GOOD-BYE, UNCLE JACK

Death.

2016 has seemingly been defined by it. Perhaps, it's because a lot of famous people died
in a country that's obsessed with both celebrity and social media.

David Bowie, Muhammad Ali, Prince, Arnold Palmer,Gene Wilder, Florence Henderson,
Alan Thicke, Craig Sager, Carrie Fisher, and Debbie Reynolds were among those from the entertainment and sports world that passed away, most of them suddenly, drawing shock and
awe from a majority of a society that never knew, much less even met any of them.

But we mourned them all as if they were somehow connected to us. And that's OK. Death is
not easy and there isn't a manual on how to handle it, even if you didn't know the departed,
personally. We all do it in our own way. For those like me, who are on the other side of 50,
there are far more funerals to attend  these days than weddings or christenings. It's just
part of the cycle of life.

I will be attending another funeral very soon. My Uncle Jack passed away this morning,
shortly before the door slams shut on 2016, the year of death. Jack Devlin. 78-years-old.
The youngest of four children who all died with Alzheimer's disease. The Devlin curse.
Nobody dies of Alzheimer's disease, though, it's usually something else that robs them of
their last breath. Alzheimer's disease just makes the ending cruel, very cruel.

Jack was more than just an uncle to me, he was my godfather and really good friend. Jack, like
my father and his other siblings, was extremely Irish and very Catholic. I'm not sure he ever
missed Sunday Mass before suffering his cruel fate that was Alzheimer's disease. He was
successful in his career of television advertising sales and was blessed with the same sense of
humor my father and his brother, Jimmy, had.

Uncle Jack also had a heart of gold, willing to do anything for anybody at anytime. However,
he was  quite blunt, and often lacked a filter. But that's one of the things that made
Uncle Jack who he was. He told it like it was, never sugar coating a thing, or steering anyone
in a direction other than the one he felt they should go. (wink, wink)

That was Jack Devlin.

He laughed like Arnold Horshack, was sarcastic in an Archie Bunker kind-of-way,
but harmless as a Teddy Bear.

Uncle Jack had some tough times recently, but my cousin and his niece, Tara, was simply
remarkable in her care for him. A pure angel and godsend, she rescued him from Wisconsin
where he lived alone and took him back to San Diego where he received tremendous care.

Thank you Tara Blackburn for all you did in taking care of Uncle Jack. You are amazing.

Jack is at peace now and in a much better place along with his brothers Pat, Jim, and sister
Mary. I am truly thankful for that and thankful that 2016 is almost over.

Good-bye, Uncle Jack. You were one-of-a-kind and will be truly missed.

GOOD-BYE, RALPH BRANCA

Ralph Branca will be always be remembered as the guy who gave up one of the most iconic
home runs in baseball history. Bobby Thomson of the New York Giants crushed a fastball
off the Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher for a walk-off win in the 1951 playoffs, making it "The
Shot Heard 'Round The World."

I will always remember Branca for so much more

Branca died Wednesday morning at the age of 90. He was a great friend and golfing
buddy of my father, who passed away eight years ago. They had a special friendship which I
benefitted from greatly.

I was addicted to baseball as a little kid, often playing from sun up to sundown with my
neighborhood friends. Branca would come over to our house and we'd have a catch in the
backyard. He saw my passion for the game and helped take it to an entirely different level.

In 1974, when I was just 10-years-old, Branca, who married into the O'Malley family, whi
owned the Dodgers at the time, took me down to Shea Stadium to meet the team. Growing
up in Westchester county, New York, I was a die-hard Mets fan, but that all changed when
Branca took me under his wing on a hot summer night in July.

He ushered me into the clubhouse of the Dodgers, one that was filled with the likes of Steve
Garvey, Ron Cey, Don Sutton, and Reggie Smith. Most kids are in awe when they go
to Disneyworld to see Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck. I was in fantasyland that day
meeting major league players in a real clubhouse. Not a locker room, but a clubhouse which
was filled with buckets of bubblegum, sunflower seeds, and the greatest players in the world.

After introductions to all the players, Branca led me through out through the tunnel and
onto the field at Shea Stadium. Forget about being as happy as a kid in a candy store, I
was walking on cloud nine with the biggest smile the world has even seen.

