every fly ball hit to him in the outfield, not an adventure, but rather
unique. When he camped under it, he gave it half of Rickey Henderson with a little style.
The other half appeared as if he was playing hide-n-seek with the ball, with a squint and a
little flex in his knees.

If he caught a ball that ended an inning, Henderson ran in from the outfield with a smile
on his face  looking as if his parents just told him they were taking him to Carvel after
the game for some ice cream.

The little boy in Dave Henderson had a great run, but he died on Sunday. He gave everything
he had and those who followed the game, a lot of joy. Somehow, someway, I pictured
a smile on the face of Dave Henderson as he passed away from a heart attack at the age
of 57.

Nothing in the game could wash the smile off his face. Nothing in life seemed to affect it
either. It wouldn't be all that surprising if death failed at it, too.

FISHING IN A DRESS SHIRT? THE TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY

Almost as soon as I posted a picture of me fishing in a dress shirt and slacks, I received
an avalanche of comments.

"Who goes fishing in an outfit like that?"

"That doesn't look right."

"Are you modeling or something? Who goes fishing in a button-down shirt?"

All comments were spot on. Nobody goes fishing in clean clothes, much less a button-down
shirts. It's usually shorts, a wrinkled t-shirt from 1998, and a baseball hat, right?

Truth be told, I didn't expect to be fishing that day, which was November 6th. As a general
assignment reporter, you don't know your assignment until you get to work and I always
dress in a coat and tie or business suit.

On November 6th, it was 78 degrees in Westchester County, breaking a record that stood
since 1930-something. I was told to go find out how people were taking advantage of the
spectacular day.

My photographer and I went down to the Hudson River in Nyack, New York which had
turned into a wonderland of sporting activity. People were biking, roller blading, and
fishing. After interviewing the man with the fishing pole, I asked if I could cast a line
for "tv purposes".

The man obliged and I got my stand-up for the story. As I was a doing it, a professional
photographer just happened to be shooting the event----and then I hooked a catfish. Now,
that was luck. It was pretty funny moment, so I took advantage of it figuring it would
make for good television, especially in my casual attire. I'm just thankful I took off the
tie or I'd have really heard it from my friends.

It wasn't the first time I was pictured fishing in the great outdoors with unsuitable
attire. While working for NESN and covering the Patriots in 2005, I went fishing in
a 3/4 length leather jacket. Not exactly a good look.

The Patriots were playing a Monday night game against the Miami Dolphins and I didn't
want to sit around in my room all day. Sun bathing on Ocean Drive in Miami was out,
the weather was unseasonably cold. With the high-winds, the temperature dipped into
the 30's.

My photographer and I booked ourselves on a deep-sea fishing charter. Forget about
the frigid temperatures, we were going fishing for some trophies. Trouble was, I didn't
pack for the cold weather, so I hopped aboard in my leather jacket. Hey, man, you have
to do whatever you have to do to deal with the conditions with what you have.

About an hour into our trip, I hooked a big ole' golden Amberjack. In my leather
Kenneth Cole jacket, I felt like Jimmy Houston reeling in that sucker. He put up
a good fight, but I was empowered by the leather jacket, kind of like Fonzie in
"Happy Days"

I didn't look cool, but I felt cool. That made my trip until I flew back to Boston
sitting next to Bridgette Moynihan, Tom Brady's girlfriend at the time. Now, you
talk about a story! I'll save that for another blog.

As for my attire, so what? One can't always dress for the part. If you hook a big
one, it doesn't matter what you wear, leather jacket or button down shirt.

PAUL ALEXANDER HAS BEEN EVERYWHERE, MAN.

 

Johnny Cash didn't have Paul Alexander in mind when he recorded the hit song,
"I've been everywhere", but if the music legend was alive today, you can bet he'd buy
the New York native a beer or two just to hear about his journey.

Alexander is the human passport, getting stamped in 33 countries from Chile to Ireland
to Morocco to Fiji.

He's been everywhere, man.

"I love to travel because at a young age my parents exposed me to many new places and
things,"said the 51-year-old golf professional.  "It has always inspired me to see more."

Alexander has seen more of this country than most people can only dream of. He's been to
every state except Alaska and in 2014, made the journey from coast-to-coast, spending
90 days camping out in the wilderness in addition to taking in so many of the breathtaking
sights this great nation has to offer.

