TED, TAIWAN, AND SPORTS

 

TED, TAIWAN, AND SPORTS

Remember Ted Kennedy? The Massachusetts senator was a progressive icon—a liberal lion who endured the tragic killings of his three older brothers, all in their respective primes.

Ted ran for President once, in 1980, when he challenged our sitting 39th President, Jimmy Carter, a fellow Democrat. This, of course, required him to run in the New Hampshire Primary, something expected of any prospective President—at least up until Joe Biden.

That mid-February Ted’s Granite State campaign brought him to Groveton, N.H., where he toured the paper mill and then met with a few Groveton High School folks—including me, then a GHS history teacher.

The Lake Placid Winter Olympics were ongoing, and Ted compared his campaign effort with that of the miracle U.S. ice hockey team. Then he took questions.

Always a sports guy, I immediately followed up on his Winter Olympic reference with a query about Taiwan’s exclusion from that competition.

(The International Olympic Committee wouldn’t allow the small contingent from Republic of China/Taiwan to compete unless it forsook its name and national flag, out of deference to the Communist People’s Republic of China—the PRC—which was competing in its first Winter Olympics.)

Ted glared at me.

“Well, er, ah, we perhaps should consider how both the USA and Puerto Rico have separate Olympic teams, even though we’re all Americans,” replied the Massachusetts senator.

I quickly responded.

“But Puerto Rico’s never been prevented from competing under its own flag, unlike Taiwan.”

The liberal lion further glared at me, perhaps regretting that the road to the White House required him to travel through Groveton, N.H., to be hassled by an impertinent citizen over an issue that certainly then wasn’t as important to most Americans as inflation or the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.

Ted then came back with what I believe was a very honest reply.

“I frankly don’t care whether or not Taiwan competes in the Olympics or not,” he snapped. “Next question.”

I resurrect this old sport-thought because I was recently privileged to visit Taiwan with a New England legislative delegation as guests of the ROC’s Foreign Ministry. The trip was timely and informative, given current international geopolitics. And the Taiwanese were wonderful hosts on their island of freedom—surrounded by hostile waters dominated by a PRC committed to conquering the ROC.

For the record, the Republic of China/Taiwan did eventually return to the Olympics in 1984 as “Chinese Taipei,” a compromise the Taiwanese reluctantly agreed to so as to allow their athletes opportunities to compete.

Fast forward to 2021 and an international swimming and diving competition in Cyprus involving 40 countries. Bullied by the PRC, officials there wouldn’t allow Taiwan’s flag to be shown on displays or scoreboards. Taiwanese divers could compete under an Olympic flag or under no flag at all. The ROC athletes chose to compete under no flag.

Then came one of those inspiring “I am Spartacus” episodes where the sports world separates itself from the political realm. The Japanese athletes issued a statement of support for the Taiwanese and indicated they, too, would compete without their flag being displayed anywhere. Subsequently, divers from other countries voted likewise to similarly have their flags removed to show their solidarity with Taiwan. 

Australia, Croatia, Germany, the USA, and others followed Japan’s lead. Even the French. Even the Russians!

The shows of support were the results of impromptu athlete actions, not government policy directives. That’s what made it all so inspiring to so many—except for the elephant-bully in the room: the Communist PRC.

Carpe diem!

And I want to believe that even Ted Kennedy—from wherever he may have then been watching—was similarly inspired!

                                                                              #####

                    Ted Kennedy was a decent football player for Harvard back in the 1950s.

LEGISLATIVE GOLF, GEORGE PATTON, AND GOOD WEATHER

 

                        LEGISLATIVE GOLF, GEORGE PATTON, AND GOOD WEATHER

by Mike Moffett 

Sports can be divisive. Yankees vs. Red Sox. Michigan vs. Ohio State. El Salvador vs. Honduras.

 

What?  

 

Yup. These two countries went to war in 1969 after El Salvador beat Honduras 3-2 in a FIFA World Cup (soccer) qualifier.

