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"I will be sending stories from the road as they happen, and include some interesting stories from the past." bo Sat, 13 Mar 2004 ROBERTO
at the Flex Fit Club in Long Beach (Mississippi Gulf
Coast). After watching matches all night Friday and
most of the day Saturday I was picked up by another
racquetball buddy Saturday afternoon, who was headed
from Pensacola to New Orleans to catch the first Mardi
Gras parade of the 2004 season. It wasn't exactly
what I'd planned at the beginning of the weekend, but
hey - one of my mottoes is "Always leave room for
spontaneity!"
My New Orleans-bound friend introduced me to his
passenger, whose name was Roberto. He seemed a bit
older than I(53), though I never really ask or care
about ages. Very fit-looking, shoulder-length
pony-tailed hair, and alert, active, piercing
eyes...we were soon engaged in conversations that
seemed to cover ten subjects at once. Roberto teaches
at a yoga studio he owns in Pensacola, Florida. Turns
out he is also a painter. Turns out he's also a music
lover, as am I. Turns out he's also a poet. During
the rare quiet moments of our drive to New Orleans I
leafed through a book of poems Roberto had written
based upon the time he had spent living in India,
which had been quite a change of inner and outer
scenery from his native New York City. Fascinating,
entertaining, and educational stuff.
Well, we made it to New Orleans in time to wander
the crowded French Quarter for a while. What a human
zoo! It was a chilly, windy night, so I steered our
group towards Cafe Du Monde to partake of some cafe au
lait and beignets. (For those of you who are ignorant
of some of the unique aspects of New Orleans - this
included Roberto at the time - cafe au lait
[pronounced "ka-fay' oh-lay'"] is chicory coffee mixed
with hot milk, and beignets [pronounced "ben-yays'"]
are square donuts-without-holes topped with powdered
sugar. Don't knock it 'til you try it! Cafe Du Monde
has been perched between the mighty Mississippi River
and the French Quarter since 1860, and in all that
time the only additions that have been made to its
original menu of cafe au lait, beignets, and cold milk
have been black coffee and chocolate milk.) Roberto
was a little reluctant to engage in the Cafe Dumonde
experience, but was soon loving it. He also enjoyed
hearing stories of Morning Call, the coffee house
built in 1850 that Cafe Du Monde was modeled after.
Southern writers John Steinbeck and William Faulkner
would meet at Morning Call most days to enjoy each
other's company and trade ideas before invading the
French Quarter (where each had an apartment) to cause
a bit of mischief. Morning Call has since moved from
its initial location on Decatur Street in the Quarter
to the "Fat City" area of the suburb city of Metarie,
original interior and all. There the line often
stretches out the front entrance, and the people
inside sit at the same center marble island counter
that was available to Steinbeck and Faulkner, above
which stands a gold-inscribed arch outlined in light
bulbs.) Back out into the crowded crazy narrow
streets of the French Quarter (where every building is
probably older than any building in your town), we
established viewing spots and took in the parade of
the "Krewe de Vieux" - the first of dozens of parades
held throughout the Mardi Gras season. It's supposed
to be the raunchiest, funniest, most
politically-incorrect parade of all, but I would
encourage parade aficionados to take in Baton Rouge's
Spanish Town Parade before coming to such a
conclusion! After the parade we roamed the Quarter a
bit more, observing some of the street performers and
doing a little street performing of our own. I won't
describe that - you had to be there!
Back in the car, we cruised the length of St.
Charles Street a couple of times - highly recommended
to first-time visitors to New Orleans (a group Roberto
is no longer a member of). St. Charles runs through
the "Garden District," and parallels the winding
Mississippi, which causes it to head in just about
every direction at some point. St. Charles includes a
huge wide median where the trolleys still run,
bordered by live oak trees - making it the shadiest of
streets even at noon on a hot summer day - lined with
huge houses well over a hundred years old, Tulane and
Loyola Universities standing side-by-side, stately
early twentieth century churches, vast tree-filled,
pond-filled, people-filled Audubon Park -
home of the Audubon Zoo, where they have on display
real animals (a few of which are even stranger-looking
than those inhabiting the "human zoo" of the
Quarter!)...it takes many trips up and down St.
