The most media-cooperative coach

        One interview with one of America's greatest college football coaches was a time to remember.

Coach Bowden (AP photo/Nati Harnik)

      We are all a bit heartbroken as Coach Bobby Bowden faces his final days.

      Few football coaches were as loved and respected as the friendly, upbeat man who directed Florida State University's rise to one of the nation's foremost powers for three decades.

     For the media, he was a dream. Can't think of a more cooperative football coach anywhere, anytime.

      Many, many media members had a lot more exposure to Coach Bowden than this one. But the one time I was sent to write about him was one of the great experiences in a long sportswriting career.

     Don't even remember the exact circumstances -- where or when, or even the year. It had to be the early 1990s. And it definitely was in Jacksonville, Florida, in the spring. Best I can recall it was at a hotel where Coach Bowden was going to speak at an FSU alumni/booster gathering.

      Don't even remember what the strong angle was. Don't have a copy of the story I wrote.

     Here is what I do remember: Coach Bowden was just great. I got a dose of how caring and personable he was.

     I'd never met him, never covered an FSU game or event. Certainly wasn't my regular assignment, and I'm not sure why I was even the one sent to do a story.

      So I made my way to the hotel, found the room where he was going to speak -- think that was scheduled for about two hours later -- and there he was in the lobby just outside.

    There were people all around him (most obviously FSU fans), asking for an autograph or a photo with him, or just there to shake his hand or exchange a few words. 

     I believe, with the help of an FSU athletic department aide who was there with him, I was able to get a moment to introduce myself and ask for a little time to do an interview.

     Of course, he was willing -- I was instantly his buddy -- but there was a catch.

      "I can give you 10 minutes or so," he said, "but can you wait a little while? I've got to do a few things before I can get to you."

     Sure, I told him. It was mid-morning; my deadline was not until mid-evening, so I had plenty of time to wait, and plenty of time to write the story.

     "Look," he said, "there are going to be people coming up that are going to want to speak to me. So just stay with me, stay closeby, and we'll get together."

       He moved a few steps away to do an interview with one of the Jacksonville TV stations. I stood a few feet away.

     And then between interviews, he indeed was asked to pose for photos with FSU fans, and stopped to sign autographs, and after about 10 minutes, he looked over at me and said again, "Stay with me, buddy. It'll be a few more minutes."

      No problem.

      Another interview. More photos. More handshakes. More autographs. It was a parade of fans.

      A few minutes later, Coach Bowden again walked past and said, "Don't give up, buddy. I'll be there in a few minutes."

      (I have seen similar scenes play out over the years, and many coaches who wouldn't have given a media person much attention. But Coach Bowden reminded me of one of the most cooperative from our area -- Grambling State legend Eddie Robinson. He always made as much time for media people as they needed. Coach Bowden, of course, was as legendary as Coach Robinson.)

      It took another short time, and another glance over and reminder, and then -- maybe 25 minutes after our initial exchange -- there Coach Bowden was. True to his word.

      "Let's go in this room over here," he said, and we moved away from the crowd to a side area where no one could interrupt.

    And then he was as open and expansive with his answers -- as folksy and charming -- as everyone experienced over all the years.

      He was as wonderful as fellow media people and his FSU fans told me he was.

      It was my one and only time around him. It was unforgettable, and much appreciated.  

  

The strange, sad story of Don Bessent (and a connection)

    One of the saddest stories we encountered in our journalism career involved a 1950s baseball pitcher and where, when and how he died.