I was on a big league field meeting all these players I had seen on television. There was
Tom Seaver and Rusty Staub of the Mets. Hey, there goes Tommy John and Davey Lopes.
Oh, my god, are you kidding me?!

Branca then took me back to the dugout to meet this coach who had an audience all his
own. He was loud when he talked, even louder when he laughed. The man had a bit of
a gut that was hanging over his leather belt as he sat on the green padded bench.
At the time, I thought everybody in baseball was in shape, but I guess coaches were a
different story.

It was Tommy Lasorda, who was the third base coach at the time. Branca introduced me
to Lasorda and he was very friendly, taking care of me like I was Branca's own little kid.

He said to me, "Paul, if you think I'm going to be the next manager of the Los Angeles
Dodgers, I will give you this hat." That hat had number 52 written under the brim. It looked
brand-spanking new as if it just came out of the box. It was Dodger blue with "LA" stitched in
white across the front of it.

Lasorda said the hat would be mine. All I had to do was say  I believed he'd be the
next manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers and he'd hand it over. I did. And he did.

This was the greatest day of my young life.

From that point on, I became a Dodgers fan, following them religiously while pretending
I was Steve Garvey, who became my favorite player. The hat Lasorda gifted me allowed
me to be the coolest kid in the school for a day. Of course, I wore it around even though
it didn't come close to fitting.

Wearing the Dodgers hat Tommy Lasorda gave me.

However, good 'ole Ralph Branca wasn't done being good to me. A few years later, while
our family was vacationing in Florida, the Dodgers legend suggested to my father he go
to the team's spring training site in Vero Beach.

My father got me in the car and we traveled a few hours to see the Dodgers play a spring
training game. Vero Beach was baseball paradise. A field of dreams lined with palm trees.
It might as well have been heaven to me.

We approached the clubhouse of the Dodgers and met a Japanese man named Nobe Kiwano,
who turned out to be the team's clubhouse man. My father said to him, "We are here as
guests of Ralph Branca." I looked around and didn't see any sign of Branca and wondered
what was going on.

Kiwano then said, "Come this way." He led me into the Dodgers spring training clubhouse.
My father stayed behind. I was like, "This is unbelievable."

That's pretty much the same thing I said when I entered the clubhouse and saw Steve
Yeager and Pedro Guerrero sitting side-by-side at their lockers smoking cigarettes.
I couldn't believe it. I didn't think any professional athlete smoked cigarettes and here
were two players I admired taking drags off butts like they were in a big hurry.

I was in a bit of a shock for a second, but was quickly re-set by the sight of Garvey
strolling through the clubhouse. He was the MVP in 1974 and my favorite player. Kiwano
saw my eyes, which had to be as big as half dollars, and he took me by the arm and
introduced me to Garvey.

The Dodgers first baseman asked me where I was from, how old I was, and what position
I played. I by-passed answering the first two questions and immediately told him I
was a first baseman just like him.

Man, that was awesome.

I went out on the spring training field, making like I was a seasoned veteran, even
though I was just 12-years-old. I was still wearing the hat that Lasorda and I was hoping
to say hello to him. However, he did indeed become the manager of the Dodgers and
every reporter was gathered around him asking him a bunch of questions.

I was lucky. Real lucky, thanks to Ralph Branca.

I saw Branca many times after that and played golf with him several times over the
years. He always took the time to ask  about my baseball career and offered advice to
improve my game.

When I heard the news that Branca died today, I lost a bit of my breath. He was
a wonderful man who was a great friend to my father and a person who brought me
so much joy and happiness by taking me to meet the Los Angeles Dodgers. News
of his death brought a tinge of sadness to my day, knowing it came just before
Thanksgiving.

I am so very thankful to have met Ralph Branca. I was lucky enough to have played
catch with a baseball star and soak in the advice he gave me along the way.

Rest in peace Uncle Ralph, you will be missed.

