Tuesday, November 24, 2015

A (difficult) visit with Mr. Byrd

Unlike the recent photo taken of him, Jerry Byrd did not
want to smile for this photo last Wednesday. Maybe it
was the company he was keeping.
     It was a relatively brief visit, 30 minutes maybe, but it was good to see Jerry Byrd last Wednesday morning.
     It was also difficult.
     Some of my friends, and Jerry's friends, know -- and I am writing this with the consent of and input from his wife Barbara and his son, the big man known as "Little Jerry" -- that Shreveport's best-known and arguably its most gifted sports writer/editor ever is in a mental-care facility.
     His short-term memory is lacking. But the old Jerry -- the mind for details and stories, sports events, people from the 1940s, '50s and early '60s, and the sharp wit, some of it (well, a lot of it) irreverent -- is still there. The ego -- as I always joked, as large as his very big head -- is too.
     The many people who worked around Byrd at the Shreveport Journal for the 34 years he was there know that's all true.
     Yes, he looks a little older (he's 80) and he has difficulty walking (a cane is necessary, a wheelchair is better), but he remains fairly robust. His handshake is very firm, he's still really loud, he still sings ... and he can make me laugh, even if he doesn't mean to.
      A few weeks ago, Little Jerry suggested I go by and see him; Barbara early last week agreed. It would be good for him; visitors stimulate his mind, maybe motivate him, keep him busy.
      But here is the tipoff. He did not recognize me when he first saw me (there is a possible reason); he's known me for 50-plus years. And when Barbara asked him the next day if I had been by, Jerry's reply was that he didn't remember.
      Little Jerry's take: "He probably didn't remember 30 minutes after you left."
---
      Gosh, it's hard. People with family members or friends with memory loss -- be it dementia or Alzheimer's, and I'm not qualified to define Jerry's situation -- know how hard it is. It starts with lost trips to the nearby store, or to work -- that was the case with Jerry beginning four years ago -- and soon the daily details become foggy or forgotten.
      Such an insidious disease.
      Here is this individual with such a compelling story -- born with a cleft palate and cleft lip, the cause of a severe stutter, and so he was a painfully shy boy and young man hesitant to speak much. But he found in high school that he could write and he loved sports, and as he grew more confident, he became one of the best sports writers, most knowledgeable ones, in Louisiana history. I'm far from the only one with that opinion.
      He talked more freely, met a young woman (Patricia) in his church and married, he was a father twice, a grandfather, and the Journal sports editor. And he grew to be a pretty darned good public speaker (still with a stutter, but the pauses only made his punch lines more timely) and a raucous, uninhibited public singer without stuttering (now that was a laugh).
      He was never afraid to express his opinion; he could handle the criticism; and OK, he could -- pardon the language -- piss off his co-workers because he was high maintenance and did have an anger button.
      But, look, almost everyone admired him. They knew how good he was, how talented, how dedicated, how devoutly Christian. He did so many favors for me personally -- beginning when I was in high school -- and we had so many good times together, so many shared stories, so many laughs.

      And it hasn't been an easy life -- Patricia's long illness and death, Jerry's battle with cancer, a gall bladder removed, other tough situations.
      I hear people, sports writers, described as "a walking sports encyclopedia." In my world, Byrd was the encyclopedia, especially on high school sports in Louisiana, but in other areas, too.
      In July 2012, I wrote a blog piece on Jerry (link below) in which I referred to him -- as I have for years -- as "The Man, The Legend." He always made light of that.
      Not long after that, I began to sense that his e-mail or Facebook replies to me weren't totally coherent. Very unlike-Byrd. Few people were as sharp with facts and his typing -- his "copy," in newspaper terms -- was almost always immaculate (not a word used often for Mr. Byrd in other ways).