1957 Topps card

     The man's name was Don Bessent, the place was Jacksonville, Florida, the time was July 1990, and the circumstances were tragic.
     It was a self-imposed tragedy -- with alcohol as the cause.
     The details of his death and his baseball life are in the Los Angeles Times story below, published four days after the incident. I suggest you read that, as gritty as it is.
     Background info and connections:
     -- This ties into our blog a couple of days ago on The Boys of Summer, the Brooklyn Dodgers' 1950s teams and the book, and its author, Roger Kahn. 
     -- Don Bessent was a right-hander with much talent -- a hard thrower -- for the Dodgers from 1955 through 1958 (so Brooklyn the first three seasons and their first year in Los Angeles in that monumental move). 
     -- He was not mentioned much, if at all, in Kahn's book, focused on the 1952-53 Dodgers teams. Bessent was in the U.S. Army those years. But subsequently he was a teammate of most of the book's (and team's) stars, and Kahn is quoted talking about Bessent in the LA Times story. 
     -- And our connection? We were in Jacksonville, my first year at the Florida Times-Union, when news of Bessent's death broke. 
     It was a newsside story, really, but the sports angle helped enhance the coverage of the story. (Bessent's baseball career led to our department's follow-up efforts.)
     On that Monday, I happened to be in the 3:30 p.m. news meeting in which the contents of the next day's paper were outlined. Did not usually attend those meetings, but likely was there because the sports editor and assistant sports editors had the day off or other tasks.
     Among the stories newsside was covering was the death of a man inside his car parked outside the Wendy's restaurant near the Five Points intersection close to  downtown Jacksonville (and not far from our offices).
     That was on Saturday, but the police report apparently was not available to our reporters until that Monday morning.
     Sounded like a strange, sad story. And when the newsside editor said the man's name was Don Bessent, it got this baseball fan's attention. I remember saying something like: Hey, hold on, let me check on that. 
     I knew that name. Had to think, to try to place it. Had no idea about his Jacksonville background, but I knew it was a significant baseball name.
      Meeting broke up; I went to my desk and to the baseball guides on file and ... boom. Yeah, he pitched for the Dodgers in the 1950s. He is a local guy. It was a "wow" moment. 
       Back over to newsside to tell them: This is a significant sports name here. 
        As I recall, the newsside did its usual thorough job of coverage, and a day or two later, one of our sports columnists wrote a very nice piece on Mr. Bessent.
     He was 59 when he died. He had been out of baseball for 28 years by then. Lord knows the troubles he'd seen.
     He had two significant times of glory: 
     (1) As a rookie in 1955, he was part of the only World Series championship for Brooklyn, and his contribution was an 8-1 record after coming out of the minors to join the team near midseason;
      (2) Pitching in the 1956 World Series against the Yankees -- the team that originally signed him out of Lee High School in 1959 -- he was the winning pitcher in Game 2, working a strong seven innings (six hits, two runs) in relief. He stopped the Yankees for most of the game as the Dodgers, behind 6-0 after 1 1/2 innings, tied it with six runs in the second and rolled to a 13-8 victory.
      But he never blossomed into a major-league star; arm troubles curtailed his effectiveness. Although there are 1959 Dodgers baseball cards of him, he was in the minors that year and three more.
      In his final season, 1962, he pitched in 10 games for the hometown team, Jacksonville, in the International League. And then he was out of the game.
      In searching Google for information for this piece, we found the obituary for his widow, Joan, who died in Jacksonville last July 2 at age 85. 
      (Interesting sidelight on the LA Times story below: It mentions that Bessent was tipping off his pitches and the Yankees used whistling to alert their batters to what pitches he was throwing.).
      He was known in the Dodgers clubhouse as "The Weasel," a quiet guy respected as a loyal teammate. Good to know. It softens what was a difficult ending.         

Death of Bessent Is Special Tragedy : Baseball: Former Dodger pitcher is found in Florida parking lot, a victim of alcohol poisoning.

