Thankful for many mentors and teachers, and here is one

     Her name is Willa Smith, and to me, she is a VIP. 
     Thinking of the people who have been mentors and teachers in my life, and how thankful I am for them.
      It covers a broad spectrum, beginning with parents and we mostly think of our school administrators, teachers (coaches) and our bosses as "mentors."
      But it's also our spouses, our friends, our co-workers, our kids and their friends, and now even our grandkids who can teach us.
      Really, if you're paying attention, and if your philosophy matches mine, you can (or should) learn something from most anyone you encounter. 
      I was thinking of some teachers and some fellow employees who -- frankly -- I did not enjoy. But perhaps they taught me about people skills, an area in which I had much to learn. 
      There is a long list of people, though, who were  important to me, personally and professionally. Forever grateful for them.

Willa Smith's photo from the yearbook section, 1965 Woodlawn High
 School Accolade (she was the main reason for outstanding yearbooks)

      This is often on my mind, and I could post names -- I have written about many -- but the incentive for the focus of this blog piece came several weeks ago when an old friend (which of our friends is not old?) asked about a particular teacher. She happened to be one of the key people in my first 18 years.
      Posted about her on Facebook and in e-mails -- to our Woodlawn High School friends -- after our conversation in mid-November, but I want to write more about Miss Willa Smith.
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      She was not a journalism teacher per se, but she taught journalism principles which stuck with me forever. I will get to those in a moment.
      Part of the note I posted about her:
      ... Miss Smith was the excellent yearbook advisor (and also typing/shorthand teacher) at Woodlawn from its start in 1960 through May 1968. I have stayed in touch with her over the years ... but I had not talked to her in maybe five years (my fault). So I called her ... with trepidation, not knowing if she was even still alive.
      She is; she is 90, using a walker because she had both knees replaced at the same time, and then subsequently fell a couple of times, broke the femur in one of her legs and spent five months in a Hattiesburg hospital. She is back home now in Tylertown, Miss, and the last of her large immediate family (most lived into their mid-90s) and a sister-in-law live closeby.
      The good news: She is as sharp mentally as she always was. She is very proud and fond of her Woodlawn years, and those All-America-rated yearbooks -- and she should be.
      That was the note I posted. Here is more -- we had a good talk, and she remembered, and reminded me, that she shares a birthday (Oct. 23) with granddaughter Josie (our first grandchild). 
      She asked about Terry -- yes, Bradshaw -- and if I had seen him (other than on TV). The answer at that point was no, not in almost 30 years.
      The answer now is, yes, I was in the vicinity at the Frisco Bowl game last week when he was one of Louisiana Tech's honorary team captains and conducted the pregame coin toss in typical good Bradshaw humor. But he was on the field and I was in the stands, and that's as close as I needed to be. 
      About Miss Smith's teaching career: In the mid-1950s, she was at Covington, La., High School -- near her hometown. She then came to North Louisiana and was the yearbook advisor at Greenwood High School, just outside Shreveport. That school closed when Woodlawn opened, and we were so fortunate that she was part of what I consider an excellent Woodlawn faculty. 
      She stayed through the 1967-68 school year. It was the next year when Woodlawn won state championships in football and basketball; by then, she was back at Covington, having moved to be closer to her aging mother and more family.
      She retired after 31 years of teaching and said -- in a letter to me -- "took early retirement because [I] was exhausted after putting together 21 yearbooks while teaching hundreds of students."
      Through the years, we exchanged a few phone calls and a half-dozen letters -- not short notes -- and she reminded that she had kept them all (and so had I).