GRAHAM HARDEN FACES HIS TOUGHEST OPPONENT

During his lacrosse career, Graham Harden was assigned to defend against the opponent’s most skilled attackman, those trying to penetrate the zone and fire the ball on net. Harden, a New Canaan, Connecticut native, was incredibly gifted with physical tools, smarts, savvy, and unquestioned toughness.

Harden weaved all that talent into an incredible legacy which he cemented at the University of North Carolina. He was named the National Defenseman of the Year in 1991, earning All-American honors in the process. Harden also captured ACC Player of the Year honors that same season and led the Tar Heels to a national championship.

In 2012, Harden was voted to the ACC’s list of the Top 50 players of all-time, capping a lacrosse career very few have ever matched.

Today, Harden, who lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, is defending against another powerful opponent.

Graham Harden has ALS.

Harden received the devastating diagnosis in August after experiencing weakness in one of his legs.  A team of physicians concluded Harden had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.

ALS is a progression neurodegenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord.  Those afflicted with the disease eventually lose all motor skills throughout their entire body.

There is no cure or effective treatment for ALS. The average time a person has left to live after being diagnosed with the disease is just three-to-five years.

Life is not fair and it can be downright cruel. One only has to remember what happened on December 14, 2012 to realize that. 20 innocent children at the Sandy Hook Elementary school were slaughtered by a deranged gunman who had no regard for human life. It made me question hard the “everything happens for a reason” statement many of us like to lean when bad things happen.

I thought about life being so unfair and so cruel when I learned of Harden’s ALS diagnosis. Graham is one of the most wonderful human beings you could possibly meet. Forget about his legendary lacrosse career, Harden is about as solid of a person as a 150-year-old Oak tree in Waveny Park.

He’s been a pillar of his community in Cincinnati, volunteering as a firefighter and EMS member. He also lends his time and expertise as a volunteer coach at a local high school. Everybody loves Graham Harden and anyone who grew up in New Canaan and knew his family, loved and respected them, as well.

Lucy Gail, the mother of four wonderful children who all grew up to be amazing people, could be one of the nicest human beings ever to walk this earth. That's not hyperbole. Anyone who has met Lucy Gail will tell you the same thing.

Just as Graham did to his opponents during his brilliant career, he is taking the insidious disease that is ALS, head on. He and his brothers, Boyd and Holmes, both of whom were also All-Americans in lacrosse at UNC, and sister, Shea,  have formed Team Harden, coming together to battle ALS.

They have started “Game On! Graham Harden and G-Force against ALS.” The foundation raises money for research and medical care for those afflicted with ALS.

The Cincinnati community where the Harden family resides is also giving back.

Knowing there are three children and a wife to be taken care of, friends have initiated fundraisers to help with the financial burdens that will mount in the coming years.

As of November 1^st, just over $78,000 has been raised through the G-Force campaign. The goal is $300,000.

It is my hope the New Canaan community comes together to take help take care of one of its own. Graham Harden is a special person who made New Canaan proud. His entire family is part of the fabric of the small Connecticut town.

The road ahead is a tough one for Graham. He needs our help.

If you’d like contribute and help make a difference in the lives of Graham, the entire Harden family and others afflicted with ALS, you can donate via www.youcaring.com/graham-harden-ii-family-trust-660908/donate#wp

WINNING ONE FOR JULES

When I walked into the office of Carl Alexander at the Golf Club of Purchase
several years ago, two things stood out to me. One, the rich black and white photographs
of famous golfers that lined the walls. They are breathtaking, classic, and nearly
perfect---taken by one of the world's best photographers.

The other thing that captured my attention was the number of oversized paychecks
tucked away in the corner of it.Those paychecks represented the prize money that
Alexander, the head professional at the prestigious club which is located about a
Bubba Watson drive outside of New York City, has won over his playing career.

Last Thursday, Alexander added another oversized paycheck to his office and honored
the man responsible for all those spectacular photographs hanging on the walls.
Carl's father, Jules Alexander, passed away in August after 90 great years on this earth
and a legacy that will live on forever through the countless lives he touched through
his wonderful photographs.

Playing in his first tournament since his father's passing, Alexander won the Met
Senior PGA event by two strokes, winning the top prize at the Metropolis Country
Club in White Plains.

"I hadn't played a lot of golf since my father's death," said Alexander, "But I felt really
comfortable out there."

