Three sweet women ... our treasures

       We count our blessings daily, especially for our family and so many great friends, but there is a special love for three "old" women in Shreveport.
    Because they were so special to my parents, our love is never-ending for Pauline Murov, her younger sister Ruth  Nierman, and Lou Gwin.
    We lost Pauline a week ago today, not unexpectedly because she was 96 and her life extended nine months past when we thought it might end. She was, as her niece Helaine Nierman Braunig posted on Facebook in announcing her death, "sweet and hilariously funny."
    We were in Shreveport, at B'nai Zion Temple, for her memorial service last Thursday -- a beautiful and touching service, sad as all memorial services are, but also, befitting Pauline's personality, containing funny moments.
    Saying goodbye was the hard part of the day. The good part: seeing Ruthie, at 92 recovered from a recent broken hip. And then, an hour later, a visit with Lou, who at 89 is at a rehabilitation center recovering from pneumonia.

Pauline Murov and Ruth Nierman: the beloved Gilbert sisters,
three years ago on a visit to Colorado Springs

    As with Pauline, the wonderful aspect is that even after all these years, Ruthie and Lou are as sharp-minded as ever, no signs of aging mentally, still daily looking ahead.
    We have known them all for six decades.
    Pauline and Ruth are the daughters of Abe A. Gilbert, who had a job (at the Pipe & Supply company that carried his name) waiting for Dad when we arrived in the United States. We met them the first week we were in Shreveport (early January 1956).
    They would be the biggest benefactors we had -- the best of our support system. The only one who would match them was Janice Cahn, who became like the mother my mother no longer had after 1943.
     If Mrs. Cahn was mother-like, Lou Gwin was like my mother's sister -- her best friend almost from the day we moved to Sunset Acres (July 4, 1957), a next-door neighbor for a decade, a neighborhood neighbor the next 40 years.
     These women were our treasures.
     We think of them, and we think: kind, generous, upbeat, positive, lovely. 
---     
      I wrote about Pauline and Ruthie four years ago, and our connection to the Gilbert family: http://nvanthyn.blogspot.com/2012/04/shreveports-first-family.html
      The connection carries on because we now live within walking distance of where the Gilbert girls grew up in the 1930s and early 1940s, in Fort Worth, in the TCU neighborhood. I walk or drive past their old home a couple of times a week.
      During the memorial service Thursday, I remembered that Pauline outlived her father -- my Dad's first boss here -- by 50 years, and outlived her husband Lazar -- my Dad's second boss at the pipeyard -- by 20 years.
      To open the service, our favorite rabbi -- Jana De Benedetti, of B'nai Zion -- said: "Beautiful full room of people who don't want to be here. We are sad to be saying good-bye, but she -- Pauline, Aunt Sissy, Aunt Peshy -- lived an incredibly wonderful life filled with amazing experiences, lots of wonderful family ... "
      Rabbi Jana added how that most of us "wish we could have the kind of blessed end that she had. Peaceful. She thought she was going to die many months ago, and didn't.
      "... She had this extra time to talk to people, and the things that she said to people, and the things that people got to say to her were really wonderful, important things."
      A little later, she had us lift up our imaginary cups in a symbolic toast -- "l'chaim." Wine, someone suggested -- Mogem David wine. Rabbi Jana laughed and said, "I wasn't thinking wine." Pauline did like her occasional drinks.
      And then our co-favorite rabbi, Jordan Braunig, gave the eulogy. He is one of the six grandsons of Ruth Nierman, and  Pauline, he noted, transitioned over the years from beloved great aunt to surrogate grandmother to them. 
      "My grandmother (Ruth) has instructed me to speak into the microphone," Rabbi Jordan began. "I can think of no better way of honoring Aunt Sissy than to speak very loudly."
      He then told of her last birthday gathering, a surprise planned by the family and her caretakers. 
      "For those of us who spoke to her that day, there was something bittersweet in her voice," he recalled. "She absolutely loved the party they made for her, and at the same time, it would most certainly be her last. Pauline had months of knowing this day was coming and she lived them bravely, reflecting on the arc of her life. She lived them with pleasure, continuing to have dinner with her sister and accepting the many visitors who called on her.
      "She lived these days maintaining her one-of-a-kind sense of humor. In one of my last visits with her, we were joking about her healthy appetite, and she waved her hand at us and said, 'Make fun of me all you want, I can't hear you anyway.' "
      He spoke of her sister connection to so many old friends and groups, the love for so much family -- immediate and extended -- and the strong connection she and Lazar had for 49 years of marriage.
      It wasn't all perfect -- whose life is, after all?  There were family problems and disconnection.  
      As Jordan said, though, "In easy times and hard, she remained devoted, hopeful, loving."
      And he added, "There were many ways in which Pauline also grew funnier and more honest and more reflective as she got older" and, in many cases, delivered "the God-honest truth.
      "She was delightfully honest and funny, and had a self-deprecating side to her humor that was endearing," he said. "She was the least bit self-conscious, and she knew who she was.
      "Arriving at a restaurant, she would reach into her purse and pull out a bib that said, 'Miss Clean Pauline.' Unless, of course, it was a fancy restaurant, in which case she would reach for the sequined bib."
      "She always claimed she wasn't trying to be funny. She was just saying what she thought, speaking her mind. And whether it was intended or not, she brought out joy and laughter in those around her. She increased happiness in the world she encountered."
---
      What sticks with us most is the connection with Ruthie. The Murovs and the Niermans were part of our lives from 1956 on, so influential in my Mom and Dad's lives.
      For years, after Mr. Murov's death, Pauline dined with Ruth and Neal almost nightly and that continued after Neal's death in 2008 (just a month after my Dad's death). The girls, remarkably healthy for most of their 90-plus years, were traveling, shopping, Temple-going and -- mostly -- emotional companions.
      "To witness the lifelong friendship between these two sisters is to know what you can aspire to in your familial relationships," Rabbi Jordan said, pointing out the daily -- hourly, maybe -- phone calls.
      "At some point in their lives, they made the decision that they were in this together, and they would do all the work that it takes to be sisters, and to be friends.
      "Pauline would joke that when their parents were old that they asked her to take care of Ruthie, and that she agreed." Then, a laugh, "But she didn't expert her to live so long."
      When they last visited three weeks ago, with Pauline talking about memorial service plans, she told Jordan "not to go on too long. If she were here, I'm sure Pauline would wave her hand at me and 'say whatever you want about me, I can't hear you anyway.'
      "What I want to say, loudly and into the microphone, but what I believe she already knew, is that she was loved by a wide community of friends and family, that she was worthy of that love, and that her memory will continue to be cherished."
      Yes, it will.
---                  
      In my mother's final days, as she was in a rehab center after a broken hip and surgery, Pauline and Ruthie were almost daily visitors, bringing gifts and treats -- and conversation with Mom and her main caretaker, Beatrice Van Thyn.
      Another everyday visitor: Lou Gwin.
      I also wrote four years ago about Lou, recalling all the friends we made in our growing-up neighborhood: http://nvanthyn.blogspot.com/2012/10/in-sunset-acres-friends-for-lifetime.html