Charles to even begin to take it all in. Present,
past and future all swirl together here. Before we
bedded down for the night, Roberto autographed and
gifted me with a copy of his book, UNDER THE PRECIOUS
UMBRELLA, poems by Roberto Valenza (nine muses books).
Sunday's plans revolved around a trip to the Maple
Leaf bar in the Uptown area, where Roberto was to do a
poetry reading. For quite some time people have been
gathering at the Maple Leaf on Sunday afternoons to
share poetry. This was to be my first time attending
a poetry reading; as much as I like poetry, I found
myself wondering why I'd never before checked out any
poetry readings, or "slams" as they are often called.
We actually got our own private reading of sorts
while sitting in a coffee shop on Magazine Street
(famous for its antique shops). We were relaxing and
reading prior to heading for the Maple Leaf. When I
mentioned to Roberto that I could to relate to his
poem about a walking stick (being a cane-carrier
myself), he asked for the book and began reading in a
clear, expressive voice:
BUYING A WALKING STICK IN PURI
Sir, I would like to buy a pilgrim's stick,
Some stick grown, picked and made.
--------------------------------
By the time Roberto had finished reading, occupants of
nearby tables were listening attentively, and I was
eagerly looking forward to hearing more at the
afternoon's reading.
Inside the chilly courtyard at the Maple Leaf,
Roberto captivated the audience with a series of poems
about various street people he had encountered in San
Fransisco. Through his poems these people came alive.
I was most touched by his poem about a young girl who
had a sharp mind, lived on the streets, and was an
amazing violin player. She would stand on the street
corner "Green hair and face full of metal..." and play
and people would be impressed and entertained and put
money in her hat. As she left her corner one day to
engage in an unhealthy activity, she hollered back at
Roberto, "Pray for me." Last line of the poem:
"I really did!"
After the poetry reading and a meal at the largest
health food market in New Orleans, we parted ways at
the coffee shop on campus at Tulane University (seems
we had a coffee shop theme going on that weekend - I
think we visited five altogether). Sometimes I feel a
little like a track relay-baton. Before heading off
to Pensacola, Roberto and friend Kevin handed me off
to friend Jesse who, after a couple of games of chess,
transported me and handed me off to friend Steve who,
after putting me up for the night, handed me off to
friend Al who took me back to my original starting
point in Baton Rouge...another interesting weekend
planted in memory.
I've noticed that the last three entries in this blog
have been titled with people's names. This isn't by
design, and I may not always do it, but something
Roberto said really rang clear to me. As we were
wandering about the crowded French Quarter Saturday
night, Roberto exclaimed, "It's all about people, man!
Life's about meeting and sharing with people..." It
hit me that that's certainly played a major role in my
life.
Think I'll close this entry with a poem from
Roberto's book. This was the first poem I read from
it after opening the book to a random page. Being
somewhat of a teacher myself, it grabbed my attention
right off:
Being in the light of a nice,
P.S. write me a letter RAGAN(including LANCE, part I) Alexandria, Louisiana
I've been here since noon today, and my students so
far have been two 16 year-olds - one who's pretty
advanced and another who has been on the court before
but is really learning the game for the first time.
The newcomer is a good athlete though (plays on his
school's basketball team), and picks things up very
quickly. We've been at it for about five hours now;
the kids are still going strong, and in walks Ragan.
If you want to find Ragan Nelson all you have to do is
visit the Courtyard any Monday or Wednesday between 5
and 6:30 pm. He's always there. He probably doesn't
even call in his court reservation any more; I imagine
the desk workers just mark it in months ahead.
Ragan's usual partner Ted is with him today. Ted has
silver-white hair ringing his bald top, is a bit
overweight, and does not cut a fearsome racquetball
figure. But he's almost as friendly and outgoing as
Ragan. As for Ragan - think of a VERY HEALTHY-looking
Ted Turner, and you've got a pretty good picture.
They come in ready to play each other, but as always
are ready and willing to share their court. The good
locals are just in the process of laying claim to the
other of the two glass courts as Ragan walks in.
Sizing up the situation he winks at me and says, "Hey
Bo, you know any youngsters who might want to play
some doubles?" Well of course my guys are all over
that!