 

Then there was that preseason NFL game in San Francisco. After the 49ers hosted the Oakland Raiders, football “fans” got into some parking lot fights and several people were shot.

 

But sports can also bring folks together. Like when our USA Olympic ice hockey team beat the Soviets in 1980. That “Miracle on Ice” truly united Americans—from Maine to California to maybe even Hawaii!

 

A local example of sports bringing people together occurred on June 26 when Loudon Country Club hosted the Legislative Golf Classic. This “scramble” event brought together Republicans, Democrats, libertarians, vegetarians, males, females, friends, relatives, lobbyists, good golfers, bad golfers, young golfers, and older golfers. One participant even celebrated his 90^th birthday at LCC.

 

The golf event was a charity fund-raiser for Manchester’s Liberty House, which supports homeless and transitioning military veterans. I was happy to be on the event planning team as well as on a golf team—the Legislative Beer Caucus Founders.

 

As a former sports management professor, I know there are many crucial parts to these fundraisers. Numerous people must tend to many aspects including player/sponsor solicitations, publicity, registrations, goodie bags, signage, raffles, and contest monitoring. Someone must watch the Hole-in-One competition to document any aces worth $20,000. (Before buying clubhouse drinks for all.) And someone must supervise the all-important traveling beer cart and the all-important Beer Cart Girl.

 

(One may wonder why there are never Beer Cart Guys. And one can probably figure out why.)

 

Fortunately, LCC had the extremely capable Alina in charge of the extremely important traveling beer cart.

 

But there is one variable that even the best planners in the golf world struggle with.

 

The weather.

 

Ten days out I woke up and the first thing I did was check was the 10-day forecast. There was a 90% chance of precipitation on June 26. A couple days later an 80% chance. A couple days later there was a projected 100% chance of precipitation. My heart sank. It rained on a different golf scramble at LCC on June 24. The two-day forecast called for more rain on June 26.

 

Even the best golf planners can’t control the weather. Or can they?

 

I recalled that General George Patton summoned a chaplain during the darkest days of the Battle of the Bulge in 1944 and ordered him to come up with a prayer that would bring good weather for air support. Father James O’Neill was the chaplain who answered the call, and he wrote a beautifully solemn entreaty asking the Almighty to “restrain these immoderate rains with which we have had to contend.”

 

The skies cleared and the battle was won.

 

So, a la Father O’Neill, I offered up a weather prayer. I acknowledged that there were folks facing more dire situations than our scramble golfers. Certainly, the suffering people in Ukraine rated more divine intervention than our legislative linksters. But we wanted to bring folks of different political persuasions together to raise money for the homeless! I ultimately left things in the hands of the Great Greenskeeper in the Sky.

 

I awoke early on June 26 and looked out the window. It was cloudy but dry. And it stayed dry through the morning and into the afternoon, as Republicans and Democrats laughed it up, hitting golf balls up and down the hills of Loudon Country Club.

 

My foursome encountered the extremely capable Alina and the extremely important traveling beer cart at least four times in five hours. And we all hit at least a few good shots. Such fun.

 

And it stayed dry for the post-golf social, where Democrats and Republicans literally and figuratively embraced and laughed it up. We’d raised around $20,000—along with a few libations. After the final award was given, the legislative linksters headed for their cars when suddenly the heavens burst forth with heavy rain.

 

Perfect timing.

 

Somehow, I think Father O’Neill was watching from somewhere.

 

                                 Pictured in the LCC clubhouse after the Legislative Golf Classic was a foursome     

                                 which included State Senator Tim Lang of Sanbornton, State Representative Mike Moffett 

                                 of Loudon, LCC's Alina (who piloted the "refreshments" cart), State Senator Howard Pearl 

                                 of Loudon, and former State Representative Reed Panasiti of Amherst. The event raised 

                                 $20,000 for the cause.