Our dear friend Miss Lou,
with great granddaughter Brooklynn

         Here is what I said then: :" ... And Miss Lou remains in South Broadmoor; we saw her a week ago. She's the wonderful, simple country girl who understood how much of a friend my mother -- an often-fragile Holocaust survivor from a faraway place but also a dynamic, forceful Holocaust educator -- needed her to be."
      One other sentence from that blog: "When my mother's health declined, Lou Gwin was about the only person she really trusted (other than my wife Bea) to do anything she needed."
       She has been, since her husband Howard's death 27 years ago, living by herself -- an independent force, until a few years ago still cutting her own grass, driving (carefully) to the store and faithfully attending church, and best of all, spending lots of time with her beloved great granddaughter, Brooklynn.
        A pacemaker installed a year ago slowed her a little, but our visits with her nearly every time we were in Shreveport were much the same. 
        So we were concerned when we heard about the pneumonia and hospitalization a few weeks ago. She is bouncing back, taking well to the rehab (she acknowledged with a laugh and a shake of the head that it is a daily test), and there is a ways to go to get her back on her feet.
         We are, to say the least, rooting hard for her, hoping she can return to her own home, on her feet. Just as we continue to cherish the ongoing days of Ruth Nierman.
         Here is how the Van Thyn family -- mine and my sister Elsa's -- feels about Pauline, Ruthie and Lou: forever grateful, forever loved. They are our treasures.
                  
     
    

A worthy cause: The "GameChanger"

        Two areas I usually avoid: (1) raising funds for a cause; (2) writing about Jesus Christ.
        Today is an exception.
        The cause is the ongoing fund-raising effort for a Christian documentary/film --  GameChanger: The Kenneth Harvey Story. We can use your help ... and your money.
         The part about Jesus? If you know me, and my family's religious heritage (Jewish), you know this is not our focus. So why today? Read on.
         If you have followed my blog and/or received my e-mails for the past three years, you will know that Kenneth Harvey -- a hero in his hometown, Logansport, La. -- is a person we greatly admire.
         Three years ago, I wrote a 12-part series on Kenneth and his life before and after the brain-stem injury he suffered during a Logansport High School football game late in his senior season (1964, also my senior year in high school).
          He had been a star athlete -- quarterback and safety in football, and an even better basketball player. He was a college basketball prospect -- a rangy (6-foot-3), skillful shooter.
          He never walked again; his legs paralyzed. But with only partial use of his hands and arms, he has lived on courageously and as an inspiration. Until two years ago, he lived in an apartment by himself and drove a customized van.
          He has since been in an assisted living facility in nearby Mansfield, but the hope is that he can return to live -- and live well -- in Logansport.
          Kenneth is a deeply religious man -- always has been -- and it is his faith, his Christian testimony in churches in Logansport and the area, that is the basis of this story.
          As the DVD and poster promoting the documentary/film idea proclaim: "I am quarterbacking for Jesus Christ now."
          His friends in town, and in DeSoto Parish, honored him on Oct. 30, 2009, with "Kenneth Harvey Day" and a statue/tribute next to the Logansport High football stadium. 
          The organizers of those special honors now are working on the documentary/film that will tell Kenneth's story. Ben Freeman, John G. Russell, Mary Mac Thompson and Sissy Morris are among the leaders of the effort and the "Kenneth Harvey Advisory Committee," which has been holding monthly meetings in Logansport over the past year.
           As you also might know, there is a Facebook page dedicated to the effort, a "Go Fund Me" page linked to it, and a web site (www.gamechangerthekennethharveystory.com).
           Through various endeavors, the committee has raised some $14,000 of the $30,000 needed for producer-director Troy LeBlanc of Elyon Media -- based in San Antonio, where Ben and Cynthia Freeman live -- to begin to do the actual filming they have planned.
           The committee currently is promoting a project with Logansport-area church pastors and deacons to help raise funds. They have a letter, plus the DVD and the poster, asking for help.
           In part, the letter reads: "The Advisory Team feels that Kenneth's life story is a powerful witness to the love of Jesus Christ and to those who hear Kenneth's story."
           So not only is the committee asking for contributions from churches and its members, the letter also says that "Kenneth is available to visit your church on a first-come basis."
           If you are reading this in Shreveport-Bossier or elsewhere in North Louisiana or East Texas, I hope that you will consider going to your church leaders and ask them to be part of this. And make a financial contribution.
          (And if anyone has a connection or input with the Duck Dynasty/Duck Commander organization, let them know about it. The Duck Commander leader, I hear, once was a 1960s quarterback in North Louisiana -- a year older than Kenneth.)             
          I'll say this with no reservation: Making a contribution to this is money spent a heckuva lot better than giving to one of the political parties. Not much Christian about the millions being spent there.
---
          Checks should be made to "Gamechanger: The Kenneth Harvey Story" LLC. Mailing address: P.O. Box 791, Logansport, LA 71049
          All monies collected should be deposited at Community Bank of Louisiana to the account of "Gamechanger: The Kenneth Harvey Story" LLC.
          Those interested in having Kenneth speak at their church, should phone John Russell at 318-697-4303.
                      
