Tag: catawba

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Remembering Scotty

Scotty Mitchell

Scotty Mitchell died on Wednesday. Tennis players in Salisbury (a.k.a. great friends) will miss him mightily.

As a player, he had an amazing forehand crosscourt return of serve. The angle was so sharp it made one wonder how the ball could realistically get over the net.

In my 20’s and 30’s, I played a lot of doubles matches against Scotty. In the traditional manner of the day, I served and volleyed, every time. Always serve and volley. Always.

Being a teaching pro and a tournament player, 35 years younger than Scotty, I used to look at the old man and assume I could overpower him.

So I would serve, come in, and then watch these effortless returns scoot by me, WAY out of my  reach — almost sideways to the net. Amazing.

But of course it was the conversation that set him apart the most.

I only saw him at three places. Primarily at the tennis courts. But also in coffee shops and at the library. Scotty was a constant reader, always sharing something fascinating from the book he was currently in. He was kind of a reluctant scholar — an extremely well educated man with tons of life experience who could relate to absolutely anybody.

And I mean anybody.

A lot of characters show up at the tennis courts (especially back in the day, when pick-up games were the norm in tennis in Salisbury). Oftentimes, one shows one’s true colors in a close match. Scotty was great with everybody.

I remember a pick-up match in which an argument erupted over a line call. Two of the guys started getting nasty. One of them (seriously, now) pulled a knife out of his tennis shorts and flicked out the blade.

I was watching. Scotty was on the court, playing. He wasn’t rattled in the least.

“Put that away,” he said. “Ad out.”

If my memory serves me correctly, he was 55 when he moved to Salisbury. That was in the City Park tennis era and the sport of tennis was riding a wave of popularity. The courts were full much of the time. You didn’t need to make phone calls. I would just ride my bike down there and find a game. It was quite a family.

He retired from G.E. about the time Catawba built it’s new tennis center (about 28 years ago?). He became the tennis coach there. It was a labor of love. I know, because I applied for the job myself and didn’t get it — possibly because my jaw dropped when they told me the pay.

I live two blocks from those courts and in those years made my way there daily. Scotty was the maitre ‘d.

My son grew up playing there and being the recipient of Scotty’s warm encouragement. I loved hitting with Aaron, but he preferred playing with Scotty. During much of his childhood and teen years, he would ride his bike to the courts almost every day and hit balls or play sets with Scotty. The man was in his late 70’s and early 80’s then, and he was a magnet for tennis players.

We couldn’t afford for Aaron, my son, to take a lot of lessons. I taught him the fundamentals myself. But it was Scotty’s incredible generosity that was largely responsible for Aaron having a tennis scholarship in college.

Many days, I would hang out at the courts and talk Scotty’s ear off while he strung rackets, listened to my various woes, and shared his wisdom. A Dartmouth grad. A WWII soldier in the Pacific. An avid reader. A father of six.

He said he played tennis as a child and then turned to golf until he was in his 50’s and moved to Salisbury. Then it was all tennis.

He, Dr. David Smith, Dr. Joe Corpening, and my father were all about the same age. Scotty was the oldest, I think — by a year. He died Wednesday at the age of 92, outliving the other three. They were all remarkable people and tougher than nails, accomplished tennis players who kept running and hitting balls until their bodies would no longer allow them to.

I regret that I can’t be at the funeral tomorrow and be a part of the sharing of memories.

I last saw him a couple of months ago, at the City Park. He was sitting on the bench, watching a doubles match. He asked me about my life, my work, my family. I asked him if was going to join the game — if he was still playing.

“Play?” he said. “I can hardly walk!”

Scotty was witty, funny, kind, and wise. He was unique. But these memories of him are not unique. I know I speak for countless others when I say I loved him, I’ll miss him, and I’m extremely grateful to have spent time with him in this life.

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busting my ass

Just took a great walk this afternoon — getting in my 10k steps on a snowy day.