---
      Anyway, about Miss Smith and how she was a mentor ...
      First, she was so patient with everyone who worked on yearbook staffs. That trait I didn't pick up on all that often.
      (There was one day she was no so patient with me; I have written a blog piece about it. She was furious -- only time I ever saw her mad -- and ready to send me to the assistant principal in charge of discipline. But, dang -- a two-out, two-run tying Yankees home run in the bottom of the ninth inning of a World Series Game 5. Who, even stowed away in a back room listening to a transistor radio, would not have reacted and screamed about that?)
      Second, she was so careful, so thorough, so focused on details, so aware of meeting (or beating) deadlines imposed by the yearbook publishing company. 
      The thoroughness included proper cropping of photos and strict layout rules that meant recognizing borders and no "bleeding" photos off a page, and a proofreading process to  eliminate most would-be mistakes -- misspellings, transposed words and/or photos. 
       So our final products were extremely "clean" -- organized, disciplined, sharp-looking -- efforts. Can't remember mistakes in those books through her eight  years there.
       When I wrote the "mistakes were made" blog piece a week ago, it was an example that Miss Smith's focus on excellence didn't always carry over. But we did our damndest always to prevent errors.
       That blog piece was about people's names being fouled up, misspelled. Miss Smith was a stickler about having names correct in the yearbooks, and properly identifying photos. So we double- and tripled-checked names, especially in the class-photos sections. Again, wish in later newspaper work, I had been more careful at times.
       Also, she insisted that a person's given name be used; no nicknames. So the guy everyone called Buster was Cecil in our yearbooks. But ... we did talk her into allowing the use of Trey -- star every-sport athlete and one of the best-known, most popular kids in school -- instead of (formal name) Henry Lee. Had to work hard to convince her of that.
        She had us count headlines to be sure that they were lengthy enough (one full line) and count the words in our copy block to fit the allotted space. 
        One principle that stuck with me: On cutlines (photo captions), don't let one or two words jump to the bottom line (no "widows" or "hangovers"). Same on paragraphs, if possible. An aesthetic aspect, but a good one. 
       Third, Miss Smith made yearbook work serious business. 
       She stressed -- I hesitate to use preached, although she is a deeply religious person -- (1) that yearbooks were history books, that the information contained would be reference material, and should be as accurate as possible; and (2) that these were not books for cuteness, for making fun of people, no "inside" jokes, or cutting out photos for collages (which you saw in many yearbooks). 
       I was never a "cute" writer anyway, but I do know some very talented, award-winning sports writers who were great at writing columns for laughs (and, honestly, often to please themselves).
       Miss Smith was dedicated to the task, and the kids, and it took hours on weekends to work with editors of each section -- including some eager-but-naive sports editors. 
       Serious business, yes. I might have been one of the great "light" cut-ups and a raging maniac at times in every sports department I was in; ah, no "might" about it. But also, journalism -- newspapers or sports information -- and effort for excellence was serious business to me. (So was winning in athletics, or making the best effort.)
---
       It was a close-knit family in Tylertown -- seven children -- and it was steeped in military service, religious service and teaching. Family reunions were special.
       Miss Smith's three brothers all served as pilots in the military. The oldest was a fighter-plane pilot who flew 72 missions over Europe in World War II, later was a Mississippi state representative. The second-oldest was a bomber pilot killed in World War II. The youngest, with 20 years in the military, served in Korea and flew helicopters in Vietnam.