Crossed the desert's bare, man
Breathed the mountain air, man.
He's been everywhere, man....

Single with no kids, Alexander can get up and go just about whenever he wants, and
wherever he goes, that place usually has a ton of golf courses. Alexander has teed it up on
more courses around the world than the number of times you've changed your status on
Facebook in the last five years. In addition to golf, he skis on spectacular mountains
and fishes in the most exotic places from sea to shining sea.

Baraboo, Waterloo, Kalamazoo, Kansas City,
Sioux City, Cedar City, Dodge City, what a pity.
He's been everywhere, man.

Alexander and I have been lifelong friends and while talking over breakfast one day
in November, I casually asked what his plans for the weekend were.

"I'm just going to Morocco with Carl (his brother) and we're going to play golf with
some guys who invited us over there," Alexander said with all the emotion of a mortician
at the end of double-shift.  I guess that can happen to someone who has been everywhere,
man.

The man's motto is one you might expect from a person who sees the world as his personal
playground.

"Mark Twain summed it up best." Alexander said.  "Twenty years from now you will be
 more disappointed by the things you didn't do than the ones you did do."

Alexander hopes to cross Thailand, Patagonia, Alaska, and Prague off his Bucket List
in the very near future, which for the PGA golf professional,  probably means sometime
around Easter.

My father affectionately dubbed Alexander, "007" because he is calm, cool, and has an
aura of mystery and intrigue about him. He is always here today, gone somewhere else
tomorrow. That's Paul Alexander.

He's been everywhere, man.



ONE DAY IS NOT ENOUGH FOR OUR VETERANS

The nation honors all those who served our country fighting wars with their own special
day. We pay tribute to the men and woman who put their lives on the line against faceless
enemies in countries far, far away. There will be a few parades and a lot of pictures
flooding Facebook of the American flag and our heroes who did so much for us. They
helped attain what we all enjoy today: freedom.

It's not enough.

For all the bravery, courage, determination, and sacrifice these veterans made, giving
them a day pales in comparison to what they truly deserve. And how our government
treats them is downright right embarrassing.

A 'thank you' will not do.

These men and woman leave the comforts of their home and the love of their families to
spill blood and sweat on foreign soil. What they return to is almost beyond comprehension.
Soldiers who had limbs blown off, their spirits shaken, and in many cases, their psyche
shattered forever, often have to wait long periods of time to get the benefits they earned
and the professional help they desperately need.

Instead of letting them go to the front of the line and take care of them immediately,
our government sometimes doesn't take care of them at all. President Obama may give
them a pat on the back or weave together a few words of praise, but when the cameras
are off it becomes something barely more than a, "hey, good job, thanks for playing."

According to CNN, the average wait for those who served in Iraq and Afghanistan to
get their benefits is between 316 and 327 days. Almost a year!  That's absurd. All
the money the government spends keeping Guantanamo Bay open for terrorist
prisoners ($450 million a year) would be better served taking care of our own instead
of all the ones who tried to destroy our country.

After the soldiers return home, turn in their weapons while trying to tune out the
horrors of wars, there is little waiting for them in terms of a career. They don't have
jobs waiting for them or counseling provided by the government to at least
help them find one.

A few corporations like Wal-Mart have pledged to hire up to a 100,000 veterans, but
it's not enough and the government should be doing a lot more. They ask soldiers
to make tremendous sacrifices, fight for our country, put their lives on the line, and
they don't have their backs when they return home.

Professional sports teams produce special Army fatigue uniforms which they wear
and sell for a nifty profit. The message is a great one: support our troops and veterans.
But what do they actually do for them? They, along with their families, should never
have to pay for parking, concessions, and tickets to the game. That should mandated
across the board by our government

According to a report in the New York Times, there are 22 suicides among veterans
every day. Yes, every day! One is too many. 22 is a terrible tragedy that can be
prevented. These men and woman need help. Sure, you trying going to war for
three years and have to kill or be killed. Is your job that stressful? I think not. These
soldiers have to come home, decompress, and then blend into society as if
nothing happened.

It's silly, absurd, and doesn't really make any sense. The government's motto should
be: "We take care of all those who take care of us." That's how it should
be, no questions asked.

Too bad it all can't be that simple. With our government nothing ever is.

MEETING MS. HENRIETTA

I crashed a party on November 6th and it's one of the best things I've done in a while.