Before the tournament, Alexander paid a visit to his mother's home at the Westchester
Country Club and took a momento of his father for the two-day tournament.

"He had a box with a lot of valuable coins. I saw a 1969 silver half-dollar that I took
to the tournament and used as a ball marker," said Alexander. "69 is a good number
in golf."

In the first round of the tournament, Alexander carded a 69.

"I knew dad was looking down on me, especially after I hit one towards the woods.
It hit a tree and popped back into the fairway," Alexander recalled. "I said, 'Yep,
dad is definitely with me now."

Alexander led by one-stroke after day one of the tournament then came up clutch
late in the second round to win it.

On the par-5 16th hole, Alexander squared up a 4-iron from 197 yards away, knocking
his second shot to within six feet of the hole. He drilled the putt for a spectacular
eagle. Alexander then birdied 17 en route to a 67 and a two-shot victory over Craig
Thomas, who had the advantage of playing on his home course.

"This won was definitely for Jules, " Alexander said. "He taught me how to play
the game and a lot was going through my mind on the course. It's a four and a half-hour
round so I had plenty of time to think of him. The win meant a lot to me."

It was a picture-perfect win for Alexander and one that had to put a big smile on the
face of Jules from up above.

SIDE-BY-SIDE FOR A SPECIAL HONOR

Shortly after informing me I was going to be honored by the New Canaan Old-Timers
association, historian Terry Dinan started waxing poetic on what a great event it
was going to be.

"We are going to have a big crowd, continental breakfast, a luncheon...." he said.
It all sounded great, but I was hoping to hear something else. "And Paul, it's going to
be an awesome time." No that wasn't it.

"That's great, Terry," I said. As I finished that sentence, I realized it wasn't going
to be all that great because I didn't hear what I was hoping for. As I was about to
say good-bye, Terry interjected with excitement in his voice. "And Paul, you're sister,
Kara, is going in with the you."

Strike up the band and pop the champagne! Those 11 words were the sweetest
ones I've heard in a long time. They brought a mile-wide grin to my face as a shot
of adrenaline rushed through my entire body. My sister, Kara, a 3-time All-American
swimmer at New Canaan High School would be joining me on Sunday, September
18 for a celebration I can promise you I will never forget.

To be able to share a day, the stage, and a wonderful honor with my sister is so
special, not to mention really cool. I knew we were going to be on this list of New
Canaan athletes, but to be on it as "Kara and Paul Devlin", is one of the highlights
of my life.

Let's face it. I'm on the back nine of life. Honors and awards at the age of 52 are
few and far between. Unless, I beat Mick Jagger's record for having a kid past the
age of 73, there probably won't be any more honors coming my way.

And that's ok, because this is just awesome.

I realize it's not like we are going into  Cooperstown together, but it's a great honor
and something both of us are extremely happy about it. Devlin & Devlin. That's
pretty damn cool

Kara is one of my heroes. In the pool, she was as fierce a competitor as I've ever
come across in sports. I used to joke with my friends that Kara was so tough, she
eats nails for breakfast. She was driven and had the heart the size of Texas. As a
16-year-old  sophomore, Kara posted a time in the 200-meter butterfly that earned
her a world  ranking of 16th. No, not in town, county, state, or even the country, but
the entire friggin' world. I was so proud of that.

I'm not sure Kara was, though. She was so humble and never talked about her
many impressive accomplishments. Being boastful wasn't part of her DNA.
Chuck Warner, her longtime swim coach, was quoted in a local paper saying,
"Kara is like a country club swimmer. She dives in the water. Beats the hell out of
everybody. And then just goes home."

In this country, swimmers really only get appreciated once every four years with
the Olympics. I appreciated, admired, and respected my sister every single day after
seeing how dedicated and committed she was. She'd rise at 4:45 every morning,
eat breakfast, and then get driven by our mother 30 minutes away to swim practice.

She'd pound out a 5,000 meter workout in the morning, eat a snack on the way to
school, then do it again after the final bell sounded. I'd pick her up after  evening
practice and seemed never seemed to be exhausted and never complained about
being tired. That was my kid sister.