Before I left, I put several logs on the fire so that it would be simmering nicely upon return.

catawba snow
Catawba College, snow

I had already been outside a good bit, and my feet — covered by a pair of thin socks and damp tennis shoes — were wet and cold. So I transformed that situation by putting on two pair of thicker socks. All was good.

The snowflakes were large and steady, and it was all very beautiful.

I had the idea it would be nice to take a little detour, off the sidewalks, and onto a little road that goes through a section of woods — a particularly pretty street that I enjoy quite often.

Except in order to get there, I walked across the parking lot next to the Catawba College football stadium — and this is where I fell and busted my ass.

Luckily, I landed on the most padded part of my body. I noticed a bit of general pain from head to buttocks, but mostly I hurt my pride, not body.

After retrieving my hat and getting up, I headed home, feeling much like an old fool and thinking I would finished the remaining 3,000 steps in the mall.

However, before taking off my coat, I called the mall and nobody answered the phone.  A couple of inches of snow had rendered it closed.

In fact, many things are closed. The banks closed. I arranged to meet someone at the local coffee shop, and it was closed.

“Better get back on the horse,” I said to my wife — and I re-entered the snowy outside and finished my steps, sticking to the sidewalk.

A few thoughts:  When snow and ice is involved, stick to the sidewalk or road or path. Avoid parking lots. Walk while God is busy — during the most active part of the snowfall. Before the walk, bring in lots of wood.

I occurs to me that “busting one’s ass” can have two completely opposite meanings.

Working hard, studying hard, getting a lot done, creating something amazing.  When you “bust your ass” in order to do these things, it’s good.

But walking on a slick parking lot, going down, and actually busting your ass, is — momentarily, at least — more of a negative experience.

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Not the most effective campaign style

I took a walk around the Catawba campus this afternoon, shortly after the end of the homecoming game (Catawba 31, Brevard 21, I think).

It was a nice walk.  Beautiful day.  People tailgated.  Families played football.  Kids jumped on inflatables.  I saw one mother teaching her young daughter a few dance steps.

“Divided by Four,” a local band with giant speakers, poured it’s music onto the campus green.

And scattered along the parking lots were brochures advertising Jon Barber for County Commissioner.

Is this effective campaigning?

Now — it’s possible that the candidate himself attended the game, shook hands, and gave out his brochures.  If that’s the case, then I retract the following critique.

But let’s suppose that somebody put these brochures on windshields.

One must consider the context of such marketing.  It’s not a positive presentation.

First of all — many of the people who attend homecoming are alumni from out of town.  They won’t vote in the local election.

Secondly — those who find paper on their windshield won’t be that happy about it, especially if they’re already in the car when they notice it and then have to get out and remove the paper from the windshield.

Thirdly — when it’s on the ground, it becomes litter, which is not what a candidate wants to be.

Is it possible that these efforts lost Mr. Barber more votes than they won?

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bright lights, little city

This was a beautiful, coolish, pre-autumn night.

The playing fields at Catawba were brightly lit — with remnants of activity.

Only the soccer filed was dark tonight.

The band had just finished practice on the football field.

A guy was doing a bit of grooming on the baseball field.

The volleyball court was lit, awaiting activity.

A pick-up threesome competed hard on the basketball court.

And there was a ladies doubles match on the tennis court.  As I was leaving, one of them poached into the server’s side of the court — fully stretched — and popped a hard backhand volley for a winner.  In my day, girls didn’t play doubles that way.

I grew up next to this campus, here in Salisbury, NC (my parents house).  And for the past twenty-four years, I’ve also lived next to the campus (my house).  That adds up to most of my life.  I guess I wouldn’t really want to live anywhere else.

It’s like living next to a park.  I enjoy observing the ebb and flow of life that school years mark.  The deadly quiet summers with brief flurries of camp activity.  The excitement of fall.  The inwardness of winter.  The bliss of spring.  The sudden vacancies of Christmas and spring break.  The students getting younger and younger — and younger — every year.

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Cell phone tower in my neighborhood! Okay.

Ever get a phone call and run outside, hoping to get a decent signal before the call drops?

One of our neighbors came ’round with a petition the other day.