            
              

Our ode to Coach Billy Joe

     When the news came that Billy Joe Adcox had died Tuesday night in Ruston, La., five days short of his 85th birthday, it was no surprise. Alzheimer's had robbed his mind several years ago.
      I would ask friends in Ruston about him over the years, and it was hard to hear. Because he was a man we respected. He was a mentor and a friend.
      He was, in my opinion, as good at what he coached -- offensive line in football -- as anyone at any level.
      The decline these final years was so difficult for Miss Shirley, his wife of almost 60 years, and the three children and six grandchildren, plus a considerable extended family.
      We're thinking of them today. The funeral is Friday in Ruston, with burial in Atlanta, Ark.
      Coach Adcox was an Arkansas boy. But the bulk of his life and career was in North Louisiana.   
      He was a quiet, genteel man, a man of few words, a nice guy who I never heard use bad language.
      But when I first encountered him -- as a team manager at Woodlawn High School in Shreveport in the early 1960s -- I wasn't sure that he was nice. Neither were the players he coached.
     When it came to football, he was a tough guy. Nice didn't apply. As a player, and then for years as an offensive line coach, he was uncompromising.
      My great friend for decades, Casey Baker, was a Woodlawn offensive lineman (1962-64) and I know this morning he's thinking about this, because we always joked about it. If it was cloudy before practice, Adcox would go outside, point at the sky and say "hut, hut," -- and soon the clouds would disappear. No rain at practice.
       And he's also thinking this: "Per, Casey, that was per. Let's do it again."
       That came to mind when I received a note from Sid Huff, a team manager at Fair Park High in 1969 when Adcox became head coach there.
       "I can still see Coach Adcox," Sid wrote, "walking around the practice field twirling his keys back and forth and saying, 'Per ... that's per,' which was his pronunciation of 'poor' during pass blocking drills."
       Yes, a lot of us remember that. Adcox didn't stand for "per."
---               
       No question, Billy Joe Adcox was a winner, an achiever -- as an undersized offensive guard when he played, then with the teams he helped coach -- at Woodlawn (1960-68) and Fair Park (head coach 1969-72, assistant 1973-76). 
       As an offensive line coach, he was demanding, dedicated. As ruler of the equipment room, the dispenser of helmets, pads, socks, jocks and shoes, etc. he was -- well -- frugal and conservative.
       He might've been that way, too, in real life, I don't know for sure. But I can tell you -- and the Woodlawn coaches would laugh at this -- not much was ever wasted.
       Jerseys, shoes, equipment went from varsity level to practically worn out, but Adcox kept issuing this stuff to B-team and sophomore-team players. Kids would bring worn-out cleats to the equipment room, pleading for replacements. No deal.
       But he also took pride in the uniforms; once Woodlawn began winning and making money in football in the early 1960s, the staff kept purchasing equipment. At one time, there were three sets of helmets (red, white and blue) and five sets of jerseys, three sets of pants.
       Adcox liked a well-dressed team as much as he loved a well-drilled team.
      The players -- and, yes, the team managers -- were just a bit afraid of him. You did not want Coach Adcox griping at you. And, well, he did gripe -- often.
       He was conservative with words; a short phrase might be all you got. From my sportswriting perspective, he was no quote machine. But from a team manager's perspective, I know this: We kept that equipment room very orderly.
---
       Don't get the wrong idea, though. He was not an "ugly" person or coach.
       Even in football -- as I noted in an e-mail I sent to people late Wednesday night -- he wasn't an aggressive coach, not a yeller or cusser. He made his points to his players briefly and directly and sometimes sarcastically ("c,mon, fellas"). He wanted them to play aggressively, but clean. He would not let his players settle for anything but their best.
      Adcox was, in my opinion, an excellent teacher (football and, yes, driver's education, as many kids will remember).
      He was masterful at teaching blocking techniques, pass protection -- moving the feet, getting proper leverage on opponents ... and being more determined, more competitive than the other guy.
      There was a reason the well-known quarterbacks at Woodlawn -- Billy Laird, Trey Prather, Terry Bradshaw, Joe Ferguson -- were successful passers. Their offensive lines gave them plenty of chances.
      This was especially true in Ferguson's three years as a starter. When Woodlawn went to an all-out passing game -- unique for that era -- in the 1967 and 1968 seasons, the key to letting Joe's strong and accurate right arm cut up defenses was offensive-line protection that rarely broke down.
       He had some outstanding, nice-sized lines in the mid-1960s. But before that, he took kids in the 150- to 170-pound range who really had little business playing at the Class AAA level and guided them into productive, winning players. Even those of us who watched it up close were amazed at players' development.
        Maybe he enjoyed that most because they reminded him of himself -- the smaller guy who excelled enough at El Dorado (Ark.) High School to earn a scholarship to Louisiana Tech, the small-but-tough guard who became an all-conference lineman for Coach Joe Aillet, and then played football in the service (he was an Air Force lieutenant).
      One of his early mentors was the great Paul "Bear" Bryant; Adcox was a graduate assistant coach at Alabama as he earned his master's degree.
      He then went into coaching as an assistant as his alma mater (El Dorado) under his high school coach, the well-respected, successful Garland Gregory, who also had been a standout lineman once at Louisiana Tech and played in the NFL.
      At Woodlawn, Adcox was part of the original five-man coaching staff beginning in 1960. The program went from an 0-9 first season to the winningest big-class team in Louisiana in the 1960s.
      Adcox coached on 10 district championship teams, 12 playoff teams, and in five state championship games (El Dorado, 1958 and 1959; Woodlawn, 1965 and 1968; Fair Park, 1974).
       He was an integral part of the 1968 state champions. His obit says the state championship came at Fair Park, but that 1974 team -- a wonderful team to cover -- lost a 9-0 fourth-quarter lead and fell 10-9 (on a late field goal) to Tara (Baton Rouge).
      In 1969, he left Woodlawn to become head coach at rival Fair Park and his first team went 8-2 in the regular season and shared the district title with ... Woodlawn, which was the No. 1 seed because it beat Fair Park 13-6.
       (A quick aside: At The Shreveport Times postseason banquet that year, Adcox was being honored as our city  "Coach of the Year." He sat at the head table and the paper's editor, Raymond McDaniel, came to sit next to him.
       When they were introduced, Mr. McDaniel thought it was Joe Bill Adcock, the baseball star from Coushatta. He was quickly corrected: "I'm Bill Adcox." I don't think Coach Adcox was pleased, but he probably had been mistaken for Joe Bill before.)
       In four seasons as head coach, Adcox's teams went 23-17-1. But he didn't enjoy the time-consuming, off-the-field tasks in the role, so Jimmy Orton -- once a Fair Park great in three sports and for years the de facto offensive coordinator -- became head coach in 1973 and Adcox stayed on as -- first love -- offensive-line assistant coach.
     After his coaching days, he moved to Ruston for a job as the purchasing agent at Louisiana Tech. He was in that position for 22 years -- I visited with him in his office there a couple of times -- and I can just imagine that Tech did not make any wasteful purchases in that time.
      He retired at Tech and began working parttime at a cleaners business in Ruston. When his mind began fading, and he got up at about 3 a.m. and drove to work one night, Miss Shirley knew it was trouble. Sad; it's a horrible disease.
      He was a man who knew who he was, who was quietly confident and sure of what he was doing. We all knew that.
      He was a very good family man, religious -- a deacon in his Baptist church for years.
      The quietest of the Woodlawn coaches, he was the target of practical jokes, especially because he feared snakes. So a rubber snake often appeared in one of his desk drawers or his locker or his shoes. "Per" idea. 
      But those coaches knew his value, and values. He was well-liked and respected by them and by opposing coaches.
      All of us, too -- his players and, yes, the managers -- ended up loving him. 
     