      A few months later, Little Jerry told me that his Dad was having memory issues. So I wasn't surprised when he told me a couple of months ago about his being in this facility. Barbara -- like Jerry, a Fair Park High School graduate of 1953 -- had been caring for him at their home, but it got to be too much of a chore for her.
      And here is what dementia has done. He is not clear on where his wife and daughter are. He says he is still writing his column. He thinks this mental-care facility is only a temporary stop. There's more; I'll spare the details ...
---
      At this facility, Jerry is in a room at the end of the hallway at the far southwest corner of the second building. They probably want to reduce the noise level (I'm not being serious). It's a long walk there, and with an activities director, we went through a large dining room/activities area where maybe 25-30 people were sitting, most in wheelchairs. And not a word from anyone.
      It's gripping.
      One facility worker described Jerry as a "sweetheart" (that will be news to some people). When I asked the activities director how Jerry was doing, she said, "He can be grouchy some days, but he's doing better. When he first came, he would not take part in any activities, but he's beginning to get into it."
       (This is a man who would scream, "Twenty, twenty, twenty," as our Journal softball team neared that run total in games, who stripped off his shirt in freezing weather to pose -- hilariously -- for a photo at new Fair Grounds Field, who joined in singing Happy Birthday to someone during lunch at a restaurant in Bossier City. Not exactly reluctant.)
       As we neared a hallway, we passed a worker and the woman with me told her we were going to see Mr. Byrd. "You can have him," she said. As she explained later, when we passed her again, Jerry is not always the most cooperative of residents.
       When I went into Jerry's room, he was sleeping. So I left. But the woman who had walked me there saw me coming down the hall, and said we should go wake him because it was almost time for lunch "and he will like seeing you."
       He was groggy and a bit fussy when awakened, and the woman said, "I have someone here to see you." Jerry raised up a bit, peered at me and didn't say anything.
        "Do you know who this is?" she asked him.
        Me: "Put on your glasses, Byrd." Jerry, disdainfully: "I don't need my glasses to see you." And then he said, "He looks familiar, but I can't think of his name right now."
        When I said, "Nico," he yelled my full name -- loud enough that they could hear him in the nearby South Broadmoor neighborhood. And then, considering he hasn't seen me in about six years, he quickly added, "What happened to you?"
        He asked me what I was doing these days, and I told him I was retired ... "like you."
        "I'm still writing for the Bossier Press-Tribune," he replied. (He hasn't been on a computer in a couple of years.)
        About five minutes later, as we headed to the lunch room, he asked me again, "What are you doing now?"          
---
        As I entered the room, I saw some photos and a scrapbook. One of the photos was of Rogers Hampton, the great all-around Fair Park athlete of the early 1950s. When I mentioned the photo to Jerry, he said, "I have that photo at home." I told him it was here, and he said, "Well, if I'm going to have anyone's photo, it would be him."
        Then, as the woman got Jerry ready to go in the wheelchair, he asked where we were going. "To lunch," she said. "Who's paying?" Jerry said. Told it was part of the facility cost, he said, "Good."
       "He asks every day," she whispered to me. (And five minutes later, Jerry asked again.)
        I noticed that among the three dozen books on the shelves in his room were three of the books he has written on Louisiana athletics. When I mentioned that, the woman said, "I didn't know you wrote books, Mr. Byrd."
        "I've written eight," he said. She then said, "I didn't know you were famous."
        Byrd: "Some people think so."
---
        The woman said to Jerry, "I heard you singing in the lunchroom yesterday." To which Jerry replied, "I was singing? What was I singing?" The woman: "That song about sunshine that a Louisiana governor wrote." Jerry: "I don't know what song that is."
        I chimed in with "You Are My Sunshine." "That's it," the woman said. "Governor Jimmie Davis," I added. Jerry: "A Louisiana governor wrote that?"
        (Just think, the best of Byrd's tunes at the Journal: Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl. ...  Elvira. ... This Is Dedicated to the One I Loooooove. ... I Found My Thrill on Blueberry Hill. Ba ba ba, ba, Barbara Ann, Ba ba ba ba, Barbara Ann ...)
        The one that made me laugh the hardest, though, was one night at old SPAR Stadium when a large group of barbershop quartet singers performed pregame. Just Byrd and me sitting in a box seat right behind home plate, no one else close, when he -- loudly, what else? -- joined them in Let Me Call You Sweetheart. I'm still laughing.)
---       
       When we got to the lunchroom, the woman placed Jerry at his usual table. I asked him if he remembered Billy Montgomery. "Of course," he said. "Billy Wayne Montgomery." How about "Honey" Russell? "That's Jimmy, they called him Jimmy," he answered. "Honey was his nickname." 
       And I asked about Tony Sardisco, whose widow died just a couple of days earlier. "Yeah," Jerry said, "we used to call him 'Nabisco.' " (Which we did.)
       Little Jerry has told me several times that "Dad can remember most anything before 1965. ... In the scrapbook, there is a photo of him when he coached swimming; he must have been around 30, and there are four or five swimmers in the photo with him, and he knows them all, without even having to think about it."
        A man was slumped nearby in his wheelchair, sleeping. A worker awakened him and rolled him to the table where Jerry was sitting. "He's pretty low-functioning," the woman whispered to me. He didn't speak for a minute, then suddenly he sat up and began describing what he was going to do to his meal. It was mostly gibberish, but I think I heard "cut it up into little pieces, mash it, pulverize it."
        "That guy," Jerry said to me, "is not going to last much longer."
        Oh, wow. I hope I'm forgiven for laughing.             
---
        When I asked Jerry how he likes the facility, he said, "It's OK. But I'm not going to be here long, another week maybe. Then I'm going home."
        He's been there for two months already.
        He rarely goes out in public now and Little Jerry said that his Dad prefers to stay in his room and that he has to coax him into the outside world by stretching the truth a little.
        It is, as you can imagine, most difficult for his family. As a friend, I can wish for a lunch at Strawn's like hundreds of times before and I'd love to hear his opinion(s) on the LSU football season and the coaching situation. And to hear him tell so many of the funny stories once stored in that large head.
        We could always try to imitate him -- that voice, those mannerisms, that singing, the memorable lines ("Hey, Phillip, what took you so long?" and "he can skate, but he can't hide"). Professionally, we all could learn from him, take something from his work.
        We pray for him. We hope for a peaceful existence. And we can still love The Man, The Legend.
---
http://nvanthyn.blogspot.com/2012/06/legendary-man-mr-byrd.html
 