There are plans to build a cell phone tower on the Catawba campus, near our house.  The petition was asking the planning board to postpone a decision until the neighborhood has time to study “the situation.”

The board met last week, and I haven’t heard from anybody who knows what happened.

We’ve had a few battles in the past over zoning.  If they want to build a dorm or parking lot across the street from my house, I want to register my voice against it.

But I’m not that unhappy about a cell phone tower that’s on the other side of the campus.

In fact, it would be kind of nice to get a better signal at home.

A few years ago, we did away with the home phone.  We noticed that we never used it and it cost a lot.

At that time, we seemed to enjoy a better signal on cell phones than we have recently.  I think the AT&T signal has degraded a bit because of the iPhone’s popularity.

But if it weren’t the iPhone, it would be something else.  These devices are a fact of life.

I’m not sure if we’ll be able to see the tower from our house or not.  I doubt it.

I’m pretty sure I’m not nearly as hypocritical as some of the politicians I see on TV.  Consider the adulterers leading the battle to impeach a President for adultery.  The deficit hawks leading the battle for massive tax cuts for the super wealthy.  Or even those who have had government health care since the day they were born railing against the adequacy of government health care.

But I also know that I’m not Gandhi or Henry David Thoreau.  I’m a normal human being, limited in knowledge and point of view, capable of arranging my thoughts to justify what I do — and probably equally as hypocritical as the next guy or gal.

Wouldn’t protesting a cell phone tower, while making daily use of a cell phone, make the hypocrisy a little blatant?

So I see no need to fight this one.  If Catawba College can lease a bit of property and make a few dollars for higher education — and enhance the quality of our phone calls — I’m okay with that.

Of course, I’m about three blocks away from the site.  I’m sure I’d feel different if I lived right next door.

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St. Thomas Players Production of Yasmina Reza's Art

for The Salisbury Post

Salisbury has always been a good theatre town. I know there’s a rich history dating back to the previous century. And I know I’ve missed a few in my time (almost five and a half decades).

But it seems like Salisbury theatre has made some strides in recent years that sets it apart.

We don’t just have a community theatre offering shows every two months on a fairly big stage to a fairly big house.

We’ve also got a full season at Catawba, one of the finer college theatre programs in the state, if not the country.

And we have smaller companies, and some professional actors who live and perform here, offering a rich menu of quality theatre on a frequent basis.

I’m pretty sure that’s not normal for a town this size. I’m pretty sure it’s remarkable.

Just two weeks ago, Joe Falocco — a consummate actor with a Salisbury address — presented Shakespeare’s Villains at Lee Street Theatre. It was delightful, smart, and incredibly funny.

A couple of weeks before that, St. Thomas Players gave us a thoroughly engaging production of Rabbit Hole.

Now, as it does each year, St. Thomas Players knocks out another summer with another one-two drama punch, following Rabbit Hole with an excellent production of Yasmina Reza’s Art, currently on view at Catawba’s Florence Busby Corriher Theatre.

The acting here is very, very good — but it doesn’t get in the way of a play that’s quite fascinating.

Near the end of Art, Yvan, the character who gets in the middle of his friend’s argument, sums up the play we’ve just seen when he says something close to this: ‘Nothing beautiful has ever been created as a result of rational argument.’

Good point, but the larger point is that while isolated statements in an argument can seem rational, the argument as a whole is absurd.

Just as arguments for isolated bits of a war can sometimes make sense, even though the war as a whole is absurd.

The war in Iraq began for one reason and continued on for a variety of entirely different reasons. Same for Afghanistan — and other conflicts between nations, races, municipalities, friends, people, families.

In the moment, there’s always somebody who can explain it like a champion. And then there’s always history, wherein the absurdity rises to the surface.

People still debate what really started the Cvil War.

This is the idea that gets distilled into Art, a very tight play that is not absurd, as a play, but instead is a play about absurdity.

We’re talking about a guy who attacks his friend for buying a painting that’s simply blank — white paint on a canvas.

It sets off a barrage of complicated, personal, hurtful argument, wherein the absurdity becomes as stark as the white painting that begins the ordeal.