Staying connected (or not) ... my political world

        So I've taken a three-week break from blogging, for one reason because the last two weeks have been so difficult.
     These have been sad times, depressing -- and I don't like being depressed. I want to think that my world view is more optimistic, but these last 14 days ... dang, it's hard.
     Makes me sometimes wish I could do without television, the computer and the phone.
     Which is why six hours two weeks ago Tuesday -- July 5 -- were actually kind of nice but also distressing.
     Got up that morning, the night after a significant storm hit here, to find that (1) my computer would not connect to the Internet and (2) the TV would come on, then not function.
     Those kind of things can mean panic here in this apartment.
     See the accompanying photo: That's our TV/Internet (U-Verse) modem. If those five green lights are on, good. If four are on, OK. Anything less, and especially if the bottom one turns red, uh-oh.
     We weren't totally out of touch. Bea's I-Pad was working fine; my phone was connected to the Internet. So e-mail and Facebook and Twitter were available there.
     But I like the TV; I like the computer -- and I want to use them. No such luck that day.
     Still, through the other devices, we weren't cut off from the world. So we learned this ...
     It was that morning that the news broke that the FBI was not going to charge you-know-who with wrongdoing in regard to e-mail servers. That news, of course, sent many people into orbit. 
     I've written this once or twice or 128 times before -- I try not to discuss politics online or with my friends who I know don't see the political/social world the same way I do. Does no good; only can cause hard feelings, and I value the friendships more than telling those people how stupid and gullible they are.
     I am going to say this again: I am sick and tired of this political season. I have been sick and tired of it for more than a year; I am going to be sick and tired of it through at least early November. 
     Aren't you?
     The answer to that is yes. But it's also no, not enough to shut up about it. I am appalled at the harshness, the bitterness, the ugliness of so many people's Facebook posts and e-mails about so many things.
     On Facebook, I have "turned off" many people's posts. But I do not turn off all of the posts I don't like because I want to keep somewhat of an open mind. There are people I respect, longtime friends, that I might not agree with -- aw, heck, I disagree -- but I will consider their viewpoint.
     They won't change my mind, but I pay attention. Because I want to stay connected to the world.
---
     So back to that morning and afternoon without my computer and the TV. I am not a technologically minded person; I am not a dumbass ... but close (there's a laugh there). It took a while, but I have figured out enough on the computer to set up my blog, write it, insert photos and then post it.      
     On this day, though, nothing I did was working. Then, nothing on the TV moved. The remote control doesn't scare me as badly as it did for months, but be it computer or TV, I am fearful of tinkering too much and making matters worse.
     So I knew to call AT&T for technical support. Doing so  is generally a pain in the behind. But at least I didn't panic as badly.
     It took two phone calls -- got cut off the first time -- and two disconnecting and resets of the system, but when the red light on the modem turned green, I knew we were about back in business on the TV.
     The computer, not so much. I looked and looked and looked, and could not find the network/sharing page I needed. The "off" button for connectivity stayed off.
     Before making a third call to AT&T -- this is now 6 p.m. -- I decided to keep looking, keep trying. And ... yes! I found the right button, the right page, and as soon as I did, I saw the "off" button for connectivity switch to on.
     By then, I'd also found that I somehow had switched on the button, bottom left front on the computer, for Bluetooth -- thus preventing the normal Internet connection. But even after that, the problem was -- I think -- that the storm the night before had knocked off my computer offline.
     Once I put in the Internet access code and the password (a complicated one), I was back in business.
---
     And then the two weeks of bad news began, every day or so it seemed. Baton Rouge, Minnesota, Dallas, Bastille Day in Nice, France, coup attempt in Turkey and hundreds dead, Baton Rouge again. 
     This after the Pulse club in Orlando, after Paris, San Bernardino, Charleston, Colorado, and go back some, Fort Hood, the Boston Marathon, Sandy Hook, Virginia Tech, Colorado again ... back, back, back to Oklahoma City and 9-11. Schools, churches, military bases, planes blown up or disappearing, hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing the Middle East for Europe.
     It's just keeps happening. So fast now it's hard to keep up. What a world, what a country we're living in.
     Meanwhile, there are the memorial services and the tributes, and the reporting and analysis never-ending on news shows. The endless debate on gun control and on racial matters and on ISIS and ...
     Practically every day, the candidates for President hammering, belittling each other. People hammering, belittling the candidates. People playing the Blame Game. Blame the Black Lives Matter movement, blame the white supremacists, blame ISIS, blame the LGBT people, blame guns, blame the media, blame the liberals, blame the conservatives, blame Hillary, blame Trump, blame the President. Always blame the President.
      It goes with the President's job. We've been listening -- for a couple of months -- to an audio tape (33 discs) and here is what we heard late last week:
       "... What is indisputable is that the democratic Republican society led to a much more raucous style of American politics. Instead of discussing politics politely at dinner tables or in smoky taverns, these groups were likely to take to the streets in mass rallies.
      "These government critics also had few qualms about chastising their leaders. ... Now the opposition sought to debunk [the President's] entire life and tear to shreds the upright image he had so sedulously fostered. ..."
      Talking about Obama? Oh, no. George Washington!
      The book is Washington: A Life, by Ron Chernow, also the author of Hamilton, which led to the Broadway musical (ever hear of it?).
       At the end of his second term, Washington was pretty darned unpopular, particularly with some of his fellow Founding Fathers (such as Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, Presidents-to-be Nos. 3 and 4).
       George Washington, the Father of our feuding country.
---
      Heck, I blame Jerry Jones. Nah, not this time (wait a couple of months).
      Blame Nick Saban, who assures us it's much tougher being a college football head coach than, say, being an officer of the law. Just don't ask him about disciplining his players for a little marijuana use and a gun in their car ... because, well, there are LSU fans in Louisiana and the system is "rigged" (gee, where have we heard that?).
       If the media dares to ask Coach Saban, well, blame them, too ... for doing their jobs.
       I blame the New York Yankees, for some mediocre baseball this season. But as I often say and know full well, not many people feel sorry for them. Also know this: We've won our share and lots of other teams' shares.
       Really, I blame Richard Nixon -- for everything. That's an easy one.
       The worst President ever. He was a crook. Twice-elected, Republicans. Hard to forgive that; soured me forever on Republicans. But you have a chance to top it this year.
        Just got done reading Last of the President's Men by Bob Woodward. Oh, Tricky Dick. Talk about crooked and liar, about self-absorbed, arrogant, deceitful, paranoid, conspiracy theories, and "a secret plan" that really wasn't there. And, out of the public and media's sight, cursing and a blacklist.
         Give Mr. Trump this: Unlike Nixon, he doesn't hide his terribly slanted views. His flaws are out there. I could go on, but I'm not going to.
          I'll blame Trump for stirring up the nation's anger, and taking millions with him. And millions will blame Hillary ... and Obama and, well, George Washington.
         Here's my disqualifier for Trump; I could list a thousand reasons. But if David Duke endorses you, if Bobby Knight speaks up for you ... that's enough for me.
         Ah, I got into politics some, didn't I? Sorry to bother you.
         I like news shows, news/analysis shows; I want to hear and see the reasoning, the differing viewpoints. Might not agree, but I want to do my own evaluation.
         Can't hide from the bad news, either. Wish it wasn't so. The protest marches, the mass deaths remind us of the difficult days -- mixed in with great times -- of the late 1950s and the 1960s. 
          I am not a political/social expert, not a pundit. But I have been telling Bea for months that I feel a revolution of sorts coming on -- maybe from minority groups, from the middle/lower class, and from the disenfranchised majority.
         There is anger, and there is violence, there are these "wild cards" -- and it's playing out in the streets, across the world. And the "blame game," particularly by our politicians, just stirs up the anger.
          Can't avoid seeing it on TV or on the Internet. Unless you abstain or you can't connect online.
          (After President Obama was re-elected in 2012, I wrote a blog piece saying we needed to move on. One of my sportswriter friends wrote and said I should stick to sports. Good idea ... but I'm living in the world, not just the sports world.)
          The previous two weeks have been ugly, and sad. I expect the next two weeks, with our political conventions, could be ugly -- mayhem in the streets in Cleveland and maybe Philadelphia. It could be a sign of what's to come in the next four years.
          And the rest of the world is shaky, too.
          I don't want to be angry, or depressed, so after I post this blog, I will take a two-week break from Facebook -- I know you'll miss me -- and I will limit my TV watching.
          I will watch the NBC Nightly News and the PBS Newshour and CBS' Sunday Morning because I like those and they keep me informed, and I'll keep up with the below-.500 New York Yankees (not much fun right now). Too early to worry about LSU football.
         You can have politics.
         And if the lights on the modem don't come on, and the Internet and TV don't work, for the next two weeks ... no panic. 