A few years ago

       One sister taught high school math for 40 years (her husband was a coach); another sister taught business education, then went to the Baptist seminary to earn a master's degree and, with her Baptist pastor husband, completed decades of service with 17 years at a church in Alabama. 
       Her closest sister was Alda, who taught at Queensborough Elementary in Shreveport for nine years while our Miss Smith was at Greenwood and Woodlawn. They each remained single, went back to South Louisiana -- Alda also taught elementary school in Covington -- so they could be with their mother each weekend in Tylertown. When she died, they went to live in the old family home.
       They each proudly worked on the historical committee of their lifelong Silver Creek Baptist Church in nearby McComb, Miss., which reached its 200th anniversary in 2014, and they helped organize the celebration.
       Alda died that year. Near the end, she finished compiling the Smith family genealogy book, which her four-years-younger sister appreciated.
       Willa Lee, thankfully, goes on. A sister-in-law who lives nearby checks on her. It is not easy for her to move around, but our friend Miss Smith never lacked for smarts, spirit, drive and determination. 
       And I know some old Woodlawn kids who have never forgotten what excellence meant, what a teacher and a mentor meant to us, and still does.
            

Getting the names right (well, not always)

     When I hear or see the phrase "mistakes were made," if it pertains to journalism, I think of two names: John David Crowe and Charles McDaniels. 
     Make note of them. There's a catch. Get to it in a moment. 
     When I read a story or a book -- especially in the sports realm -- and I see a name that is misspelled or a fact that is obviously wrong, it reminds me that accuracy counts ... a lot.
     Personally, there have been some big misses, some big -- pardon the language -- dumbass moments. Easy to remember.
     Pointed out in a previous blog how once upon a time, I mixed up the names of coaches at the same school (Taylor for Turner at one, Sardisco for Cicero at another). Hey, it happens. 
     I recently saw segments in a couple of books that pertained to two of Woodlawn High School's greatest athletes, Mr. Bradshaw and Mr. Parish, which prompted this blog piece. 
     Saw some fact errors -- plenty, in fact, especially on names in a book published on Terry this year (I had several written and phone exchanges with the writer). Bugs me. 

Drop headline and top of the game story from the
1953 Byrd-Springhill game which Bill McIntyre of
The Shreveport Times considered the best high
school football game he covered. But "Crowe"
is incorrect.

     But then ... let's go back to the top, to those names -- Crowe and McDaniels. 
     They are wrong; they are misspelled. 
     People from Springhill -- and most old North Louisiana football fans -- will recognize them instantly. They are two of the greatest running backs ever from the old Springhill High School, the Lumberjacks.
     (The school now is called  North Webster High -- a consolidation of kids from Springhill, and the disbanded Shongaloo, Sarepta and Cotton Valley high schools. They even changed school colors and team nicknames. What's worse, it's the Knights ... even though North Louisiana already had some Knights.)
      OK, back to Crow and McDaniel. Those are the correct spellings. 
      The late John David Crow, a legend -- who went on to Texas A&M (and the Heisman Trophy) and the NFL and a terrific coaching/administrative career.
      Charles McDaniel, the legendary "Quick Six" who went on to an outstanding four-year career at Louisiana Tech and was an NFL Draft pick. 
      Here is the catch (and I have known this for years, but because of my first newspaper allegiance, I am just now publishing this fact, admitting it): Throughout their years at Springhill High, The Shreveport Times sports department never spelled their last names correctly.
      It's true. 
      In 1952, when John David Crow as a junior led Springhill to its first state football championship, and again in his great 1953 senior season -- when he was among the nation's top college recruits -- he was always Crowe in The Times. 

 Class AAA All-State story, 1970: McDaniels is there.

      And in 1970, the first year many high schools and their football programs in North Louisiana were largely integrated, McDaniel emerged as a running back who was a threat to  break for a touchdown any time he touched the ball ... thus, a "quick six."
      But all season, he was McDaniels in The Times. You can look it up. I did because that's what I remembered and I wanted to verify it.
      I wrote a lot about him that season, including the state semifinals loss (to Hammond) at Springhill's stadium, located just a couple of first downs from the Arkansas/Louisiana state line.
      In fact, I'd like to take credit for the "Quick Six" nickname. However, that is a stretch.
      What happened was that in the Nov. 8 game story on Springhill's 27-0 victory against Jesuit-Shreveport at Captain Shreve Stadium (a rare Saturday night regular-season high school game), I wrote that future opponents should "beware of the Lumberjacks' "quick six" gang, halfbacks Charles McDaniels and James Harris. They can score on you, and it doesn't take long."
      So not Charles specifically.
      Apparently, the name caught on at Springhill High. Someone, some group -- maybe the cheerleaders -- liked it, and pinned on McDaniel alone. The next week, we heard there were "Quick Six" banners strung at the Lumberjacks' game.
      From then on, he was "Quick Six." He wore jersey No. 36 that season at Springhill, but at Louisiana Tech for four years, he -- appropriately -- wore No. 6.
     As a freshman, he broke the Tech  record for points in one season (104, 17 TDs and one PAT catch), broke it three years later, and scored 52 career TDs (some "quick sixes").
      A puzzling aspect of the misspelled names: In 1952, The Times' main prep sports writer was Bill McIntyre, who a decade later became sports editor/lead columnist and -- full disclosure -- was my first boss there. He was an excellent journalist and writer, but, well, he missed on John David Crow's name.
     In 1970, I was a guilty part on McDaniel(s). Did have company; the rest of the writers who covered Springhill that season also missed it.
     Even in the All-State stories, the names are spelled Crowe and McDaniels. In the late Jerry Byrd's book Football Country, where he lists All-State teams near the back, it's McDaniels in 1970. But he did have Crow in 1952 and 1953.
     Can't understand this: Apparently no one from Springhill ever called to correct matters, in 1952-53 or 1970.
     And, I'm thinking that the names were misspelled on the Springhill rosters that were provided to us, on preseason forms and in game programs. Plus, the coaches (Billy Baucum was head coach in 1952-53, Travis Farrar was in 1970) never said a word.
     How's that for an excuse?
     Anyway, when John David showed up at Texas A&M for the 1954 football season, he was Crow. When "Quick Six" came to Louisiana Tech in the fall of 1971, he was McDaniel. 
     So, on Crowe and McDaniels, mistakes were made. And, for every co-worker that I scolded, or yelled at, or hurled an object their way (plus some nice language), because they messed up a fact or a name (or a bunch of names), I apologize -- again.
     I was going to list the names and the newspapers, but I don't have enough space.
     There were mistakes/omissions, too, in the book Survivors: 62511, 70726 about my parents and my family, and I received corrections/clarifications that I posted on the book's Facebook page.
     Mistakes are made. Can't always hide from them.                    