As the play unfolds, the characters get heated about ideas, and the judgmentalism escalates. Sometimes it gets so complicated that I can’t follow the argument. I don’t know exactly what they’re talking about, but I know exactly what they’re saying and what they mean — and I’m pretty sure that’s the point.

This big mess doesn’t seem to challenge the actors. They don’t miss a beat as they whip through each other at a brisk pace. They’re exceptionally well prepared, and they seem to understand the nuance of each and every verbal dagger they throw.

Craig Kolkebeck directs the play and acts. He plays Serge, a dermatologist who buys a white painting and knows how to get under his friend’s skin.

Kolkebeck possesses the gift of naturalness. He’s always immersed in the play itself, never on a stage or aware of an audience.

I first heard about Art, the play, in the 90’s, over a glass of wine, from Bob Paolino, who had seen it in New York. We were talking about theatre and he said “I like Art.” This sounded like a weird thing to say, and I probably said something like “I do too.”

Bob straightened me out.

“The play, Art,” Bob said.

Soon after, I read it and discovered that I liked Art too. I’m glad I got a chance to see it, and I’m delighted I got to see Bob’s exuberant, winning performance in it. He plays Marc, the friend who instigates the argument when he notices that, like The Emperor Who Has no Clothes, the painting has no color.

One mustn’t play favorites with an ensemble cast of three that thoroughly clicks, but the manic moment of the evening obviously belongs to Anthony Liguori. He plays Yvan, the neurotic scapegoat, whose monologue about his wedding invitations provides the comic peak and is a sheer delight to watch. As long as it is (and it’s a long monologue), I’m sure everyone in the audience would have gladly granted him another five minutes.

The set is tasteful, white, and stark — and it’s also for sale. Upon leaving the theatre at the play’s conclusion the audience is invited to bid on the pieces in a silent auction.

This is a great show. I’m sure the army of volunteers involved in the production are proud of their work, and they should be.

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Catawba Theatre's "Working" is excellent

Catawba College Theatre’s current production of Working is excellent.

I’ve been too busy the past couple of years to go to all the shows, like I used to — but I did see The Boy Friend, earlier this year, and tonight I saw Working.

Catawba College Cast of "Working"

Perhaps I think it’s awesome because I haven’t had much time for theatre lately, such that anything seems awesome to me.  Or, perhaps I think it’s awesome because it’s awesome.  I’m pretty sure it is.

Ironically, I had reservations about going to this show about working because I’ve gotten behind on my work this week and had to leave a good bit of work undone in order to go.  I’m glad I did.

These kids are putting up some sweet, delightful musicals.  They have a ton of talent.  Strong voices.  The acting is nearly perfect; they’re incredibly well prepared.  They understand the story they’re telling and never do anything to get in its way.

The four piece orchestra on stage isn’t bad entertainment, either.

I’ve got Studs Terkel‘s book, Working, here in my office, right here beside me.  It’s been here on my shelf, beside me, for over 20 years.  I’ve never read the whole book.  But occasionally I open it and start reading — and no matter which page I turn to, I become mesmerized for some time.  It’s a masterpiece.

The show captures the poignancy of working Americans also.

The Catawba Theatre faculty — the brains behind this production — does a wonderful  job with multimedia.  Moving characters in silhouette, behind changing photos projected on screens, make the background as fluid as the performance on stage.

There’s a lot to watch, and a lot to hear.  The songs tell simple, clear stories.  The photos provide a powerful montage.  But it’s all organic.

There’s one more night, tomorrow (Saturday, April 17).  There were a few empty seats tonight.  Not many.  If it’s possible to get a seat tomorrow, it’s worth it.

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April evening


Catawba students playing lacrosse

Originally uploaded by smpost

On my left, lacrosse in the football stadium.

Listening to Leonard Cohen.

Taught Jackie (my dog) to get out of the road and obey the command “on the grass.” She’s four or five years old. Still learns fast. She’ll happily do almost anything for a pat on the head and kind word or two.