Joe Reding: LSU football was "the greatest experience"

    (Third of three parts)
    He was at LSU from the fall of 1964 until his graduation in the spring of 1969, and Joe Reding calls being part of the LSU football program "the greatest experience of my life. They treated us so well."

LSU football, program photo

    It is an example of his athletic ability, his strength and good feet, that he was able to go from running back and linebacker in high school to the offensive line in college.
    He gained weight before his freshman season -- perhaps a factor in limiting his shot put potential that spring -- and was at 220 pounds when he reported to training camp in August.
    With only upperclassmen eligible for varsity ball in NCAA Division I at the time, he played on the freshman team in 1964, a four-game schedule, and practicing against the varsity, he learned something.
    "There was no way a freshman could ever have played on varsity then anyway," he said. "There was such a gap between the freshmen and the guys who had been there a year or more. It's not like today where kids come out of high school and they're All-Americans as freshmen. In those days, a freshman wouldn't have a prayer in hell of playing."
    By spring practice of 1965, he was down to between 195 and 200 pounds and in line to play at guard. He did not think he would redshirt; most D-I linemen then did sit out one year.
    "I was hard as a rock, fast, quick," he said. "I was one of the very few people that lifted weights regularly."
    But then ... the first knee injury. So it was a redshirt year and a year of rehabbing the knee. LSU wound up the '65 season by upsetting Arkansas in the Cotton Bowl -- a memorable game -- and Joe was merely a spectator.
    He played in 1966, '67 and '68. As in high school, he was only on a couple of very good teams, but not championship teams.
    The Tigers were 5-4-1 (3-3 in the SEC) in his sophomore season, a difficult year in which experienced quarterback Nelson Stokley was hurt during the second game (knee injury, out for the year). LSU led Rice 15-7 in that game and lost 17-15, and then struggled to a 3-4-1 record until two victories at the end.
    It was the worst record in the first 12 years of Charlie McClendon's LSU head coaching tenure.

A favorite photo -- Page One, Baton Rouge Morning
 Advocate, coming home from a victory at Florida.