The kids are cocky and sure they're gonna win, but the
first game turns into a battle. I can see a little
toying going on, but hold my tongue in check. After
being almost certain they're gonna win, somehow the
kids drop the first game 15-14 on a reverse-pinch
rollout by Ragan. They go back in for the second game
even more determined, but come up way short -
something like 15-5. Now I get the chance (that I
knew was coming) to tease the kids by asking if either
of them knew why Ragan's picture was in the newspaper
the previous day (it really was). Well, they're in
high school, so of course they don't read the paper,
and neither one knew. So now I poured salt in the
wound: "Ragan's picture was in the paper for
celebrating his 80th birthday. You just got beat by
an 80-YEAR OLD!"
Ragan Nelson is one of the healthiest people you'll
ever meet of any age, and racquetball has been a part
of his weekly regimen for a long, long time. In
addition to his standing 5pm racquetball games on
Monday and Wednesday, he visits the club at 5am every
Tuesday and Thursday to lift and do a cardio workout.
Although way past retirement age, he attacks his work
week with a vigor that those half his age would do
well to copy. He's a real estate developer who's just
finished developing a large subdivision on the edge of
town, and is excited because they are finally able
start building the upscale dwellings he had envisioned
years ago.
Now when I say Ragan is healthy, I don't mean he
hasn't had his health problems. I'm referring rather
to his healthy lifestyle and attitude that have
allowed him to forge ahead through all the obstacles
that have tried to block his path, which includes a
successful battle with cancer. Sitting there in the
Courtyard watching him play the kids, I couldn't help
but flash back to the first time I met Ragan and his
wonderful wife Janelle. It was a meeting that would
kindle long friendships and lead years later to me
being there as Ragan faced one of the toughest
obstacles a man can face - burying his only son.
Years ago (back when I still had cartilage in my hips)
I was drilling by myself on a court in a Baton Rouge
club one Sunday afternoon when the manager interrupted
to tell me that there were some people who wanted to
talk to me. It was Ragan and Janelle. They were in
town from Alexandria for the afternoon, and had a 12
year-old son who liked racquetball and wanted to
become a tournament player. They had heard about me
being a teacher and were wondering if I'd spend some
time with him. So for the next few hours we played
and practiced, and Lance ate it up and was nowhere
near ready to go when his parents needed to leave
town. He picked things up quickly and had a true
passion for the game. It was a plus that we enjoyed
each other's company from the first meeting on.
In the following years Lance made many trips to
wherever I was - sometimes for a day, a weekend, a
week - seeming to learn at a faster rate each time
out. I went to Alexandria more often as well, and the
poolside cabana at the Nelson's became my home base
whenever I got to Alexandria - still is to this day.
Through my friendship with the Nelsons I made contact
with many other fine people that became lifelong
friends. Lance became a great player and his
enthusiasm made him a wonderful ambassador for the
sport. He quickly climbed the ranks from D through A,
and won his first Open tournament at age 15, I
believe.
He was state Open champ before he got out of high
school, and went on to play for the dominant Memphis
State (now U of Memphis) racquetball team under coach
Larry Liles. I don't know off the top of my head what
intercollegiate titles he won, but I'm sure that's
archived somewhere. I don't think he and doubles
partner David Simonette ever lost a game. Then, two
months before Lance was due to graduate, his dad Ragan
got the call no parent ever wants to receive.
Lance had died in a wreck. It was horrible - more
horrible than that. Lance and a friend had left his
apartment to grab a late-night bite to eat. Lance was
driving. He ran into three boys on bicycles. All
three were killed. One of the bikes came through the
windshield, breaking Lance's neck. The scene was more
gruesome than I've described here, but enough's
enough.
At the funeral, as Ragan hugged me and sobbed
uncontrollably, I've never felt so helpless in my
life. Here was this physically, mentally, and morally
strong man whom I loved so dearly; he was hurting so
badly, and there was nothing I could do. I don't
imagine a week - perhaps not even a day - has passed
since that Janelle and Ragan haven't cried. Lance's
memory and spirit is so alive and strong in those who
knew him that grief can spring up at any moment.
There's a memorial plaque outside the courts at the
Courtyard, and to date there have been nine Lance
Nelson Memorial racquetball tournaments. People have
come from around the country to play in these and keep
Lance's spirit alive. A date and venue hasn't been
set yet, but this year would be the tenth, and if it's
held, I'll announce it in this section of this site.
Although the tournament can be an emotional roller
coaster for those who knew Lance, overall the previous
ones have been great, fun tournaments. And the
tournament has provided a good opportunity for people
to learn of Lance's story......and learn from
it.......