By ELLIOTT ALMOND, TIMES STAFF WRITER, JULY 11, 1990
    Perhaps Don Bessent was not the best known of the fabled Brooklyn Dodgers. He was a young role player among the Boys of Summer.
   Still, his death Saturday at 59 will be marked by a special sadness because of its tragic elements.
    Bessent, who pitched for the Dodgers from 1955 to 1958, died in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant in Jacksonville, Fla., while employees watched.
    The Jacksonville Medical Examiner’s office reported that Bessent died of alcohol poisoning, aggravated by cirrhosis of the liver. The report said he had a blood alcohol level of 0.35% when he died, sometime between 4 p.m. and 5:30 p.m.
     Employees of the Wendy’s restaurant where he died said they noticed Bessent was slumped in his car in the parking lot. Police have not determined why he was at the restaurant in the upscale Riverside neighborhood of Jacksonville. Nor do they know where he had been earlier that day.
     Employees said Bessent at first said he was OK when they offered assistance, but later asked for help. They told police that assistant manager Cesar Taracena threatened to fire them if they called for help.
     Two employees, however, approached an off-duty police officer who called paramedics, said Sgt. Steve Weintrab of the Jacksonville sheriff’s office. The paramedics declared Bessent dead when they arrived.
     Mark Starbuck, a regional vice president of Wendy’s franchises in the Jacksonville area, said managers are not trained to handle the kind of emergency Tarcena encountered.
      Starbuck said restaurant officials are cooperating with an investigation by sheriff’s deputies and refused to discuss the situation.
      He said Taracena was fired Tuesday. Taracena refused to comment on the situation.
      Bessent’s death in his hometown ended a life that once was promising.
      Although overshadowed by such Dodger stars as Pee Wee Reese, Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella and Duke Snider, Bessent made his mark--first as a starter, then as a reliever--in four seasons.
     He was best remembered for his World Series performances, pitching against the New York Yankees in five Series games in 1955 and ’56. He was 1-0 with a 1.35 earned-run average in 13 1/3 innings.
     Bessent, who grew up in Jacksonville, was called up to the Dodgers from their triple-A farm club in St. Paul, Minn., in 1955, at the same time as Roger Craig, now manager of the San Francisco Giants.
     The rookies were called when the team slumped in mid-summer after a 25-4 start. They gave the Dodgers a welcomed lift by pitching complete-game victories in a doubleheader against the Pittsburgh Pirates.
     Bessent went on to finish 1955 with an 8-1 record and a 2.70 ERA. In 1956, he was 4-3 with a 2.50 ERA and had nine saves. He was only 1-3 with a 5.73 ERA in 1957, then was 1-0 with a 3.33 ERA in 1958, the Dodgers’ first season in Los Angeles.
      “Don Bessent won my 27th game for me in 1956,” said Don Newcombe, one of the Dodger starters. “That save always reminded me Bessent was involved in helping me win the Cy Young (Award).”
      Teammates have fond memories of “the Weasel,” as they nicknamed him. Although Bessent was a quiet, well-mannered youngster, the Dodgers respected him.
     “He was quiet in his own way, but he would go to war for you,” Don Drysdale said. “They always talk about Dodger starters, but I’m the first one to say, ‘Hey, let’s talk about our bullpen, too.’ Don was part of those early great bullpens.”
     Newcombe recounted the time the Dodgers were barnstorming in Japan in 1956 when he and Roy Campanella, both blacks, were barred from certain establishments. Bessent and Bob Lewis refused to join their white teammates at such social gatherings, opting to stay with Newcombe and Campanella.
     Newcombe said he particularly respected Bessent for staying behind even though Bessent grew up in the South.
     Roger Kahn, author of “The Boys of Summer,” said Bessent’s quiet manner perhaps kept him from being more famous. But Kahn marveled at Bessent’s fastball, which many catchers did not want to catch because of its velocity.
     “His personality was recessive,” Kahn said. “He was just one of the many promising kids who came out of the Dodger system. One of the curious things was that they produced so many promising pitchers who blazed briefly and then expired. After the first year, we thought he would win 20 games.”
     Instead, Bessent was relegated to the bullpen, from where he could intimidate hitters with the fastball for a couple of innings.
      Drysdale recalled the frustration of having the Yankees read Bessent’s pitches, which encompassed a fastball and a curve. He said every time Bessent was about to throw a curve, they would hear a whistle from the Yankee dugout.
     “We couldn’t figure out why,” Drysdale said. “Later, we learned that every time Bessent threw a curve, he stuck his tongue out.”
      Bessent finished his big league career with a 14-7 record, a 3.33 ERA and 12 saves.
      He teamed with Clem Labine and Ed Roebuck to form one of the league’s best relief staffs.
     Bessent developed arm trouble in 1959 and retired in 1962 after four seasons in the minors.
      He graduated from Jacksonville Lee High School in 1949 and was drafted by the New York Yankees. After pitching for the Yankees’ farm club in Norfolk, Va., he was left unprotected and picked up by the Dodgers in the 1953 draft.
      “One thing that could be said for Don, he always went out strong every time he pitched,” Carl Erskine, a Dodger pitching star from the era, told the Associated Press.