41 comments:

  1. The best writers at the Journal were all in sports - I learned that pretty quick. Whether Jerry developed their writing, or good writers came for the chance to work with him, I never knew. Thanks, Nico, for updating on him.

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  2. Nico, what a lovely, lovely piece. Thanks.

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  3. Thank you very much for sharing this.

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  4. Thanks Nico, for the memories .... seems like only yesterday that Jerry, Rick Woodson, Jimmy Bullock and I were putting out an edition of the Shreveport Journal sports section ..... I've told my son Golden many stories about The Man, The Legend and your blog will be an addition to that list .....

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  5. From Johnny Byrd: Well done. He can remember details dating 65 to 70 years ago, but retains current events/communication for less than a minute.

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  6. From Delaine Byrd: Pretty much tells the story.

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  7. From Nancy Reece Yoder: I grew up reading Mr. Byrd's sports articles and will credit him with my love of sports. Fine man.

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  8. From Stan Powell: Truly, the man the legend. Great story. Thanks so much for sharing this with us. I grew up being coached as an eight-year-old swimmer by "Coach Jerry Byrd." A genuine original. Truly love that man. What a great sports writer.

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  9. From Charles Pharis: A very good story on Jerry Byrd. Who knows, I might be one of those "swimmers" in the pictures. Jerry Byrd and Jack Jordan were the swim coaches of the Shreveport Swim Team of the middle to late 1950s that included Ray Timm, Dennis Bretherton, Harris McClamrock and so many others. That Swim Team was the scourge of the Southern AAU during that time period. Tell Jerry that Henry Pharis responded to your article. I still have the pictures he took of some record-breaking finishes.