After earning two consecutive Connecticut swimmer of the year honors, Kara was
recruited by nearly every major swimming program in the country. I was at the
University of North Carolina playing baseball when she came down on a recruiting
trip with the Tar Heels. Selfishly, I wanted my kid sister to join me in Chapel Hill.

That would've been an awesome experience. However, my parents and I wanted
it to be her decision. It was her life, her career. We wanted her to do what she
wanted to do and not be influenced by us.

Kara chose to go to the University of Florida, which at the time, was the top-ranked
program in the country. She wanted to be pushed hard by the coaches to see how just
how great she could be. Part of me was upset that we couldn't support and be there
for each other in Chapel Hill, but that's just life, I guess. I was happy she made
the choice on her own and was following her dream.

Kara earned All-America honors at Florida during her freshman year before
transferring to USC where she duplicated the feat. That was a great accomplishment.

I'm even more proud of my sister for the person she became after her swimming
career ended. Kara is a wonderful mother to four great children and a wonderful wife
to her husband, Chad. She is so loving, giving, and unselfish. Blessed with our late
father's sense of humor and our mother's heart of gold, Kara has always been a
magnet, drawing people to her in a very special way.

Even though we live about as far about as you possibly can in the United States (Kara
in Santa Barbara, CA., brother Paul in Norwalk, CT.) she has been a rock for me and
one my biggest supporters. She was always there for me during some times in life
and, of course. when I attempted to become an Ironman. Kara was always sending
me articles and videos for  motivation, while getting me on a diet and training plan
so I'd be at my the best for the grueling 140.6 mile race.

A day didn't go by where I didn't have an email from her on my computer. There
would always be some words of encouragement, a motivational speech, or a "get-
your-ass-pumped-for the race" music video.

That is Kara. So thoughtful, so inspirational, and really so wonderful.  I have been lucky
to experience a lot of great things in my athletic career. I had the chance to represent my
country on a baseball tour of Taiwan. I got to fulfill my dream of signing a professional
contract. And, oh yeah, there was that "Bull Durham" thing.

However, my greatest honor comes Sunday when my great sister, Kara , and I will
be honored together in New Canaan.  That is going to be special---really, really special.

WHY KAEPERNICK'S PROTEST IS A GOOD THING

Someone on Facebook responded to a post I made concerning Colin Kaepernick and
his decision to sit during the national anthem before NFL games with the San Francisco 49ers:

"When it's all said and done, Kaepernick's protest will accomplish nothing."

My response was simple: It already has.

The veteran quarterback ignited a firestorm that mushroomed into a towering inferno,
causing heated debates about the American flag, national anthem, patriotism, oppression,
freedom, racism, and law enforcement.

And you know what? That's a damn good thing for a lot of different reasons.

Oh, sure, when news first broke of Kaepernick dissing the national anthem, America
did what it does best: it went bat shit-crazy, overreacting, and talking stupid. That
can happen when the knee-jerk reaction is strong enough to split the uprights with
a football from 95 yards away.

My goodness. Some people act like Kaepernick committed mass murder, jeopardized
national security, or bilked the country out of its lifetime savings.

Many people wondered how Kaepernick can cry about oppression when he lives
in a country that's afforded him the opportunity to make 19 million dollars a year
slinging a football around. I believe they got that part wrong because Kaepernick
made it clear he is standing up for others who are being oppressed, not him.

Kaepernick was blistered for disrespecting every person who fought for this
country and protecting our freedom, which actually gives everybody the right to
protest and criticize those who do.

Stan VanDriver, a 12-year Navy veteran, told USA Today, "I and other veterans
fought so he could have his freedom of speech rights, so that all Americans can
have the right to free speech, the right to protest."

This from a person that actually fought for the country, the flag, for you and me.
Do you respect his opinion?

All of these issues needed be talked about and discussed. And everyone's
talking about them from legends and social activists Jim Brown and Kareem
Abdul-Jabbar to military veterans, law enforcement officials, and just about
every athlete in the sports world has weighed in on the subject, as well.

And that is truly a great thing.