    Reding was one of three alternating "messenger" guards -- bringing in play calls from the sideline to the huddle -- until an offensive-line shuffle midway in the season made him a starter ... for good. He wound up starting the last 28 games of his career -- the last season at tackle.
    With LSU shy of experience at the position, "they [the coaches] asked me during the off-season (after the '67 season) to switch to tackle."  
     Fine, but unlike high school, when he usually was one of the biggest players on the field, at LSU he played at 6-foot-1, 210-215 pounds, and "I was one of the smallest starting offensive linemen in the SEC."
    The Tigers were 7-3-1 (3-2-1 SEC) and 8-3 (4-2) the next two seasons and bowl winners each time -- the Sugar Bowl (20-13 vs. Wyoming) on Jan. 1, 1968, and the first Peach Bowl at Grant Field in Atlanta (31-27 vs. Florida State in the rain). 
    The down side: In his three varsity seasons, the Tigers were 0-5-1 combined against Alabama and Ole Miss.
    As a senior, Reding was a co-captain for the season's sixth game, a 10-7 victory against TCU at Tiger Stadium. The other co-captain that night: tight end Robert Hamlett, his old teammate (a year younger) at Bossier High.
    Reding was not the star in college he had been in high school, and his size kept him from a pro football career. But no matter; he loved the program.
    "I got to play with some great football players," he said.
    And this: "They treated the players so well, especially the married players. They treated us like family. It was unbelievable.
    "They paid for everything. When we had the baby (Kathy), they paid for the baby expenses, baby food." And there was a place where the married players could go "and stock up on food -- steaks, meat, all sorts of food."
    Plus, he added, players were lined up with summer jobs -- and no gimmes there: "They were union jobs, hard work -- pipefitting, offshore jobs. And those paid well."
    And Joe did not even mention game tickets. It was common knowledge that LSU players could sell their two or four games tickets for whatever they could get for them -- no NCAA rules against that then (the NCAA put a stop to it a few years later). As now, LSU game tickets were much in demand, so there was money to be made.
    Hearing these things, I asked Joe: Was this within the rules?
    "Who knows," he answered. "They did it."
     As for McClendon -- the folksy country boy who lasted longer than any LSU head coach (18 years) and was so often criticized -- Reding said, "Coach Mac was just great to me.
    "I could not have been treated any better. It was the best five years of my life [in athletics]."
     He remembers this, too, about wearing jersey No. 78.
    "I think I have a unique position at LSU," he pointed out. "The guy who wore that number before me, George Rice, was a first-team All-American [defensive tackle]. The guy who wore it after me, Ronnie Estay, was a first-team All-American."  
    Rice was a huge man, out of Istrouma (like Cannon), who went on to play several seasons with the Houston Oilers (also like Cannon). He was a practice opponent for Reding and "he hit me with a forearm, and I have never been hit as hard in my life. And then he laughed at me."
    And when Joe's right knee buckled and was torn up in a 2-on-1 blocking drill in the spring of 1965, the player who drove him to the ground: George Rice.
 ---
    His playing days finished, his degree earned, he moved into coaching, back home in Bossier City. He and David Smith were named assistant coaches at Parkway, which was converting from a junior high school to a high school by adding a sophomore-only class in 1969.
    The head coach was Freddy Shewmake, who had been Reding's coach in kids' baseball for several years in the late 1950s/early 1960s.
    After one year, Reding moved to the Airline coaching staff. Jack Gray was the head coach and had one of the area's best programs (state champions in 1967, the school's fourth year). 
    Reding was the offensive line coach for five years, the last two with M.D. Ray as head coach. The highlight was a district championship team in 1972, with a superb passing game (with Steve Haynes at quarterback) and an 11-3 record that ended with a tough 6-0 loss to Neville (Monroe) in the Class AAAA state finals.
    That was a bad-luck night for Airline -- the game was played on Neville's field in a downpour on a soaked, slippery field that was perfect for the well-coached, defensive-minded Neville team.           
    Reding remembers that Vikings team as much for its  intelligence as its ability. "Great group of kids, a lot of very smart, disciplined kids," he said.
    "I loved coaching," Reding said. "I was like a big kid. I had so much fun with those kids. I'd wrestle with them, run with them, lift weights with them."
    Billy Don Maples remembers the friendship with the Redings -- pool parties and camping trips.
    "Our families used to visit a lot," he said. "Karen's parents lived in Broadmoor (in Shreveport) and they had an indoor pool. We'd go there and swim after games, and we have a good time."
    And Maples also recalls the long hours the Airline staff put in, especially Reding.
    "Jack [Gray] was known for long practices, 3-4 hours; he kept us out there," Maples said. "Then on weekends, we'd be hours breaking down films. Joe would do that, then he go work at Roadway, loading and unloading trucks."
    He'd worked at the freight company even in his high school days and while coaching, Reding concurs, "I worked some nights, and weekends. I'd go work from 5 p.m. Sunday to 1:30 a.m., then be at school the next morning."
    The managers at the freight company were impressed with his strength and work habits, and in 1974, one manager suggested to Reding that he come to work there full-time.
    Joe told him he didn't want to load and unload freight his whole life. No, the manager assured him; he meant for Joe to learn a management position.
    Reding said he talked with Karen about it, and she was open to his decision. He decided to leave Airline as soon as the '74 football team was eliminated from the playoffs.
    So on the Monday after a first-round loss, Joe Reding moved into a new career and "I tripled my salary starting that day."
    Thus began the freight company journey -- one move after another, one company after another, one advancement after another, from assistant terminal manager to terminal manager, to company executive.
    And in 2005, back home to Louisiana -- downstate, near LSU.
     The long, relentless hours the jobs required were part of his life; he always had had the desire to work, work, work. 
     The admittedly reticent young man grew into a sure-of-himself speaker at company gatherings, and -- I'll vouch for this -- he now is a free talker and story-spinner.
     He remains a Tigers fan, but attending games is more of a chore now -- he hasn't been to a Tiger Stadium game in three years -- "and it's easier to sit in my recliner at home and watch."
    He's not the modern communicator -- seldom uses the computer now that he's no longer working; the only cellphone he has is the old flip phone sort he bought after Katrina hit -- when phone lines were out -- and keeps in his car for emergency use only. So no texting, no messaging, no Internet.
    There was a special honor at Bossier High in 2010 when he, Dick and their father were inducted into the school's athletics Hall of Fame -- a Reding triple play. He returned the next year as featured speaker when, among others, Neal Prather was inducted.
     Joe's weight ballooned to 240 a few years ago and a knee surgery and major back pain convinced him it was time to get back in shape.
    He was at 175 a year ago and is 180 now, and "I go to the gym six days a week when possible and have stayed in great shape for a 70-year-old. ... I still push the younger guys there."
    And those younger guys probably don't want to challenge him to a shot-putting contest. Even Billy Cannon was no match for him.

Joe Reding: Topping Billy Cannon's record

(Second of three parts)
     The first few years Joe Reding played organized football, he could not play with kids his age. He was too big.
     Because kids football in Bossier City (and Shreveport) in the mid to late 1950s was organized by weight limits, Joe always was too heavy for his age group and so he played "up" with kids a year or two older.
     But in 1959 and 1960 (eighth and ninth grades) at Rusheon Junior High, he was unlimited ... and unstoppable. And even as an eighth grader, he was big enough and good enough to play with the ninth-grade team.
    He was nearing his full height (6-foot-1) and growing toward the 200 pounds or so he was in high school. Opposing teams' kids found him hard to tackle in football; he ran over them or past them. Hard to guard in basketball, impossible to beat in track.

In junior high school and at Bossier High (above), Joe Reding
was the big man in the middle (front row)