Toughest story assignment -- it was Love (and death)

     The most difficult, most challenging, assignment of a 45-year sportswriting career? Some stories/columns to choose from, but one stands out.
      It dates 30 years this November, and relates to Jacksonville, Florida, and the Florida Times-Union. And it was about golf, but not specifically.
      It was more about the aftermath of the deaths of four men in a small-plane crash. And the assignment was totally unexpected.
      Reading a book on golf recently brought a reminder. The main character of the latest of John Feinstein's long string of sports-related books, The First Major, (subtitle) The Inside Story of the 2016 Ryder Cup, is Davis Love III.
      If you know golf, you know the name.
      He was captain of the winning U.S. Ryder Cup team in 2016, having been chosen for the captain's position for a second time (because his work as captain in 2012, even in a U.S. loss to Europe, had impressed the U.S. Ryder Cup people).
      These days people might not remember Davis Love Jr., father of the son. When I see Davis III, I always think of his Dad. 
      It was his death and three others that made Nov. 14, 1988, a memorable day for me.
      On that Monday morning, I received a phone call from Mike Richey the then-Times-Union sports editor and my longtime friend from our Louisiana days.
      He wanted me to drive to St. Simons Island -- off the coast off southeast Georgia, some 75 miles from Jacksonville -- to do a story on the scene at Sea Island Golf Club.
      That was home base for Davis Love Jr., 53, the nationally known Golf Digest teaching pro/instructor, and two others who went down in the plane -- head golf pro John Popa, 37, and teaching pro Jimmy Hodges, 35, Mr. Love's protégé.
      Also killed: nearby resident Frank "Chip" Worthington, 39, the pilot.
      Obviously, this was a tragedy, a shock to the golf world and to that community on the most prominent, most affluent of the "barrier" islands just east of Brunswick, Ga.
      I was new to the Florida Times-Union, maybe three weeks into the job -- a job I needed after my departure from Shreveport. With the family, we had settled in Orange Park, a suburb just south of Jacksonville.
      Here, other than what was going to be a trip into a sad, stunned scene, was what made it difficult. I knew little about the golf world, I had never been anywhere close to Brunswick, had never heard of Sea Island Golf Club or St. Simons Island.
      I was a stranger in strange territory, about to meet and interview people who were complete strangers to me.
      And I was only vaguely familiar with Davis Love III, then an extremely promising, long-hitting, 24-year-old, fourth-year PGA Tour player with one tour victory, his father's prize pupil and -- with younger brother Mark -- his greatest achievement.   
      Now, expecting a routine work day (my main task was to guide the high school/community athletics coverage), here I was faced with uncertainty.
      Why me?
      We are not sure, can't recall. We think, though, that Mike Richey that morning could not reach our talented main Times-Union golf writer, Chris Smith, who had a good relationship with the Love family. (It was before cellphones, folks.)
      Maybe because -- laugh here -- I was a savvy sports writing veteran (it was my 19th fulltime year, but at 41, I was still kind of young, OK) and had experience, Mike called on me. We had plenty of other really good writers on that staff.
---
      This was at least 10 a.m., so I rushed to get ready to go. Mike gave me some travel directions and the first place to find -- the Times-Union bureau in Brunswick and the name of that bureau person -- Beth Reese.
      Thank goodness for Beth, who soon added Cravey to her name and moved to Jacksonville, where she remains on the newspaper's news staff. She made my work that day a bit smoother.
      As I recall, when I found the bureau, she showed me how to use the machine to get my story back to the office a few hours later, and because she had to attend a meeting, left me the key to the office. And gave me directions to St. Simons Island.
      It was a 7-mile drive east on a causeway -- marshland all around -- with the Atlantic Ocean close by the resort and residential community.
      It was with plenty of trepidation that I drove to that golf club. Actually, I was not sure of all the details of the plane crash. 
      A link to the full details is below (from a Golf Digest story 20 years later).
      What happened: Davis Love Jr. and his two companions were going to attend the annual meeting of Golf Digest teaching pros at Innisbrook, a golf resort near Tampa. Because they wanted to spend most of that Sunday with their families, instead of driving to Jacksonville to catch a flight south, they chose to have Worthington fly them there -- in early evening -- from the air strip next to the golf course and connect on a Piedmont Airlines flight at 9:30 p.m.
      But the short hop met disaster -- a dense fog and, as it turned out, mixed-up signals from air controllers. Worthington's sight lines were impossible; the plane, a quarter-mile left and 500 feet past the runway's starting point, hit trees 40 feet above the ground. The estimated time: 8:53.27 p.m.
      The plane went "off the radar," but the fog was so bad, the wreckage was not found until daylight the next morning.
      Damn.
      What a loss. What a sad story to write.
 ---    
      Unfortunately, we -- any of us who write and get paid for it -- do some of our best work when it involves deaths, or tragedy. Many of the strongest reactions to pieces I've written fit this category.
      And it can be a tough task. Thinking about writing this blog, I remembered that one of the toughest assignments I made -- with the suggestion from editor Stan Tiner at the Shreveport Journal in summer 1983 -- was sending young sportswriter John James Marshall to visit/interview Joe Delaney's family after the sensational running back's drowning as he tried to save some drowning young people in Monroe, La.
      John James said it was his toughest assignment, and credited then-Haughton head coach Bobby Ray McHalffey for accompanying him and sitting through the interview. That made it easier, but "easy" is not the right word in these situations.
      For me, the people at Sea Island that awful November day in 1988 could not have been more cooperative and available. 
      Davis Love III and wife Robin were not there; they were on the way back home from Hawaii (and then San Francisco) where he was to play in the Kapalua Open and also make a vacation of it. They had just arrived in Hawaii when they got word the plane was missing.
      Three weeks later Chris Smith went to Sea Island to interview Davis III, and Chris' in-depth story was one of his best.   
      Davis III, who will be 54 next month, continues as one of the PGA Tour's biggest names, a 21-time winner on Tour, one major (1997 PGA Championship), a World Golf Hall of Fame inductee last year.
      Two of his victories came near Jacksonville in The Players Championship (1992 and 2003). We were there in '92 when, three shots out of first going into the final round, he shot a 67 on Sunday and won by four shots.
      Because of what had happened -- with its Jacksonville ties -- four years earlier, I thought that was an especially poignant victory.
      Chris Smith, who now works for the PGA Tour (senior director, business public relations), made Davis Love III and his "team" the focus of the cover story for the Times-Union's Players Championship preview the next year. Another nice story.
       It wasn't that my story for the Times-Union -- published Nov. 15, 1988 -- was that difficult to write. It was mixing the quotes from the interviews and the facts into a readable piece (our sports desk in Jacksonville helped with that).
       It was not an award-winning effort, but it was rewarding just to meet the challenge and get it done, and in plenty of time before deadline. 
       It was one to remember, for sure.
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https://www.golfdigest.com/story/gw20081107fields
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9aGl2Xctj1o