Football press boxes I have known and loved (or not)

     (Disclaimer: I am writing about football press boxes here, at Louisiana Tech. It is, in regard to the severe flooding in South Louisiana, a frivolous topic. Our hearts and prayers are with the people of this storm-stricken state. I live in Texas, but Louisiana is my home state, so I care.)
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      Those of us who have occupied football press boxes, and even did a little work in them, and those of us with Louisiana Tech University ties took note of last week's announcement with interest.
    Tech people are planning a new $16.7 million press box/guest suite facility atop Joe Aillet Stadium. It is going to be an impressive sight.
    Good. Wow.  
    It's about time.
    Not that we didn't appreciate the press box that opened when the stadium did in 1968. Those of us who worked in the old -- really old -- press box at what was Tech Stadium about a half-mile away really appreciated it.
    (There aren't many of us left that remember that old Tech Stadium press box. That one had only about 18 seats, and usually was really crowded. More on that in a moment.)
    We were excited when the new stadium -- a dream of coach-athletic director Joe Aillet for years -- was being built (while I was a student at Tech, starting in fall 1965).
    The press box, as it was being built, looked appealing. We looked forward to working there; in my case, as the Tech statistician during games, and then later covering games as a sportswriter.
    But, dang, that box was cramped and crowded and a bit dysfunctional from the start. It was -- and if I'm offending the construction company, sorry -- poorly designed.
    It was outdated from the start. It needed a redesign -- in 1968. (I'll return to this, too, in a few paragraphs.)
    Don't get the wrong idea. We were happy to be there, in an enclosed press box, especially if it rained. (Not so fortunate at some of the big-school, no-window press boxes -- LSU and Florida, to name two -- during rain games.)
    And at Joe Aillet Stadium, for the first couple of decades, the (free) meals were a real treat ... prime roast beef, fried chicken, good sides, good desserts, and eventually a popcorn machine. That's not the primary reason we were there -- to eat -- but it was a side benefit.
    Keith Prince, the sports information director at Tech for 25 years starting in 1969 and a good friend, helped me recall those times, and said the meal money wasn't in his department's budget but was provided by then-Tech President F. Jay Taylor, who also was treating the school's top benefactors, some of whom were visitors to his private press-box booth.
---
    I have covered games in a three-person press box, and some high school press boxes a little bigger, and some here in north central Texas that were new and roomy and college-level. I covered games at major university and NFL stadiums.
    The first press box I was in, at old State Fair Stadium in Shreveport, was mediocre, and that's being kind. The replacement at what became Independence Stadium had its issues.
    I was not exactly enamored with the old Tiger Stadium press box; the one now is very nice, as are those at Florida and Tennessee. But the problem with them -- for me, I'm not speaking for anyone else -- is they're too high up; it's better to watch the action on the nearby TVs (and, thankfully, most press boxes at colleges and in the NFL have those).
    Best press-box seat I've had for a college game was at Kentucky -- at the top of the lower level of seats. I think the new stadium here at TCU, about a mile from our apartments, has a fabulous press box/luxury suits level (and view). 
    But the best press-box seat ever was at Texas Stadium when the Cowboys moved there in 1971. Again, top of the lower level of seats, and the service -- stats provided, food, room to work, a small TV between every two seats -- was tops. And it was two press boxes -- one for print media, stats, etc.; one across the way for TV/radio people.
       (Then Jerry Jones took over the Cowboys and decided that great view was much better suited for big-money donors and the media was moved to the very top of Texas Stadium near what little roof there was. At the new Spaceship Stadium in Arlington, it's upper-level near the end zone on one side ... and closer to Fort Worth than the playing field.)
---
        So old Tech Stadium was, I think, a 1930s facility much too small and dated by the early 1960s. But when I first saw games from the press box there, as a high school junior and senior, I thought it was big-time. Absolutely thrilled to be there.