BALTIMORE BASEBALL, BEER, POT, AND YAZ

                        BALTIMORE BASEBALL, BEER, POT, AND YAZ

The Granite State debate on marijuana legalization continues. There are many aspects to it all which we won’t get into here, except that—as with so many issues—there is a sports component.

 

Consider the outcry a couple years ago when American sprinter Sha’Carri Richardson faced disqualification from the Tokyo Olympics after testing positive for marijuana. She supposedly smoked pot after her mother’s tragic death.

 

Drug testing has abounded for decades. Most sports folks don’t want performance enhancers providing Russians with unfair advantages. And that’s also why home run king Barry Bonds’ steroid use keeps him out of Cooperstown’s Hall of Fame.

 

But is pot really a performance enhancer? The debate will continue.

 

Full disclosure: I’m not a fan of legalizing pot. I’m sure my low-tolerance for weed stems from being drug-tested for many years as a U.S. Marine.

 

Which brings us to Saturday, June 18, 1983, when I boarded a bus in Quantico, Va., along with 50 other Marine Corps lieutenants, to ride up to Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium for an Orioles game. The O’s were hosting my Red Sox and it was Carl Yastrzemski’s 23^rd and last season. I wanted to see Yaz play one more time.

 

Yes, there was beer on the bus. Would one expect differently from 50 young Marine Corps lieutenants out on liberty?

 

One of the pro-pot arguments is “Alcohol is worse!” Prohibition failed! But there are many differences. Comparing pot to booze is like comparing apples to oranges.

 

Anyway, we fifty Marines sat as a group in Memorial Stadium’s upper deck, on the first base side—where we’d hopefully avoid trouble. But I was pleased to discover that, unlike Fenway Park, Memorial Stadium had a liberal beer policy. One could buy two 24-ouncers at the same time! The O’s treated beer drinkers as adults

 

After making an early inning head call, I walked back towards the upper deck when I saw a beer vendor strapping on a giant tray with numerous libations to sell in the stands. This inspired an idea.

 

“Yo! Beer vendor. I’ll sell those beers for you!”

 

The beer vendor laughed and explained that such action would surely be frowned upon.

 

“But I’m with those Marines up there. I’ll sell every beer in no time.”

 

The beer vendor laughed and said okay, but he’d need to follow me at a discrete distance.

 

“Excellent!”

 

I strapped on his giant tray and donned his beer vendor cap and started up the steps, hawking brewksis.

 

“Beer!” I yelled. “Get your beer here!”

 

After a couple sales I was inevitably recognized by my Marine brethren, who naturally cracked up.

 

“Moffett is selling beer!”

 

As predicted, the Marines immediately bought all I had. I returned to the tunnel and gave the delighted beer vendor a bunch of money, loaded up the tray again and went up and again sold out. The section of Marines gave me a standing ovation, which drew the attention of many of the 36,668 attendees. What was going on up there on the upper deck?

 

(The Orioles drew good crowds in 1983 and would win the World Series that year.)

 

I was fortunate that all this beer business predated social media. A viral video of me selling lots of beer in the Memorial Stadium stands may not have enhanced my military career. And my friendly beer vendor would likely have been fired.

 

Still, it was such fun. But there’s more.

 

Sitting a few rows behind us near the top of the stadium were some hippies. Midway through the game the hippies did what hippies do. They started smoking pot. This immediately got the attention of fifty regularly drug-tested, buff and burly Marine Corps officers—all quite concerned that inhaling second-hand pot smoke might end their careers.

 

Our group turned and stood as one to confront the hippies. A big Texan with a deep voice yelled “You G--- D--- hippies better stop smoking that pot or we’ll throw your asses over the top of the stadium!”

 

Peer pressure? Or beer pressure?

 

Rather than confront 50 agitated Marines who were clearly ready to rumble, the hippies decided that discretion was the better part of valor and wisely moved to another part of Memorial Stadium to get stoned. All the commotion must have drawn the attention of many of the 36,668 attendees. What was going on up there?

