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."

TAPPEN ZEE BRIDGE DRIVE-BY

Over the last year and a half, I have been in one of the 130,000 vehicles that cross the

Tappen Zee Bridge in New York nearly every day. I was familiar with the bridge having
grown up in Rye, which is about 12 miles away. It became a small part of my life
recently as I used it to get to work in Rockland County.

But there's not just one Tappen Zee Bridge anymore. There is almost two. State officials
made the decision in 2010 to build a new one after studies showed the original one had
enough wear and tear that might lead to a major catastrophe.

Watching the construction process over the last 16 months has been a jaw-dropping
experience. Seriously, how many times in our lifetime do we get to see a major bridge
rise up right before our very eyes.

I have been so fascinated by the process, I've documented the process nearly every time
I pass over the bridge. Yeah, I know. Taking out the cell phone on a scary ass ride over
a bridge and attempting to take pictures is pretty downright stupid, but the building of a
bridge this size is an engineering marvel that has gripped me.

To see the size of the cranes, cement structures, and metal for the spans that will be
used is absolutely incredibly. I drive on the bridge and look at these workers
high in the sky and they appear to be as tiny as mosquitoes, seemingly tip-toeing
up and down stairs to get to their next project.

The project is both spectacular and as we found out on Tuesday, downright precarious.
A crane toppled down on the bridge, coming apart like a leggo set smashing the ground.
Amazingly, only three motorists were injured and none of the injuries were considered
life-threatening.

As with any project this mammoth, there are consequences. There is collateral damage.
In May, a tug boat rammed into a pillar of the bridge just before sunrise, leaving three
crewmen dead. Today, it was the crane accident. Completion of the $6 billion project
is expected to be finished sometime in 2017, but in New York, nothing is ever completed
on time.

Rest assured, there will be a few more mishaps. I know it sounds morbid, negative, and
dark, but when a three-mile bridge is being built with tons of concrete and steel. Bad
things sometime happen. They just do.

Every time I cross the old bridge which opened in 1955 and was designed to last only
50 years, I am astounded by the engineering that goes into the construction of a new one.
I am amazed at just how precise engineers have to be in planting and stabilizing structures
deep into the Hudson River.  There are no do-overs, mulligans, or room for any type
of error. The slightest misstep or miscalculation results in a near-catastrophe like Tuesday's
crane collapse.

I marvel at the exact science of a project like this. Every bolt, every piece of steel, metal,
and aluminum have to be perfectly placed the first time. The precision that goes into
making eight-lanes over a three-mile span is just mind-boggling to me.

Like most everything else we do on a daily basis, most of us take going over a bridge
for granted. I'll never take going over a bridge for granted, that's for sure. In 1983, I
was over in Taiwan and heard on the news that a section of the Mianus Bridge in
Greenwich, CT. fell into the water. I was shocked more than half-a-world away.

When I saw the crane go down on the Tappen Zee Bridge Tuesday afternoon. I was
stunned. Timing is everything in life. I'm just thankful I wasn't on that bridge during
that time of day.

Bridges are amazing. The construction of them are truly an engineering marvel.

MR. MOSLEY: GREAT MAN AND GREAT AMERICAN

Mr. Mosley. Social Studies. Room 221. 8am.

Those were the first words I scanned over as I picked up my schedule for the first
day of classes at New Canaan High School in 1979. I was one of the "new kids" to
arrive on-campus that fall. I loved change, challenges, meeting  new people, and
experienced all of them after our family moved into town from Lake Forest, Illinois
earlier that summer.

Mr. Mosley was the first teacher I met at New Canaan High School. He seemed to be
a New Englander through and through. A bit stand off-ish, weary of outsiders, and a
confidence that bordered on arrogance. That was my take as a self-assured sophomore,
an "outsider" trying to find his way in a new town and new high school.