     Shreveport sportswriting legend Jerry Byrd called him "a superstar" and here's why: As a ninth grader in football, he scored 120 points (in eight games); in basketball, he was the dominant center who led his team to 37 consecutive victories; in track and field, he set four city (Shreveport-Bossier) records (shot put, discus, long jump, high jump).
    Rusheon swept every championship for two years and was so good, its facilities better than any across the river, that the next year the Shreveport schools' league excluded the Bossier City schools. Don't know that they ever reunited.
    David Smith, a longtime coach/administrator in Bossier Parish and for the past 23 years an insurance agency manager now based in West Monroe, La., recalls that Joe's success was due to "No. 1, he was such a competitor.
    "He was a quiet guy, didn't say a lot, but he was great. He came from a great family; his Mom and Dad were such nice people; it was just a super family.
    "He didn't talk about his accomplishments, he was just an ordinary guy like anyone else, but he was a super guy.
    "We had a great time together; I spent a lot of time at their house."
    They headed to high school together, but in the summer before their sophomore year, reality dealt the Reding family a huge blow -- his father's death.
    "That put me in a tailspin," Joe said. "I was only 15. I didn't really understand life."
    Mr. Reding "was always pretty tough on us, he stayed on us all the time," Joe said, "but he was very encouraging. He was always trying to teach us. I wasn't the greatest student, and I can remember him sitting at the kitchen table working with me on algebra, etc.
    "Our relationship was good, and the sad thing was we were just getting to the bonding stage."
    For a couple of days before Mr. Reding's fatal heart attack, he and Joe worked to refurbish a garage apartment on the house they owned (and lived in) near Bossier High (they subsequently moved to a home on Old Minden Road, a few miles away).
    "I treasure those last 2-3 days; we worked together and we worked hard," Joe said. "I treasure those days a lot."
    Another treasure: When Mr. Reding passed away, construction was well underway on a new gymnasium for Bossier High, replacing the old gym inside the main school building where some 600 fans crammed in to watch the Bearkats win the Class AAA state basketball championship in 1960.
    The spacious new gym opened early in 1962 ... and was named E.L. Reding Gym. It's still in use, and last season's Bossier team won another state championship.
    For the dedication ceremony, Dick and Joe -- both playing basketball for Bossier -- were in uniform. "It was very special" for the family, said Joe. "Memories I will never forget."
---
     In the 1961 football season, Dick was a senior end and Joe was an immediate starter at tackle for the Bearkats in an era when few sophomores ever played at a Class AAA school. Not only did he start, "he made 18 tackles in his first game," said Dick.
     He made All-City (Shreveport-Bossier) as a sophomore, the first of three consecutive All-City selections.
     "He was so physical, so tough," said Billy Don Maples. He recalled a big, strong Springhill running back (white-haired Larry Fambrough) colliding with Reding in a brutal matchup early that season.
    "Fambrough hit him high in the chest," Maples said, "and Joe was down. He was moaning and crying, and bleeding from the nose, and they took him out of the game. He came back in the second half, and led our team in tackling."
    In his three seasons, Bossier had records of 8-3, 9-2 and 7-3-1. But Byrd and Woodlawn and a surprising Bastrop team in 1963 kept the Bearkats from making the state playoffs.
     Because at the time, only 11 players were selected for the All-State team, it was his teammate and classmate Neal Prather who made the Class AAA team in 1963. Prather, who went on to play at Northwestern State and then became a doctor in Shreveport-Bossier, was a breakaway back (Reding was the strong inside runner). Like Joe, Prather was very mature physically early and also a star as a sophomore.
    If the all-star teams had had separate offensive and defensive units -- that didn't begin until later in the 1960s -- Reding would have been a first-team cinch at linebacker. In fact, he was an All-City choice in 1963 as a designated "defensive specialist."
    LSU was impressed enough to sign him to a football scholarship. And Joe was talented enough to convert to the offensive line.
    So football was the ticket to college, but where Joe Reding really was impressive was in the shot put.
---
    The Reding boys learned to shot put tossing the ball back and forth in the backyard.
    "It [the shot] would just fly out of his hand," Dick recalled. "It was like he was a freak."
    As a Bossier sophomore (spring 1962), Joe bettered 56 feet, got close to the state record -- and won his first Class AAA state title. Just a beginning.

    He began the next spring with a 58-9 effort at the season-opening Shreveport Relays at Byrd, topping Billy Cannon's state record (57-10). Thus, the photo (and distance on the shot put) arranged by Jerry Byrd for the Shreveport Journal. 
    A few weeks later, at the Indian Relays at Fair Park, he broke the sound barrier -- 60 feet -- with a 60-3 1/4 toss.
    Cannon had won the state shot put and 100-yard dash titles -- a phenomenal double -- for Istrouma (Baton Rouge) in the spring of 1956 before going to LSU and becoming a football immortal.
    To break his record, said Reding, "was almost beyond my comprehension."
    He repeated the state titles in 1963 and 1964 ... but he never improved on his best mark. He had a 60-1/2 toss early in his senior year, but that was it. 
    "I don't know what happened," he said. "I got stuck between 57 [feet] and 59." 
    But he competed without the benefit of much weight training -- it wasn't part of many athletes' workouts those days -- and certainly not any performance-enhancing drugs (those were for a later era).
    This was a clean era, and Joe's tools were strength (those hands, wrists and forearms), technique (form and quickness across the shot put ring) and hard work/practice.
---
    When The Shreveport Times last year had a panel of a dozen or so sports-minded people voting on Shreveport-Bossier's top 20 greatest all-time athletes, my ballot included Joe Reding at No. 17. As I wrote then in a blog piece, as one of the "oldtime" voters, I probably was the only one who listed Joe.
    My reasoning: His shot-put state record "stood up for a decade or two" and he was a three-year football starter at LSU in a great era (1960s). 
    Oops. Upon further review ... His state record stood up for a few weeks.
    His meet performances in North Louisiana probably stood for some 20 years until the bulked-up Campbell brothers, first John and then Arnold, shattered them while competing for Airline in the early 1980s. Arnold was Louisiana's first 70-foot shot putter and his 74-10 1/2 in 1984 is an out-of-sight record.
    But Reding's state best was topped by Terry Esthay of LaGrange (Lake Charles), who got even for Reding's victory over him in the state meet a week later when -- again competing against Joe -- he beat him with a 61-4 1/2 effort in the New Orleans Recreation Department "Meet of Champions."
    Soon enough Reding and Esthay would be teammates, offensive-line mates, at LSU. And their shot put days were short-lived.
    Joe did compete with the 16-pound college shot put (12 pounds in high school) as a freshman, and he threw it 53-plus feet. But football was -- is -- king, and that's why he was there.
    "We just didn't have time [for track and field season]," Reding said. "We had off-season workouts and then 20 spring practices, four days a week [five weeks]." So he and Esthay only occasionally "messed around" with the shot put.
    "They were married to the football program," Dick Reding observed.
    Next: LSU football was "the greatest experience"

Joe Reding: A big shot, always

      (First of three parts)
    Whether it was athletics or business or family, Joe Reding has a lot to be proud of and cherish.
    He is 70 now, white-haired, actually lighter than he was in high school and college, and in relatively good shape physically, retired and living a few miles from New Orleans.