Vinny and KG: the best in our business

     In my 45 years of newspapering, Vince Langford and Ken Gladstone were the absolute best at what they did.
     Sports copy editors -- an unsung, behind-the-scenes job.
     Without them working to make stories accurate and sharp, to write -- or as often was the case, rewrite -- headlines, journalism loses.
     As of this week, both are retired.

Vince Langford (Star-Telegram photo)

     Before I go any further, you should know this: These two guys are among the best friends I ever worked alongside. (Ken is a year or two older than me; Vince a few years younger). So, yes, I am extremely partial.
     We shared many stories and laughs, and we battled -- grinded -- toward many late-night deadlines. I greatly admired their work ethic and their dedication. 
     But anyone who worked with them -- Vinny at the Houston Post (which folded in 1995) and for the last 21 years at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram (I was there for almost 10), KG at the Florida Times-Union in Jacksonville for 24 years (five when I was there) and then 11 more at the Orlando Sentinel -- likely will tell you what I'm telling you.
     They were excellent sports copy editors. They were the heart of the sports-desk operation.
     I worked with many talented sports columnists and writers, layout people (designers, in more modern terms) and sports editors. Some were as good as Vinny and KG in what they did; none was better.
     Yet while you easily would recognize columnists and writers from their photos and bylines, few outside our building knew just how valuable these guys were. 
     But those of us on the sports desks sure as heck knew.