I wasn't there when Lance wrecked, but I know in my
heart what happened. You see, Lance was one of the
quickest people I've ever met. This is an impressive
statement for those who know me and know how many
great athletes I've taught and been around in my time.
Lance had world-class quickness - both mental
quickness and amazing, sheer physical quickness. And
he was even quicker under pressure. For him to be
driving and run into three kids on bikes, and then
with his life on the line as one of those bikes came
through the windshield, for Lance not to duck in time
-well the only way I can see any of that happening is
if Lance hadn't been looking where he was driving. It
sounds insane when you think about what a powerful
weapon a car can turn into when misused, but it's
something so many of us have done before: Look away
to make eye contact with a passenger (which is
probably what Lance was doing), or to change stations
or music on the stereo, or to find something in the
front seat or glove box. People drive forward and
look elsewhere and get away with it all too often, and
get in the habit of taking chances and taking it for
granted that their carelessness usually has no major
consequences. But there are no guarantees in life,
and potential tragedies can lurk around any corner, so
we must never let our awareness lag.
There are two lessons I hope people take to heart from
Lance's story. The first is that life is a precious,
special, incredible gift that we must cherish and make
the most of every day. Lance did this, and crammed as
much living into each day as any man can. Those who
knew him knew this, and loved him for it.
The second lesson is that life is special and amazing,
and we should never let our guard down and treat it
carelessly. Lance did this, and as a result four
wonderful young lives were cut way short and there are
those that will grieve for a long time to come because
of it.
KEVIN and JARED
Owasso, Oklahoma
And now a large portion of my day today was spent
reading GHOST RIDER by Neil Peart, who lost his wife
(brain cancer) and 18-year old daughter (car accident)
in a nine-month span, and to heal himself went for a
motorcycle ride - the way Forest Gump went for a run.
His ride ended up being 55,000 miles, though I've only
been through the first 10,000 with him so far.....
Sometime in 1973, I think it was, I left my hometown
of Baton Rouge, Louisiana for a road trip. It's not
over yet. During the time between then and now I've
"lived" in a number of cities and states - some for a
few years, some for periods of time ranging from a few
days to a few months. All of them are home to me.
I've put down many roots in many places, all the while
becoming less rooted to any one place. Now I've
progressed (or regressed) to the point where I'm
technically homeless - my only address is my email
address. At the same time i've somehow accumulate
many homes - places where I'm welcomed, told to "make
yourself at home," and feel very much at home. I have
rooms and homes awaiting me that I haven't even
visited yet, with friends questioning, "When are you
gonna come stay here for a while?"
Racquetball has played a big part in allowing me to
develop this lifestyle. Through racquetball, I've
made friends all over this and other countries:
Friends who by the end of our first game together knew
me better than many of my lifelong relationships, and
who knew I knew them better than those who've known
them for years; friends that I would bend over
backward to help, and who would do the same for me;
friends who will happily give me rides to far-off
places that I'd like to go, or who will beg me to
accompany them to somewhere they're headed; friends
who's friendship, though kindled by a mutual interest
in racquetball, no longer depends upon either of us
ever picking up a racquet again; friends who I may not
see for decades, but when we cross paths the bond is
as strong as if we'd just hung out yesterday; friends
who on the spur of the moment will dump a website in
my lap!
Once you start playing in racquetball tournaments,
especially if you travel a bit to do so, it's as if
you've joined a fraternity, sorority, and secret club
all rolled into one. Only another tournament
racquetball player fully knows what it's like to be on
the court, playing the quickest sport on the planet,
with nothing to depend on but the physical and mental
skills you can muster up during the time it takes to
play that match. This knowledge creates a bond that
can network itself farther than you might imagine.
So here I am in Owasso (a suburb of Tulsa), on a
non-racquetball related leg of my road trip, yet
feeling very plugged in to the racquetball community
as I finally have a forum to share my travels with
others. And this forum was stimulated and created by
members of the community of racquetball lovers. Noon
today will find me on a road to Dallas, and I guess
these roadnotes will move forward from here as
adventures and insights come up, and will move
backwards from here as well - whenever past
experiences come to mind so strongly that they won't
let me not write about them.
Hope you enjoy the ride!!
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