Joe and Karen Reding, on their 50th wedding anniversary

     He was, as those of us from his time (basically 1960s) well remember, one of the distinctive athletes from Shreveport-Bossier -- Bossier actually -- and in Louisiana.
    Three athletic achievements that set Joe Reding apart:
    (1) He was the first Louisiana high school shot putter to break the 60-foot barrier.
    (2) When he set the state record in the shot put, the athlete whose record he broke was ... Billy Cannon. (If you don't know who Billy Cannon is, you probably don't need to read any further.)
    (3) He won three consecutive state championship in the event. That might have been equaled but likely will not be topped.
    I will add another, and it's a personal observation because being a year younger than Joe and being at other schools, I saw him in a variety of sports: He was the biggest, best, most dominant, junior high athlete I've seen.
    He was -- to us -- Superman. With him as team leader, I don't remember Rusheon Junior High in Bossier City ever losing in football, basketball and track/field. 
    So when he went on to star in football (fullback-linebacker) and track (shot put) at Bossier High, and then go on to become a three-year starter (1966-68) in the offensive line at LSU, it was no surprise.
    "He did some amazing things; it's hard to believe," his older brother and role model, Dick Reding, told me a few weeks ago, recalling that even when Joe was in elementary school, his athletic potential showed. And Dick was a standout all-around athlete himself.
     "He was a fine football player, and great in track. ... Quite a guy," said David Smith, Joe's junior high and high school teammate and good friend. "He was a 'man' early -- just bigger and better and stronger than anyone."
    "He was strong as a bear, with God-given talent," said Billy Don Maples, a Bossier High football teammate two years older than Joe and later on the same Airline High School coaching staff for five years.
    "Dick maybe was the better all-around athlete, but Joe was a genuine guy with good values. ... He was an excellent offensive line coach [at Airline] ... a very, very hard worker."
    The work ethic, traced to his parents' nurturing in Bossier City, and his talent and dedication carried Joe a long way through a lot of places.

Three-year starter in the offensive line, 1966-68

---
    For almost two decades, athletics was a big part of his life. They provided an outlet, recognition as a star, the above-mentioned notable distinctions, eventually a college scholarship and then an entry into coaching.
    That was a long time ago. Then he moved into real life, the real world.
    There's not much glamor, not many headlines, in the freight business. But for some 38 years as a manager -- until he retired in 2012 -- it gave Reding and his family what they needed.
    Home is now Pearl River, La. ("actually it's north Slidell," says Joe), and has been for 11 years. The Redings arrived there "just before [Hurricane] Katrina" and Joe was the manager of UPS freight division in the New Orleans area.
    "We like South Louisiana; we're very, very at home here," he said. (Of course, South Louisiana is where he played college football.)
    That was last of 12 moves through such stops as Memphis, Little Rock, Springfield, Mo., a decade in the Washington D.C.-Baltimore corridor and four years in Hurst, Texas (mid-cities area of Fort Worth-Dallas).
    "I worked for five different companies, three went bankrupt," Joe said. "You move a lot; it's sort of like coaching or being in the military. ...
    "It's been a good life; it provided well for my family."
    Family: Joe and fellow Bossier High graduate Karen (Reisinger) have been married for 50 years (since his second year at LSU), with two children -- daughter Kathy, 49, and son Kris, 34 (both in the Little Rock area), two grandchildren (Kassey, 26, and Joe, 21) and 5-year-old great grandson Abel.
    But he knew about close family ties from way back.
    His father, E.L. (Elbert Lee) Reding, was the Bossier High football coach (1927-32) as a young man in his 20s; the Bossier High principal in the early 1950s, then after a few years out of education, a supervisor (assistant superintendent) in the Bossier Parish school system.
    Dick was 18 months, two grades in school, older than Joe. Becky was four years younger than Joe.
    E.L. and Doris Reding were deeply involved in their children's schooling and athletics, almost always present and watching.
    But all lives have hardships, and so it is with Joe.
    E.L. Reding, at age 57, died of a massive heart attack, sitting at home one evening drinking ice tea, in the summer of 1961 -- just before Dick's senior year at Bossier and Joe's sophomore year.
    For Joe, it's been three knee surgeries, beginning with "a horrible knee injury in the spring of my freshman year at LSU" and three years ago  "invasive lower lumbar surgery called a laminectomy ... which decompresses the lower back."
    And then this: In December, on their 50-year wedding anniversary cruise, Karen became ill. The result: esophageal cancer.
    She has undergone treatment in New Orleans and "we don't know what's ahead of us," Joe said, "but right now [it's] going very well and she has responded well. Best I can put it: We are encouraged, but guarded."

---           

    Athletics began early; Bossier elementary schools -- unlike those in Shreveport -- had organized teams. Joe's prowess first showed in baseball; as Dick recalls, playing in the Dixie League programs, Joe once hit five home runs in five at-bats at one of the then-new Walbrook Park diamonds.
    As a 14- and 15-year-old, he was a star on Bossier teams that played in the national VFW "Teener League" tournament in Hershey, Pa. The second year Bossier lost the title game 4-1 to a perennial powerhouse from Gastonia, N.C., and Reding scored the Bossier run. 
    "He was a great hitter; if he had stayed with it, he could have been a major-league player," says his older brother. But he left baseball after that summer of '61 and in high school gravitated to football, basketball (for a year) and the shot put and discus in the spring.
    He got plenty of practice, and guidance, at home.
    "When we were kids, we played a lot together," Dick said, "and we loved each other. But we were brothers; we fought a lot, too.
    "Joe was pretty methodical," he added, "and very opinionated. He would argue at the drop of a hat, and he was very dogged in what he thought, what he believed in."
    Athletics caught hold. "I remember Joe looking at the newspaper almost every day," Dick said, "and looking at statistics, writing them down. We had all these little pieces of paper all over the house, with the stats on them."
    Dick would develop into a three-sport star at Bossier High. An end in football, he earned a scholarship to Northwestern State, where as a senior in 1966, he was an all-conference player and a leader of an undefeated [Gulf States] conference team coached by his father-in-law, Jack Clayton, in the final of his 10 years as NSU's head coach.
    By the time he was a senior, he was a "future" pro football draft pick -- Washington Redskins (NFL) and Kansas City Chiefs (AFL). He did go to the Redskins' training camp in 1967, but did not make the team.
    (He and Nancy, Coach Clayton's daughter, for years have made their home in Colorado where he was a teacher and coach.)
    Dick, significantly, also was a two-time conference champion in the shot put. He was not the best shot putter in the family.
    Here is how the late Jerry Byrd put it in his book Football Country: "Dick Reding was a rare example of an athlete who grew up in the shadow of a younger brother. ..." 
    Dick remembers this about Joe: "He had really strong hands, thick forearms, always. I realized after a while it might be better to have him as a friend than someone I wanted to fight every day."
    Keep those strong hands and forearms in mind because soon they belonged to The Best Ever in the shot put in Louisiana.
    (Next: Topping Billy Cannon's record)