Many people think Kaepernick snubbed his nose at the American flag, national
anthem, and patriotism when he chose to stay on the bench while everyone else
saluted them. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar said the protest was actually very patriotic.
People have different views on it, which again, is their right.

The outrage touched off by Kaepernick has actually shed more light on what
many African-Americans have had to endure in their lives and that flag and song,
no matter how beautiful and sacred it is to most, represents something completely
different to others, including Jackie Robinson, who faced more obstacles than
any athlete in the history of sports.

In his autobiography, Robinson wrote:

"I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am
a black man in a white world."

Whoa! I had never heard that before. That's from the immortal Jackie Robinson and
a history lesson right there. So, if you hate Colin Kaepernick then you must also hate
Jackie Robinson, right? I don't think many are willing to crush the legacy of 42, that's
for sure.

If you despise Kaepernick, then shouldn't you also despise the late Muhammad Ali
for refusing to fight for the country after being drafted? Just about everybody admired
Ali for "taking a stand", albeit years after Ali became a true legend. So, why are we
vilifying Kaepernick for what he did?

I am quite certain that for all their love Americans have for the national anthem, flag,
and country, most do not know all the lyrics to the song or understand what the 13 stripes
on Old Glory represent.

After Kaeperick's protest, I am thinking most Americans will become more attentive
when the national anthem is being played and that flag is unfurled. They will make
damn sure they know all the words and become better educated on what every stripe,
star, and color of the flag represents. Going to the bathroom  while the Star
Spangled Banner plays at a sporting event will no longer be considered.

On Memorial Day weekend next year, perhaps, people will stick around for a
parade and honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice, even thanking a veteran
for their service, instead of bolting to the Hamptons for a barbeque.

And that would be a great thing.

Some people had a problem with the method by which Kaepernick tried to send
his message. But what was he supposed to do to get everybody's attention? Tweet
something out? Post it on Facebook? Give me a break. He went big and bold and
got the world talking.

Perhaps, with Kaepernick's protest and the debates that follow, we will get a better
idea of what comes with all the rights the founding fathers crafted and every
member of the military fought so hard to maintain. And what true freedom actually
means.

Freedom of speech is a powerful thing. So is the freedom to protest. I have the right
to put my thoughts down in a blog, you have the right to bash them. Whatever the
case, we have been given the right to do both.

Kaepernick may have cost himself friends, a fistful of dollars, and eventually, a
football career, but he may have done something positive that most of us may not
understand for quite a while.

He has forced us to think, debate, and perhaps, even sympathize. It may have
come at a great cost, but I believe this country really needed it.

JULES ALEXANDER AND HIS GREATEST GIFT

Jules Alexander's career was defined by the iconic photographs he took of golf
legend, Ben Hogan. They helped him become a bit of a rock star in the golf industry
where he cultivated friendships with Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, Gary Player, and
even Hogan himself.

While his photographs of Hogan earned him a name in the sport, it was Alexander's
generosity with his wonderful gift that revealed a large part of his character. The
Bronx native, who died on August 19, was Santa Claus with a camera, showering
his friends with family photographs capturing moments that were both magical and
unforgettable.

Alexander never asked for a thing in a return, nor would he charge his friends for
photographs. And he and his family had many friends--more than you could possibly
know or even count. If you were lucky enough to have caught the keen and creative
eye of Alexander, then you probably received something that could only be categorized
as "priceless."

I was luckier than most.

I grew up as a childhood friend to Alexander's sons, Paul and Carl. We did everything
together, playing Little League, Pee Wee football, golf, and just about anything else
little kids did back then. Our families became best friends and Jules was always there
to capture moments the Devlin's will never forget.

I am so grateful to have known Jules.

Jules Alexander documented a big part of my life with his signature photographs,
always rich in black and white, capturing the raw emotion in a way that only Jules
could. I have posted many of those photographs on Facebook for all to see and I often
get comments like, "Wow, it must've been nice to have your parents pay for a
photographer to be at all your games."

My parents never paid anyone to take pictures of me playing a game. Ever. Jules
did it because he loved doing it and was so good at it, none of us ever knew he was at
the games taking photographs. Jules Alexander was just that good.