Valerie and Ken Gladstone

     Vinny and KG knew the English language -- yes, grammar and punctuation and sentence structure; they knew sports, and sports history, and when they weren't sure, they were diligent fact-checkers. 
     They could polish well-done columns and stories; they could make the so-so efforts reasonable reads. They often improved headlines, or came up with clever ones themselves. 
     And they did it with a soft touch, not tearing up what the writers had done ... and doing it quietly. Rarely if ever did they admonish or criticize anyone publicly -- a great trait.
     Never heard either of them talk much about themselves, certainly not brag -- no ego involved -- and they deflected praise the best they could. No bull or craziness from them.
     Going to say right here that neither -- especially Vinny -- will relish this blog piece being done. But it's my blog, so ... 
     (And if they want to make corrections, as they have done often on things I wrote or missed while copy editing, they are free to do so.)
---
     Most appreciated, though, by me -- not exactly Mr. Cool -- was their ability to work through the chaos of a newsroom, specifically the sports desk.
     It could be a noisy place, full of mischief and "jocularity" -- thank you, Father Mulcahy of M*A*S*H -- and people watching (not quietly) games on television. 
     Vinny and KG just kept working. Not much time to waste, no desire to let stories pile up in their queues. (There were editors -- assigning editors -- and copy editors who took forever to work stories, and of course, writers filing copy who pushed us to the limit -- and beyond -- on deadline.)
     They were most often responsible for "the last read" on stories and columns, so it was a key role.
     Neither had final say of story play and photo selection; that was left to the sports editors/assistant sports editor, "night editors" and main design people. But Vinny and Ken made many big decisions on how well stories read.
      (Two others, Steve Schroats and Roger Pinckney, filled the night editor/copy chief roles most nights at the Star-Telegram, both with the same selfless traits as Vinny.)
     Ken's title at the Times-Union was sports copy "chief" (hail to our chief), although at one point before I arrived he had been a co-sports editor.
     Vinny did not have a "chief" title, but most nights that in effect is what he was. He most often made out the "duty roster" -- assigning stories to the copy editors -- and no question that he directed traffic in our department.
     (The night of my "tryout" at the Star-Telegram, my tall and talented friend Vince assigned me 14-15-16 stories -- I lost count; it was a terribly busy night -- and it was so many that the department workers thought I'd never return. I did, to haunt them for a decade.)
     My guys were intense workers. If the noise or fun got to be too much (I was never guilty of that, right), Vinny sometimes pointedly put a stop to it. But when there was time, he had as great a sense of humor as anyone.
      KG was more laid-back. He did not often instigate the fun, but took part in the laughter. But I do know of one instance he did not appreciate.
      A new sports editor -- words were not his strong suit -- was talking with Ken about his role on the sports desk and observed "you make a lot of money for what you do."
      That did not go over well with KG, and even less with me when he related that tale to me.     
---       
      In the massive reduction in the newsroom at the Star-Telegram over the past nine years, Vince survived. Having reached Medicare age and needing to take care of family matters, he leaves this week -- thankfully, on his own accord.
      He is going home to Tulsa to care for his elderly mother, and I am sure, root for the Oklahoma Sooners -- he is an OU graduate (1973) -- and the Houston Astros. He will commiserate with me on what he always calls "the Yankee boys."
      I suspect that Vinny would have stayed longer at the Star-Telegram had the job not changed. But the McClatchy Corp. powers have broken apart the sports desk for a "universal" desk, and the job title "audience growth editor" -- where online clicks are more important than the old-style print newspaper -- is not what we desired. (Cannot imagine myself in that role.)
      KG has been a Florida resident since high school, a transplanted Long Islander who came to Ocala with his retiring parents and did a couple of stints at the University of Florida (so he's a Gators fan; he's not perfect).
      He got his layoff note from the Orlando paper in 2011, worked a couple of short-lived sports copy editing jobs since then, and through some health issues, had fun working at Disney World and now as an Uber driver.
      If he had his choice, I'm guessing, he still would be editing sports copy at a large daily newspaper.
      We share a lot of "inside" jokes, and one is the rumor that Val and Ken have been married for 21 years (gee, we missed the wedding). KG also knows that we had "morons on our team" and "we have got no money going down the mountain." (These are lines I adopted/adapted from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. He's heard them often.)
      As I said, newspapers are a poorer lot without Vinny and KG. 
      I have used my blog to say thank you to many people who played important roles in my life and my career, and here are two more. 
      They edited to daylight, and nearly every day made very good sports sections even better.