 

Marines on liberty. Always an adventure.

 

It was a night to remember. Jim Rice hit a homer and BoSox pitcher John Tudor went all the way to win 3-2.

 

And I got to see Carl Yaztrzemski in action one last time. The 44-year-old future Hall-of Famer walked twice. He would hit ten home runs that season to finish his career with 452 round-trippers.

 

And I’m also pretty sure that not one of Yaz’s 3419 career hits was aided by any performance enhancer, whether imbibed, injected, or inhaled!

#####

A Baseball Story – Babe Ruth in the Lakes Region

 

A Baseball Story – Babe Ruth in the Lakes Region 

By Mike Moffett

Of all the glittering lights in the constellation of American sports stars, none shines more brightly than Babe Ruth’s.

George Herman Ruth’s prodigious pitching talent helped propel the Boston Red Sox to three World Series titles in 1915, 1916 and 1918. Of course, it was as a New York Yankee outfielder that the Babe became a larger-than-life legend, hitting hundreds of home runs while leading the Yankees to seven World Series from 1921 to 1932.

But the Babe also had star quality. He lived large. He traveled the world. He was in the movies. He personified the American Dream, escaping from deep poverty—and a Baltimore reform school—to scale the heights of riches and fame.

When screaming Japanese soldiers charged United States Marine positions on Pacific islands during World War II, they cursed Babe Ruth in English. What better way to show contempt for America?

While certainly a hero, the Babe was very human. His legend also includes stories of overconsumption and promiscuity that somehow further enhances his legend. While the Christy Mathewsons and Lou Gehrigs of the baseball world were saintly, Ruth was a big-hearted figure of excess to whom fans could more easily relate.

The Babe was truly larger than life.

The Babe in New Hampshire

As a Red Sox star, Ruth inevitably spent considerable time in the Granite State. He’d sometimes visit the Draper and Maynard sporting goods factory in Plymouth. The old D&M building on Plymouth’s North Main Street is now owned by Plymouth State University and one can find wonderful photos there of the Babe visiting that town over a century ago.

But lesser known Ruthian tales tie him in to New Hampshire’s Lakes Region as well. Mike Hatch of Bristol recently shared family stories of the Babe hanging out in places like Meredith and Center Harbor—stories that are too good to not finally share.

Now 80 years old, Hatch spoke of the Babe’s influence on his own family—further underscoring Ruth’s lingering “larger-than-life” persona.

“My grandmother and a relative of Ruth’s were college roommates,” claimed Hatch. “They eventually got jobs at a bar near Fenway Park back when Babe was playing in Boston.”

Hatch explained that Ruth spent much time at that tavern, just before Prohibition.

“I know this might shock you, but the Babe loved to drink,” said Hatch with a smile.

Hatch shared numerous stories of the Babe cavorting around Lake Winnipesaukee, some of which are fit for print—others, not so much.

“Years ago, a guy from upstate New York contacted me out of the blue and asked me if I was Mike Hatch and if Leon Hatch was my father,” recalled Mike. “I said yes, why?”

The New Yorker explained that his own grandfather once lived in the Lakes Region and knew some Hatch family members. That grandfather used to take him to a big hotel in Center Harbor, a well-known place that catered to big shots, to include European royalty. That sounded plausible. Lake Winnipesaukee has long been a destination for the rich and famous. And a big shot who was a regular visitor was Babe Ruth.

“The guy who called me said his grandfather knew a lot of people from around Lake Winnipesaukee and they all looked forward to Ruth’s regular visits. When Ruth came up to New Hampshire he’d bring bags of candy for the children. They’d follow him around as though he was the Pied Piper.”

That sure sounds like Ruth’s modus operandi.

The New Yorker spoke of his own grandfather’s place on Badger Hill that was a great site for snow sledding. It even had a ski jump.

“The Babe loved to come up and go snow sliding with the youngsters. He was like a big kid. And he loved going out on the Winnipesaukee ice to fish with all kinds of local folks. He loved having fun. And there was another big hotel in Meredith where he’d often hang out.”