In the fall of 2002, I was home from Atlanta visiting my father, who started to have
some health issues. We were playing a round of golf with Jules like we did so many
times over the years. When we got to the 12th hole at Westchester County Club,
Jules took out his camera and said, "I have the perfect shot that I want to take."

There was another foursome finishing the previous hole and there wasn't exactly
enough time to do a full-fledged photo shoot. Jules didn't need it because he had
picture the shot in his mind long before we arrived at the tee box.

That was the greatness of Jules as a photographer.

When he presented the photograph to us several months later, we were speechless,
breathless, and forever grateful. It was amazing.

No one could possibly have captured the love between and a father and son like
Jules. The picture is worth far more than 1,000 words and one I will cherish forever.

When I attended the 90th birthday party of Jules in early June, I shared a moment
with him in his studio which was lined with some of the most beautiful photographs
man has ever laid eyes on.

I said to Jules, "That photograph you took of my Dad and I is the greatest gift that
I've ever received."  That wasn't hyperbole, but fact. No material thing or amount of
money is worth more to me than that photo of my father and I. It captured the total
essence of the relationship and friendship I had with my father, perfectly. 

Jules Alexander died less than two months later. I am so glad I got the chance to
tell him that how much that photograph meant to me. It is truly special.

That was the beauty and greatness of Jules Alexander. Nobody could do with a
camera what he did. Nobody. And he shared his wonderful gift with all his friends,
never charging a cent for photographs that were so special.

JULES ALEXANDER AND A LIFE WELL-LIVED

Jules Alexander passed away peacefully Friday morning August 19, 2016.

It marked the end of an truly incredible life that was rich with an amazing family, 
countless friends, and almost universal love and respect.

Simply put, Jules Alexander lived a life well-lived. One with few regrets, incredible
times, and a legacy fortified by the keen eye of a photographer who captured moments
that became indelible ones in the lives of so many, including my own.

Alexander had a personality as unique as his first name. He was thoughtful, measured,
loyal, honorable, and blessed with a gift for not only taking pictures, but telling stories
in a way that not only made people laugh, but left them feeling better about themselves.

The Bronx native photographed everyone from John F. Kennedy to Muhammad Ali.
In between there was Frank Sinatra,  Christie Brinkley, and a young Mike Tyson.
However, it was his spectacular pictures of golf legend Ben Hogan that helped
Alexander gain fame within both the photography and golf industries.

In 1959, Alexander, made the short journey to the Winged Foot Golf Club to
photograph  Hogan. Alexander was fascinated with just about everything the legendary
golfer did.

He studied his swing, how Hogan stood, the way he dressed, and even the way he
took a drag off his cigarette. Alexander would build a collection of Hogan photos
like the tradition of the Masters: unlike any other.

It was pure gold and nearly every golfer on the PGA Tour would flock to
Alexander's home which sat at the end of the driving range of the Westchester
Country Club. They wanted to see the perfect pictures of the golf legend who
possessed a near perfect swing.

He became friends with Nicklaus, Palmer, Trevino, Player, Mickelson, and
just about every other big name in the game of golf. But Alexander's named carried
a lot of weight, as well. Say the name, "Jules" and everyone in the industry
knew who you were talking about.

Alexander's first name was Jules, but to nearly everyone at his home course
at the Westchester Country Club, he was the "Hawk", which was the nickname
of his hero, Ben Hogan. When he played, Alexander dressed a lot like Hogan,
right down to the white hat Hogan used to wear.

Jules played the game with style, a little flair, and the laser-like focus of Hogan.
He loved the game dearly, had fun with it, and was damn good, always
carrying a handicap in the single digits. And anybody who played a round with
Jules was always a little disappointed that it had to end after 18 holes.

Alexander also got paid to travel the world to shoot amazing holes on the
best golf courses ever built. They would be turned into spectacular calendars that
always seemed to show up in the hands of all of his friends.

His best friends in life were his wife, Danna, a former model, who could deftly
handle Jules and his big personality like no one else. She is brilliant, kind, and
magnificent. She was the perfect partner for Jules during their more than 50 years
of marriage.

Then there is Paul and Carl, the sons who made golf into careers as professionals,
presiding over two of the most prestigious country clubs in New York, located
within a Bubba Watson drive of where they grew up.