        But crowded, yes. By the time you put in the Tech sports information director (Pete Dosher then), the statistician (Frank "Spike" Bright and Mike Powell in the years before me), sportswriters from Shreveport and Monroe and the visiting team's media, the Tech radio crew (Bill Carter and Bill Darland then), the visiting radio (not all the schools had one), the public-address announcer (the venerable  "Major" Lawrence Fox), a spotter for him, a pro scout or two and opposing teams' scouts, it was a full and cramped place.
     And ... a Western Union man -- who took the stories from the various sportswriters and sent them in telegram-form to the respective papers. That's how it was done then, or by dictation with the one or two telephones there. The good old days.
     The friends I asked didn't remember the details about the old press box. What they remembered mostly was the hospitality shown by the wonderful Pete Dosher, a fine and crafty journalist and SID. 
---
      Paul Manasseh was the Tech SID in 1968 when the new stadium and press box opened, and Keith Prince took over the next football season; each of them were pros who were good to and provided well for the media. 
      What was special about the first two years at Joe Aillet Stadium, remembers O.K. "Buddy" Davis, my old friend, fellow Tech journalist and sports editor of the Ruston Daily Leader for 50-plus years, is that those were Terry Bradshaw's great two seasons as the Tech quarterback.
        But that press box was built with, as a friend put it, "a flaw in spacing." The front-row seats at first were too close to the working counter in front, so guys with, well, big bellies, couldn't sit there. That was quickly adjusted. But, always, the upper back-row seats were built too close to the front row; you had to squeeze down the front-row alley; even (then) skinny guys like me.
       It is, as that friend said, "difficult to walk the length of the press box. It's impossible without touching someone, or with having to scooch into a wall or a chair. There is little room to serve food. Very difficult for student workers to get info passed out."
        In the first couple of years, there was no elevator, so equipment had to be carried up. Not a big problem, but still ... Then when they installed the elevator, it was s-l-o-w. It's been s-l-o-w for 45 years.
       The working booths upstairs, for radio-TV, scouts and team coaches, and the President's box, were all too small, too tight, and one level. No elevated seats, which is common now in most press boxes to accommodate -- in particular -- the four or five coaches each team sends upstairs. 
       At some point, Tech added a level for TV cameras, and in 1988, a Sky Box "luxury" level -- for major Tech donors -- above the main press. Still everything was crowded.                  
       There has been -- forever -- one bathroom per level ... one tiny bathroom. Go figure. (Or go outside.)
        Same friend's observation on this press box: "... workable, but way outdated. A very uncomfortable press box."
---               
        So, yes, the new Tech press-box plans ...
        It is going to stretch from 10-yard line to 10-yard line, so 80 yards wide. That should be plenty for the media level and the luxury-box level.
        (To be honest, I've been to two Tech home games in some 35 years. The press box media level was maybe half occupied. But, hopefully, this will attract more attention and more people.)
         The best part of all of this is: All of the construction money, $18.6 million in all (with $1.9 million in other stadium improvements), is to be privately donated. No state money involved.
          The cynical part of me asks: Is this illusions (delusions) of grandeur for a school Tech's size? Is this not too much? Why 80 yards wide? Why not 45 or 60? A friend suggests that the word "overbuilding" applies here.
          The press-box fan in me says: This is necessary, long overdue. A redesign/renovation would have been good years ago.
          Certainly, the luxury-level boxes will bring a significant chunk of revenue to the university.
          The Tech fan in me reads that it is part of the overall
 vision Tech President Dr. Les Guice has for the university (the enrollment goal of 15,000 students by 2020) and new facilities and other improvements/updates all over the campus. And that's great.
          I would hope that this type money will put be into classrooms, dorms, cafeterias, the Student Union, the library, etc., and I trust that it is.
          Certainly, a new football press box will be great for the media, for Malcolm Butler (the current SID, in his 18th year) and staff, and it will be an impressive sight on the Tech campus. If it helps make Tech a more elite mid-major athletic program, I'm for it. If it helps attracts new students and new Tech supporters, even better.
         If you're going to do it, do it big and do it right. Go first-class, and serve the hungry media. 
              