His classroom was meticulous just as he was, and there was no mistaking as to who
was in charge of it. Mosley commanded respect and always got it. As a person who
served the country at 18-years-old, fighting in the Korean War, there was no way Mosley
would've stood for today's dress code and obsession with cell phones, Twitter, and Facebook.

He was the type of guy who would've held out a cardboard box as his students entered
the  classroom, demanding they place their cell phones in it until class was over. Mosley
was a no nonsense guy and when it came to teaching, he was all business.

Mr. Mosley and I hit it off from day one. He was also a referee in football, not surprising,
given his attention to detail and rules. Mosley did everything by the book. As the
quarterback on JV football team, Mosley and I would trade stories about my games
and the ones he officiated over the weekends.

Mosley was much more than a teacher and football referee. He was a legendary coach,
overseeing the track and field teams for more than 30 years. He guided the Rams to nine
FCIAC titles and four state championships. Mosley took his rightful place in the NCHS
hall of fame in 2012.

With his build and military background, he seemed more suited for blowing his whistle
and barking out orders to football players than cross-country runners, but that is where
he made his name and became a New Canaan legend. There is a spot in Waveny Park
where track and field meets are still held today. It's called "Mosley's Hill", a tough
stretch of land that challenges runners and demands their respect---just like Mosley.

Mosley was a tough man, but very fair. And behind a tough exterior was a man with
a giant heart. He cared for his students, his athletes, his school,  his family, and loved
our country. Oh, some people say all the right things about the good 'ole U.S. of A, but
Mosley fought for it and took great pride in it.

Bob Mosley was genuine. He was real. And he was a great American.

On Sunday, July 10, Mosley died peacefully in Danbury. He was 81-years old.
Everybody who met Bob Mosley didn't always love Bob Mosley, but they sure as
hell respected him.

He was a great man and he will be missed.

RIP Bob Mosley.

GORDIE HOWE: MR. HOCKEY AND GREATEST OF ALL-TIME

On a day when the world honored and said good-bye to Muhammad Ali, arguably the
greatest athlete of all-time, another legend, who like Ali, transcended his sport and
seemed much bigger than life, passed away.

Gordie Howe, known throughout the sport as "Mr. Hockey", died at the age of 88. Howe
played a quarter-century for the Detroit Red Wings, putting his name on four Stanley Cups,
six Hart trophies and six Art Ross trophies. He was an NHL All-Star 23 times.

Wayne Gretzky came along and broke all of his records and earned the nickname,
"The Great One," but it's Howe who is still considered by many to be the greatest hockey
player ever.

Howe was more than a scorer, netting 801 goals in his career. He was quite possibly the
toughest man in NHL history. Nobody messed with Gordie Howe. He didn't need an
enforcer like Gretzky had in Marty McSorely in Edmonton and Los Angeles.

Howe was "old-school" long before the phrase became fashionable. If you have an
old dictionary and needed to learn the definition of it, chances are Gordie Howe's
picture would be under it.

Howe took  matters into his own hands, racking up more than 1,400 penalty minutes
which weren't accumulated with the help of tripping and elbowing infractions. Howe
fought and he fought often.

Over the last decade of his life, Howe fought just as hard as he did on the ice. He overcame
two debilitating strokes, ones that would've ended the lives of a normal person.

Howe wasn't normal. He was freakishly strong and had an iron will. Few were surprised
that Howe battled back from the strokes, after all, the guy played almost 30 years of
professional hockey before retiring at the age of 52.

Like Ali,, Howe touched and effected the lives of so many people. He may have been
a tough SOB on the ice, but once he took off the skates, Howe was the nicest and most
humble of human beings. He was a true gentleman.

I didn't see Howe play much with the Detroit Red Wings but I had his hockey cards
and knew of his greatness. I'll never forget him playing with his sons, Mark and Marty,
for the Houston Aeroes of the WHA.

I'll never forget what a Gordie Howe hat trick is: a goal, an assist, and a fight.

I'll never forget Gordie Howie and what he meant to hockey and those around him.

Like Ali, Gordie Howe is the greatest and will never be forgotten.