Supposedly, the Babe had a Winnipesaukee love interest. That’s plausible. Local love interest(s) may help account for his many visits here. Subsequent speculation on that subject prompted me to visit Wikipedia.

The Babe’s Many Loves

Ruth’s Red Sox debut was in July of 1914. He soon met a waitress named Helen Woodford at a luncheonette near Fenway Park. On October 17 of that year the 19-year-old Ruth married the 16-year-old Woodford at St. Paul’s Catholic Church in Ellicott City, Maryland, where Ruth had attended boarding school.

The Babe and Helen moved to New York when Ruth was sold to the Yankees before the 1920 season. On September 23, 1922, the couple introduced their 16-month-old daughter Dorothy to the public. That the couple had a daughter was a surprise to most. But that was before the information age.

Now we know that Dorothy was born June 7, 1921, in New York City at St. Vincent's Hospital to Juanita Jennings and she was later adopted by the Babe and Helen. Dorothy was raised believing Helen to be her biological mother. Helen may not have known that Dorothy was the result of an extramarital affair between Babe and his girlfriend Jennings. Many think that when Ruth learned of his mistress' pregnancy, he convinced Helen—unaware that Babe was the father—to adopt the baby girl, with Jennings’ acquiescence.

Ruth’s marriage would be a casualty of his celebrity and excesses. Helen moved back to Massachusetts, but the couple never divorced due to their Catholicism. Helen died in a mysterious housefire in January of 1929. Ruth then married Claire Hodgson just before the opening day of the 1929 baseball season. (He hit a home run in his first at-bat that season against the Red Sox.) Ruth soon adopted Claire’s daughter Julia, while Claire adopted Dorothy in 1930. They all lived together, with Claire’s extended family, in an apartment on West 88th Street.

Claire died in 1976. Dorothy passed away in 1989. Julia died in 2019 at the age of 102. Having lived for many of her later years in Conway, N.H., she died a Red Sox fan. She actually threw out the first pitch at a Red Sox game at Fenway Park to celebrate her 100^th birthday in July 2016.

Which all brings us back to the Babe and Lake Winnipesaukee.

Ruth Loved Lake Winnipesaukee

In chatting with Hatch about the Babe’s many trips here I was struck by how little people knew about his Winnipesaukee connection.

“Think about Big Papi or Mookie Betts coming up here regularly to have fun,” I said. “Can you imagine the publicity?”

I lamented that there were no photos from those days to help document Ruth’s love for this area.

“But there are!” said Hatch.

“You’re kidding!”

“I’ll share a few.”

Mike unearthed a special calendar which featured 12 Babe Ruth photos, one for each month, courtesy of the Lewis R. Moulton collection. Five of these photos accompany this feature. The youngster in the Red Sox uniform is Mike Hatch’s father, Leon. The uniform was a gift from Babe Ruth himself. It’s not clear whether any of the females is Ruth’s wife Helen. The photos were taken circa 1917 when Helen would have only been around 19 years old.

Babe Ruth passed away in 1948, only 53 years old, ravaged by throat cancer. As with any super-celebrity, stories abounded about his personal life. Separating fact from fiction is difficult. And while Ruth relished the spotlight, many of his friends and family preferred privacy.

Two weeks before her death in 1980, Juanita Jennings told Dorothy Ruth that she (Juanita) was Dorothy’s real mother. Later, according to a 1988 New York Times story—published a year before her death—Dorothy claimed that Ruth had 15 descendants, none of whom played baseball. Clearly the Bambino had numerous relationships and love interests around the country, including New Hampshire. It’s only natural to contemplate Ruth’s descendants walking amongst us.

What we do know for sure is that 100 years ago, in 1923, after Ruth’s visits to Lake Winnipesaukee ceased, he led the New York Yankees to their first World Series triumph.

And we also know that his light in that constellation of American sports stars still shines as brightly as ever.