The media and coaches: On the firing line

      We watched Les Miles being fired in the media as the head football coach at LSU in late November, and it was -- if you are partial to the Tigers -- an unsettling but fascinating chapter.
      Didn't happen, of course, but it made me think again of the media's role in the business of firing and hiring coaches. Is it the media's job to write or say -- or demand -- that coaches be let go or be forced to resign?
      In the sports world, speculation/analysis is almost as much fun (is that the right word?) as it is about politics. But, heck, politics isn't nearly as important as sports.
      I've always believed it is not the media's role to flat-out call for a coach's dismissal, and I've never done it on a local/state level. But I am "old school," and it's a new age, and my day has passed. More on this below.

Louis Van Gaal: A Dutchman coaching the Manchester
United soccer team -- and battling the English media.

      I was going to write about Miles and the media, but what really triggered this piece was a couple of news conference I saw with a soccer coach recently. Yes, soccer.
      Those of us from Louisiana think Miles has the most high-profile job in sports. You probably have not heard of Louis Van Gaal, who has arguably -- my opinion -- the most high-profile job in all of sports.
      I am, of course, partial to a Dutchman whose name starts with Louis Van ...
      Louis Van Gaal has had some of the world's top soccer coaching jobs -- Ajax Amsterdam, Barcelona, Bayern Munich and (my favorite) twice The Netherlands national team. The job he has now, Manchester United, is the most prestigious in the English Premier League and -- my opinion -- of any club team in the world. 
      Those are the Yankees, Dodgers, Red Sox, Celtics, Lakers, Cowboys, Packers, Canadiens -- all rolled into one. (OK, maybe a slight exaggeration.) But Man U. has more Premier League titles (20) than any team and had a legendary coach, Alex Ferguson -- Sir Alex -- who was Lombardi, Stengel, Landry, the Bear, Scotty Bowman, etc., of England.             
      And in his second year there -- after eight consecutive matches without a victory and the team's worst season in 25 years -- Van Gaal is catching hell, from fans and -- yes -- the media.
      His recent news conferences -- and his exchanges (battles) with the English media -- are an ongoing soap opera.
      Like in the case of Miles, the media already has him "sacked" -- that's the European term for fired. But it hasn't happened, which is why it's ongoing. And what Van Gaal touched on recently made a lot of sense to me.
      He talked about the human element involved in these situations, how it's not just the coach -- who despite salaries of millions of dollars still have feelings, and more importantly, lots of people around them (family, assistants, staff, friends) who are affected.
      I thought back to Miles and how, on the night of the Texas A&M game when most everyone thought he was about to be fired, the TV cameras and announcers several times focused on Miles' family. In the news conference afterward -- after the "he is still our coach" announcement -- Miles also talked about his family.
---
      No matter how you feel about Miles, you have to admit he kept his cool during the hectic two weeks when he was being roasted and "fired." As he pointed out, he just kept working and he did tried to answer all the speculative questions the best he could.
      Only twice, when asked about his feelings, did he respond in a suggestive manner.
      In the news conference after the A&M game, he said, "There's probably a guy or two I'd like to meet in an alley and just have a little straight talk with, but I'm not built that way."
      And in a news conference before LSU's bowl game with Texas Tech in Houston, he was asked, "Is there any bitterness toward some of the people that possibly leaked out some of this stuff about you?" His reply: "I promise you, should I find out who was in conversation there, I would -- that would be a lot of fun for me to know."
      I am assuming he meant LSU Board of Supervisors people, not the media.
      But Van Gaal's target was the media, no question.
---   
     You think coaches in pro football, basketball and hockey, and managers in baseball, and of course, college football and basketball coaches are under a lot of pressure here? Not even close to what happens in the soccer world.
      Coaching jobs change rapidly in that sport. Already this season, among others, defending English champion Chelsea, Liverpool and -- just Monday -- Real Madrid (generally sports' richest team, the only one richer than Manchester United) changed coaches.