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  10. From Joe Harris: Jerry Byrd is an icon of sports writing journalists and is truly a legend among those of us who were avid readers of anything written about Louisiana high school sports. He always had an opinion and always seemed to express it. Enjoyed your article about him.

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  11. From Louis DeLuca: Nicely done. I still laugh every time I think about hearing "This is Dedicated ..." echoing through the Journal newsroom.

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  12. From Alan Moore: I got to deal with Jerry Byrd during the five years I worked at the Times. I can still say "SEEYA!" In his voice.

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  13. From Leslie Bradford: My in-laws lived next door to Jerry when my children were very young. He was always so kind to me and my children. May God bless him and help his family to cope with the memory problems.

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  14. From Neta Monroe: Aww, good article. Mr. Jerry was always nice to me when I worked in the (newspaper) lobby. He always had something funny to say.

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  15. From Will Marston: Man was GREAT for Louisiana football and all sports.

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  16. From Bill Smith: Nico, this is one of your best. I wish the sports writers around here now we're half as good "and sometimes irritating," as Mr. Byrd.

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  17. From Maegan Elizabeth Adams: Amazing man. I have a tremendous amount of respect and appreciation for him. He never missed a softball game and his words were always kind. He always challenged me! Sweet sweet man!

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  18. From David Mckenzie: What a great story. Makes me miss Shreveport. I remember Jerry at all the track meets in the '70s, writing about track.

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  19. From Randy Tadlock: Growing up in Shreveport in the 1960s and '70s, Jerry Byrd was to me the best sports reporter ever. I also remember him at football, basketball, baseball and track meets covering all the great athletes in sports during those years. My earliest memory of Jerry Byrd (1963-64 when I was around 6 or 7 years old was that my mom would drop me off at the downtown YMCA for swim practice and Jerry Byrd was the coach. Thanks for sharing.

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  20. From Chuck Stewart: Great piece. [Jerry was] one of the true great journalistic characters in a state full of them. ...
    What I admired most about Jerry is -- despite his ego -- he was not afraid to laugh at himself. The Jerry Byrd Roast is one of my favorite Louisiana Sports Writers Association convention memories.

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  21. From Pat Booras: Jerry Byrd -- talented, a special person. Thinking of him brings a smile to my face.

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  22. From Bob Tompkins: Great piece. I fondly recall my short stint on the Journal staff or visits with him in the press box or on the phone or at the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame banquets in the years since. Larry White, Rick Woodson and I were on his staff in fall of 1974, and he'd eat lunch at his desk. Once, we secretly padded his hamburger with a small napkin as a prank and then bit our lips and stifled laughter as we watched him eat it without so much as a complaint.

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  23. From Chris Harbuck: Great stuff. He and Barbara are both special. He used to tell me stories about my grandfather and the store downtown. A giant of a man.

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  24. Brian McNicoll: Outstanding post. I knew who he was before I knew of any other sports media person. He even lived on my street for a time.

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  25. From Robert Steckel: Both fine pieces. (And I'm with Rachel: I always enjoyed "Rocky Top.") My first college-football assignment for the Journal, in '75, was the LSU-A&M game -- Bubba Bean and the rest of the Aggies were not kind to the Tigers that night in BR -- and I remember the trip down and back, the Byrd Man driving, Monica F. Dean, sitting in the back seat and not quite sure what to think, as Jerry walked memory lane and sang the Aggie War Hymn and many others. Large man, large talent, generous spirit. I hope he's at peace; he deserves to be.

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  26. From Glynn Harris: What a wonderful tribute to a legend in sports journalism. I treasure working with him at the Journal and the time I took him fishing on Lake Claiborne.

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  27. From Shelly Baswell Corkern: Wow! So beautifully written. I remember Mr. Byrd from growing up and tagging along with my dad to Centenary games or whatever games he was covering. Mr. Byrd was always funny and so tall My dad went to visit him not too long ago.