#####

John Harrigan

 

JOHN HARRIGAN

 

My legislative colleague Howard Pearl once hosted a cookout for fellow solons at his farm on Loudon Ridge. A state representative from Nashua took in the view on that fine day and exclaimed: “It sure is beautiful up here in the North Country.”

I quickly corrected him and told him that Loudon is not in the North Country.

“New Hampshire’s true North Country is north of the notches,” I explained.

“North of the Notches” is an expressional popularized by editor, publisher, writer, outdoorsman, and self-proclaimed hooligan John Harrigan of Colebrook—a town which is indeed north of the notches.

Around 1978 Harrigan purchased the Coos County Democrat, a weekly paper published in Lancaster. Shortly thereafter a new college grad about to begin a teaching career at Groveton High School approached John and inquired about writing a weekly sports column. That person was me. We had a nice discussion and Harrigan offered me $5 a week for a sports column and another $5 if I’d come in on Monday nights and put together a high school sports roundup.

Five dollars was a lot of money in those days, and I happily accepted the offer. The sports column was entitled “Up and Down the River,” as in Connecticut River and as in the North Country communities that bordered on it from Whitefield to Lancaster to Groveton to Stratford to Colebrook to Pittsburg. The column touched on both local and national sports stuff. This “Sport-Thoughts” column you’re reading is a descendant of “Up and Down the River.”

A true newspaperman, Harrigan knew the value of a sports section and he’d sometimes show up at games to get action photos for the Democrat. But John was more of an outdoorsman than a ball and stick guy and his “Woods, Water, and Wildlife” column ran for many years in the N.H. Sunday News.

John not only drafted me to write weekly sports roundups but he also drafted me to run on his relay team which competed every autumn during the Dixville Notch Half Marathon and Relay Races. The relay involved four three-mile legs from Dixville to Colebrook. John always ran the final leg into town and the finish line so he could wave to everyone—because everyone knew him.

Harrigan was close to the scene on that terrible day in Colebrook, August 19, 1997, when an angry gunman named Carl Drega murdered State Troopers Les Lord and Scott Phillips as well as Colebrook News and Sentinel editor Dennis Joos and attorney Vickie Bunnell—all friends of John. Drega later wounded other uniformed pursuers before he was shot and killed across the river in Vermont.

“I still replay the whole thing every now and then in my mind and just wonder why I was not killed as well,” recalled Harrigan. “I was supposed to be at the newspaper office in the afternoon and then go fishing with Vickie’s dad.”

Despite the carnage, Harrigan still helped put out the weekly paper the next day, with fresh tragic headlines. His efforts would earn him a Pulitzer Prize nomination in the “Breaking News” category.

Though I’ve been mostly “south of the notches” for several decades, John and I stayed in touch occasionally. I was at an airport terminal somewhere a couple years ago when he called me out of the blue just to say hello. That outreach meant much to me, and I resolved to similarly reach out to an old friend someday as well. Out of the blue. Generous gestures beget more generous gestures.

Mostly retired from the newspaper business, Harrigan still wrote a syndicated folksy weekly outdoors column that was always interesting and informative. And sometimes funny! It appeared in the Coos County Democrat, of course, and my mom always saved copies for me.

I noticed this past fall that the paper was re-running old Harrigan columns instead of fresh new material and I was a bit surprised. If anyone understood deadlines, it was a newspaperman. But last month the reason for the old columns became clear when the Union Leader ran a front-page notice of John’s passing. Apparently, an aggressive cancer was identified in November and the hooligan newspaperman and North Country icon succumbed and “shuffled off this mortal coil” in December.

Any life well-lived leaves lasting memories and special energy which immortalizes that life, in a sense. One can be sure that there are old-fashioned scrapbooks all over New Hampshire that feature yellowed newspaper stories and columns authored by John Harrigan, and that John’s spirit lives on in such scrapbooks, and elsewhere as well.

Especially “north of the notches.”