      Van Gaal hasn't been "sacked" ... not yet. But he is as displeased with media as they are with him.
      He has a reputation as an aloof, know-it-all arrogant manager -- sounds like some U.S. coaches we know -- but when I read that he "stormed out" or "walked out in a huff" of his news conference on Dec. 23, that's not how I saw it.
      Yes, he had an agenda. But he didn't rant; he didn't lose it; he didn't do Nick Saban or Mike Gundy or Jim Mora or Dabo Swinney on "Clemsoning" or even the occasional fired-up Les Miles routine. English media stories called Van Gaal "fiery." I thought he was calm and measured, stern and direct and -- my feeling -- honest. He did leave after three questions and five minutes, but he gave the media plenty.
       Here is how it went:
       He began by asking the media, "Has anybody in this room not a feeling to apologize to me?" (Oh, they must have loved that.) That's what I am wondering.
       “I think I was already sacked I have read. Or have been sacked. Or that my colleague [ex-Chelsea coach Jose Mourinho] was here already.
       “What do you think that happens with my wife or with my kids? Or with my grandchildren? Or with the fans of Manchester United? Or with my friends? What do you think?
       “They have called me, a lot of times, and also [Arsenal coach] Arsene Wenger is saying something about that.
       “Do you think I want to talk with the media now? I am here only because of the Premier League rules. I have to talk with you. But I can only see that when I talk to you that you put it in your context."
       In other words, the media will write or say whatever they want to.
       He went on to say that he still felt support from his players and top team officials and that the atmosphere around the team was positive. Then he added, “But I didn't feel that [warmth] in the media. I can imagine that you can write about that subject."
        When the media kept badgering him, he had had enough.
        "I wish you a merry Christmas and also maybe a happy new year when I see  you," he said. "Enjoy the wine and mince pie. Goodbye." And he walked out; he didn't storm out.
       A week later, after another loss, the media again asked about the assurance/support of team chairman Edward Woodward and Sir Alex Ferguson.
       "When they have said that, I don't say it to you because it is not any of your business," Van Gaal replied.
       Like I said, fun times at Man U. But I could empathize with the coach under fire.
---
        So in my career -- through Shreveport, Honolulu, Jacksonville, Knoxville -- I never personally wrote that a coach should be fired, nor did anyone on our staff do that. I could be wrong, but I don't remember any case.
        Sure we knew of some coaches who struggled in their positions and maybe weren't qualified, but my feeling was that these things take care of themselves. It was up to school officials/administration and/or boosters.
        For instance, for all of the "Help Mac Pack" talk about Charlie McClendon in 19 years as LSU's head coach, I am pretty sure that no one in the Louisiana media ever wrote that he should be fired. Charlie Mac was friends with most of the men who covered his teams.
         Then I came to Fort Worth and media here didn't mind passing judgment on Rangers/Cowboys/Mavericks/Stars managers/coaches. And I do have friends who have called for college coaching changes.
         Because of the expanded media world -- talk shows, Internet sites, blogs -- it is a new day. As a friend pointed out, "Objective journalism is hard to find any more. It doesn't sell."
         I have a friend who did think Miles should have been let go, and he has twice called for coaching changes -- 23 years apart. But he said, "I don't write it unless I absolutely believe it and back it up with facts."
         Another friend, a longtime scribe, said, "My personal stance is I won't call for somebody to be fired. I'm not an AD. What I will do is point out how bad things are."
         Yet another friend said: "I never overtly called for a firing; didn't think it was my place. Would lay out the facts and all but hit the reader over the head but never said fire him." As an example, he used the case of one of the former LSU football coaches.
          These are friends, and all good journalists. And I think they'd agree that the media is in a sweet spot in this regard: We are fortunate that -- with few exceptions -- we don't have football or basketball (or soccer) coaches sitting in judgment of our work, saying that we should be let go.
          As my wife points out, there's enough judging going on about the media within our own ranks.
               

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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