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  28. From Tommy Booras: Glad to get an update, but sad to hear about his condition. I remember how he would be in our ears at Channel 3 about his "Meet of Champions" track and field meet. And no one had a louder voice than Jerry.

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  29. From David Lee: Great article about Jerry. Great writer. I have not seen him in a long time. Old writers never die, they just fade away.

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  30. From James Bustillo: Great tribute. I remember Jerry and [Jesuit High School coach] C.O. [Brocato] used to go round and round all the time. It was friendly banter at its best.

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  31. From Jim McLain: Enjoyed the blog on the Byrdman. I can remember hearing, all the way out in the hall [in the newspaper building], Jerry singing Elvira. What a hoot!
    I can also remember the Ed Pettis ruboffs. He was an expert on that.

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  32. From Mark Murov: Good post. I remember Jerry quite well.
    [A friend], only a year of so older than me, is in a memory unit in New Orleans and I visited him on my last trip, in May. It was bittersweet and disturbing. He was very affectionate (we had been best friends back in the day) but at the end of a 45-minute visit I realized that he still had not connected the dots to be sure how he knew me and what part of our lives we had shared.
    His words were interesting to deconstruct. His wife had abandoned him completely upon this development ... His explanation was that “I wanted to move to Louisiana (he has lived there all his life) and she wanted to go live up north with her people (she and all her people have always lived in Louisiana), so we are not able to be together.” Maybe that is a fairy tale someone told him as a type of simple metaphor, but I saw it as something he had constructed. At least he was completely happy even though always confused.

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  33. From Pesky Hill: Thank you for writing this. I still remember vividly the time I was in college at Northwestern. I was working the Top Twenty in Alexandria. Between sessions, Byrd asked me to go get something to eat. After we ate, he said, “Let’s do something fun.” We go across the street to this little carnival area. Then, Byrd says, “Let’s ride the airplanes, my treat.” Jerry barely fits in this little airplane meant for 8-year olds. And, I barely fit into my plane, too. We get in the air and start flying around in circles. All I can do is laugh uncontrollably while Byrd is pretending to shoot me out of the air with a make-believe gun.
    I’ve got many more stories, too. Thanks again for this blog.

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  34. From John Whitmore: Great story. I had a friend up here in a similar situation. When I left him, after seeing him for the first time in that condition, I cried. I cried for him and was thankful that my situation wasn't the same.

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  35. From Jeff Rude: Read every word of this and your piece from four years ago. Sorry he’s had memory issues lately. That’s sad. I’m thankful, forever grateful, he gave me my first job out of college. Learned a lot.

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  36. From Wayne Waggoner: Great article. Jerry wrote many articles on me and I always loved that man.

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  37. From Maxie Hays: Wow, I'm so sorry to read this about Jerry. I lost a good coaching friend in May that had Alzheimer's. Awful disease. He called me one morning sitting on the side of his bed and told me he didn't know where he was. So sad.
    I will keep Jerry in my prayers.
    Thanks for sharing this news.

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  38. From Kirby Ramsey: Wow. Fantastic, poignant, but also heartbreaking. So similar to my visits with Coach Billy Joe Adcox.

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  39. From Tommy Canterbury: Jerry was an excellent writer, straight but fair, and darned sure knew what he was talking about. Weren't gonna get much bull by him.

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  40. From Tom Miller: My sister-in-law recently sent me a link to the blog you wrote about Jerry Byrd. When I was in high school at Haynesville in the mid-1960s, Jerry wrote a couple of very flattering feature articles about me, which I still have in a yellowing tattered scrapbook. I think Jerry felt a certain kinship with me, because we had both overcome congenital defects in order to excel in unlikely activities. Mine was heart surgery in 1957 and pole vaulting. Jerry touched my life in a very special way, and I have been forever grateful. I would appreciate your passing on my best wishes to his family.

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  41. It always added some spice when I showed up to cover an event and Jerry was there. I can vividly remember what he would do before a big play in a football game... slap his hands together, then rub them really quick like he was trying to start a fire. "Big play!" he would holler. He was great. I enjoyed him so much.

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