During the midst of reporting on a story about the temperatures in New York shattering

a mark that stood since 1885, I happened upon a petite lady whose years, 85, seemed to

match her bodyweight.

Ms. Henrietta, as she introduced herself, was sitting on a park bench on a near perfect,

sun-splashed afternoon. She was the center of attention as her son, daughter, and two

grandchildren surrounded her, joyfully trying to make her birthday, a special one.

There was a small cake drenched with vanilla frosting and a few gifts already unwrapped,

resting against the concrete base of  a bench that had little trouble supporting her. There

was something about Henrietta that fascinated me. It may have been the big smile or the

deep grooves in her forehead which were like the rings of an oak tree. There were many

which indicated she had been around for a while. Henrietta was born in 1930 and her

soulful eyes with a tinge of sadness, screamed out loud that she had seen a lot in her

lifetime, not all of which was good.

I sat next to Henrietta on the park bench, microphone in hand, ready to capture a few

words that would certainly give a little more joy to my story. There were moments when

Henrietta would just stare out at the small ripples on the Hudson River, the only things that

could smudge an otherwise, Chamber of Commerce day.

I asked Henrietta where she was from. "I was born in Poughkeepsie," she said. Then

after a long pause, Henrietta said, "but I moved around to a lot of different places before

settling in Nyack." She made "a lot of different places" sound like "a lot of tough times."

Born during the Great Depression era, I couldn't imagine the things Henrietta and her family

may have gone through. As a teen, she lived through a brutal period where blacks in

this country were heavily discriminated against. No, Henrietta didn't need to write

a book with pictures to let the world know life had not been easy. You just knew. She

didn't wear her heart on her sleeve, it covered every inch of her face.

Henrietta became a big part of my day and I needed to find a way to make her part of my

story. She was a true gem and one of those people who can put a smile on a face without

saying a word. Not a single one.

It was 78 degrees on November 6th, a spectacular day to celebrate an 85th birthday. I asked

Henrietta if she had ever experienced a day like this one on her birthday.

"No I haven't," Henrietta said. "It's a beautiful day. A really beautiful day."

And Henrietta is a beautiful person. A really beautiful person.



BARTOLO COLON: THE 8TH WONDER OF THE WORLD

 

I'm not sure how much of the World Series I'll watch, but when Bartolo Colon of the New
York Mets comes into the game, I will be glued to the television. As a former catcher, I just
love watching this guy pitch. The 42-year-old veteran is quite fascinating, really. He's
half-man, half-cartoon character and a player who draws comparisons to former wrestling
great, Andre the Giant.

Listed at 285 pounds in a media guide that must have received that number about 10 years
ago, Colon appears to be about a biscuit away from 305. Off-season fitness program? I
highly doubt it. In-season workout schedule? Perhaps, if it means making a run for Dunkin'
Donuts in between a day-night doubleheader. Colon is old-school like Babe Ruth. If it's
not moving he'll probably eat it, but once he gets between the lines, he's all business.

The New York Mets made a smart business decision when they signed Colon to a 2-year,
$20 million contract. They knew, even at the age of 41, Colon could eat up innings just
as he devours everything on his plate. Over the last two seasons, he's won 29 games, which
is something a lot of pitchers would love to have on the back of their baseball cards.

Colon entered the league with the Cleveland Indians in 1997 and seems to have been playing
forever. He has 218 career wins which is two more than Curt Schilling and also has something
the former Red Sox pitcher doesn't have: a Cy Young award. Colon won the award in 2005
when he went 21-8 for the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

Colon has been a rock for the Mets. Besides his 29 wins, Colon has gobbled up a hefty
plate of 396 innings. Yep, all at the age of 41 and 42. His record hasn't been all that
squeaky clean, in fact, Colon has been a little bit dirty. He was suspended by MLB
50-games in 2013 for testing positive for PED's. The Mets gambled on him and Colon
has paid dividends as big as his near 42-inch waste.

When Colon gets on the mound, he never seems to waste much. This season, 85 percent
of his pitches were fastballs, mostly of the two-seam variety. He paints the black with his
88 mph heater and often freezes hitters when the ball moves incredibly back across the
plate like Greg Maddox.

Colon is another reason to like the Mets. He's humble, humorous, and hard-working.
Eh, well, two out of three isn't bad. Bad body and all, America loves Bartolo Colon and
he could become a household name when this series is over, or at least have deli sandwiches
in New York City named after him.