Jules, Paul, and Carl were as close as any father and sons could possibly be. The
kids worshipped Jules, who got to see, play with, and photograph them as they
grew into spectacular golfers known by just about everyone in the industry along
the Eastern seaboard.

I was best friends with Paul and Carl growing up. We spent countless days playing
baseball, golf, and just about everything else kids did to pass the time. Jules was
seemingly always there with camera in hand. From Little League, Pop Warner
football, to the golf course, Jules took incredible pictures and gave them to
the family, never asking for, or expecting anything in return.

In June, many of Jules' good friends gathered at his home to celebrate his 90th
birthday. There were great pictures, even better stories, and that laugh from Jules
that we all loved and could never forget.

Sadly, it turned out to be a good-bye for many people, the last time they would
see or talk to Jules. I have known Jules since I was 7-years-old. He was family
and a big part of my life as well as the rest of the Devlin clan.

Jules took his last breath Friday morning, putting the period on the story of an
incredible life well-lived.

I will miss Jules. Countless other people will, too. There was nobody like him. Nobody.

Rest in peace, Jules, everybody loved you.

PAUL DEVLIN IRONMAN LAKE PLACID 2016

July 24, 2016

Lake Placid, New York

Completed 3rd Ironman

13:01:13

Never quit. Never give up

MIND GAMES OF AN IRONMAN

From the 4:30 a.m. wake-call through the finish line more than half-a-day later,
there are many things that go through an athlete's mind during a grueling 140.6 mile
race. This event requires a swim of 2.4 miles, a 112-mile bike, and a marathon run
to top it off. I completed this type of race for the third straight year on July 24 and,
yes, a million different things circulated  my cranium in the 13 hours it took me to
finish this endurance race in Lake Placid.

Here are a few of them:

"Wait a minute, I paid $725 to punish myself for more than 12 hours and 140.6 miles
on  a hot day in the Adirondack mountains?! They should re-name this event, Stupidman,
rather than the Ironman."

"Um, maybe, I should've done more bricks."

"I wonder what kind of food they are going to have at the post-race spread."

"This lake is a half-a-mile wide! Why the hell does every swimmer act like they
have to swim through a door that's three feet wide and 2.4 miles long?"

"Why am I doing this race again?"

"You mean I have to run 600 yards from the end of the swim to the bike transition
half-naked with hundreds of people within arms length of me?! Good, grief."

"Why the hell do I want to try to endure so much pain?"

"Dude, you paid $1,000 for that aerodynamic helmet that's going to knock
two minutes off your time? What a great deal!"

"Please, God. Let me get through the race without popping a tire."

"What's more painful to all these people. Trying to finish this race or being
off their cell phones for more than 12 hours?

Oh, sh&t! Did I park my car in a tow-zone?!

"PR? Seriously, does it really matter? You could tell your family, co-workers,
and fellow church-goers you took 23 hours to complete the course and they'd still
say, "Wow, that's amazing!"

"Don't they have anything other than gels, goos, Cliff Bars, and two-inch cuts of
 bananas that have been sitting in a cardboard box for five hours? I want a steak.
Is that too much to ask for? I want a big fat steak and I'd like it medium rare."

"I'm 52-years-old and have already completed this twice already. This makes no
sense."

"Why didn't I just enter a Wednesday night bowling league? Now, that's what you call
fun. And it's far less expensive and painful.

"My ass is going to hate me after this ride."

"Who invented this damn race anyway?"

"That kid who just risked his life crossing the street in front a pack of riders must
have been playing Pokémon Go. I don't get it. Idiot."

"I've been on this bike for six hours, had 47 Gatorades, 25 gels, and energy shots
and still can't take a pee. What's up with that?

"Please don't pop a tire. Please don't pop a tire. Anything but a flat tire."

"I wonder what normal-thinking people are doing right about now."

"I'm NEVER doing this race again!"

"That's right junior. I'm 30 years older than you. Don't let me beat you now."

"Damn. That lady is 20 years older than me and she's kickin' my ass."

"Whew. That was awesome. I think I'll do it again next year."