Mike Durant - Twenty Years Since "Black Hawk Down!"

NEW HAMPSHIRE’S MIKE DURANT – A HERO’S ODYSSEY

 

It’s now been twenty years since that October day in Somalia when Mike Durant saw what hell looked like. A Black Hawk helicopter pilot, Durant was shot down during the battle for Mogadishu. All the members of his crew were dead. A rescue team moved him away from the aircraft and placed him next to a wall. But now they, too, were all dead. Durant had a broken leg, a broken back and was out of ammunition when a horde of Somalis descended upon him, intent on beating him to death. Already suffering a bullet wound, Durant helplessly endured the blows. A Somali fighter smashed Durant’s face and broke Mike’s nose and eye socket with what Mike first thought was a club. Then, to his horror, Durant realized he was being beaten to death with the severed arm of one of his comrades. He knew his death was imminent and then he heard a gunshot.

BERLIN BOY

Forty years ago Mike Durant boarded a ski bus in Berlin to head north on Route 16 and then west on Route 26 with dozens of other youngsters to ski at the Wilderness Ski Area in Dixville Notch.

“I loved skiing,” Durant recalled in a recent interview. “I loved the snow. Like so many other North Country boys, I also loved getting out into the woods and hunting. And yes, I also played hockey.”

That Durant played hockey was no surprise, Berlin being “Hockey-Town USA.”

As that ski bus headed for the slopes Durant’s friends in adjacent seats surely had no inkling that in 1993 their buddy’s face would be the first one featured simultaneously on the covers of TIME, NEWSWEEK, and U.S. NEWS AND WORLD REPORT. That bruised and bloodied face became the face of an American military encounter that would change the country and the world—the first battle with Al Qaeda.

AMERICAN HOSTAGE

 

The gunshot was meant to quiet, not to kill. A Somali leader with some authority saw that Durant had more value as a hostage/prisoner than as a corpse. Dirt was thrown into Durant’s face and a rag was stuffed down his throat. His agony became excruciating when his captors kicked his broken bones and then he realized was “being carried aloft on the thundering wave of a mosh pit from hell.”

It was October 3, and Durant would face 11 days of agonizing captivity as followers of Somali warlord Mohamed Farah Aideed stared down the United States. They used Durant as a pawn so tribal fighters could seek concessions from an American superpower caught up in an unexpectedly brutal urban battleground. Durant was confined to a small room to be interrogated and indoctrinated by select Somalis who knew some English. His wounds were not treated, but he was given water and allowed to live, as negotiations continued between Somalis and Americans.

 

Though the Americans did not know Durant’s location and could not rescue him, they knew he was alive. A helicopter flew over Mogadishu with loudspeakers blaring: “Mike Durant! We will not leave without you!”

The messages gave Durant hope, but he knew he was dying from his wounds and was running out of time.

“If you guys are preparing a rescue mission, you’d better hurry,” Durant thought. “Or else you’ll be rescuing a corpse.”

The pain worsened by the hour as Durant suffered in the brutal African heat. When he could, he’d drift off into a semi-sleep and dream of skiing at Wilderness and of white Christmases in New Hampshire—and then awaken to his agonizing reality.

It never snows in Mogadishu.

DREAMS OF FLYING

 

Durant’s father was a sergeant in the N.H. National Guard and Mike always respected the military. After a pilot named Joe Brigham took Durant for a flight over Mt. Washington, Mike dreamed of becoming an army pilot. He enlisted after graduating from Berlin High School in 1979. He survived basic training and follow-on schools and eventually flight school. After earning his wings he was assigned to the 101^st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell, Kentucky and soon qualified for The United States Army’s elite 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne), also known as the Night Stalkers. Durant’s career took him to Korea, Panama, and the Persian Gulf for Operation Desert Storm.

During that 1991conflict Durant flew missions deep into Iraq, looking for SCUD missiles, eventually finding a site and firing it up. He also experienced the pain of losing comrades.

“Flying in combat can be an adventure,” recalled Durant. “But when you lose people it brings you back to reality and you remember how so many people pay the ultimate price in war.”

 

SURVIVAL

Durant’s best-selling 2003 book “In the Company of Heroes” provided material for this story. It chronicles his Somali ordeal.

“October 9, 1993. On my seventh day as a prisoner of war, I found religion …. Literally …” 

Durant’s captors allowed a “Care Package” to be delivered to him and among its items was a Bible. Not only did Durant draw inspiration from certain passages, but he wrote coded notes in special places, thinking that his captors would let him keep the Holy Book when he was released and the notes might prove invaluable in piecing things together later on.

Negotiations continued while Durant lay a prisoner and American officials conveyed to Aideed’s people that very, very, very bad things would happen to all of them if Durant didn’t survive. Finally, on October 14, with the help of the International Red Cross, the Granite Stater and his Bible were placed on a stretcher and transported to an exchange point where he was reunited with his countrymen.

Mike Durant had escaped from hell.

A HUMANITARIAN MISSION

 

American involvement in Somalia came about during the last days of the Bush Administration, in December of 1992. The country had descended into lawless chaos, which combined with famine meant that tens of thousands were dying of starvation. Because competing warlords were preventing food and humanitarian assistance from getting to the starving people, American military forces embarked upon Operation Restore Hope to secure food distribution points and routes. The mission evolved during 1993, as forces from the U.S. and elsewhere were inevitably drawn into the internecine fighting. The Clinton administration significantly increased the American military presence in Somalia and eventually the Americans were seen as opponents to Aideed, the most prominent warlord. Food distribution was threatened and both sides took casualties. Eventually a major mission was planned for October 3 to capture Aideed and his top lieutenants. While many of the targeted individuals were indeed captured, the mission was disrupted when a Black Hawk helicopter was shot down by a rocket propelled grenade. Later, Durant’s helicopter was also shot down. The battle resulted in 18 American deaths, with 80 wounded. Estimates of Somali casualties range from 1,500 to 3,000.

 

BACK TO AMERICA

 

Given the severity of his wounds and injuries, Durant’s rehabilitation took a long time, but he still dreamed of flying again. He was told that the prospect of rejoining the Night Stalkers in a flight status was doubtful, but he persevered. In 1995 he ran the Marine Corps Marathon to prove his fitness and eventually he did again fly Black Hawks.

 

In 2001 Durant retired from the Army and married Lisa desRoches, the widow of a helicopter pilot who was killed on a training mission. The two have worked together to raise six children. They live in Huntsville, Alabama, where Mike runs his own company, Pinnacle Solutions, an engineering and training services business that develops flight simulators and the like. Durant received the "2013 Vetrepreneur Award" for his company’s efforts on behalf of veterans. Pinnacle Solutions has grown steadily and now employs 81 people.

During an October 29th interview, Durant explained that the events from October of 1993 are always with him. He speaks candidly about American policies and policy-makers.

“Looking back, I wish that the Clinton administration would have been more responsive to the requests they received from the leaders on the ground in Somalia,” said Durant. “Three things in particular would have made us more successful. An aircraft carrier would have been a huge plus. As it was, we were sleeping 50 yards from the bad guys on the ground. Requested AC-130 gunships would have come in handy on Oct. 3 and 4. And leaders on the ground requested we have tanks and armored vehicles which were never delivered—which is why we suffered so many casualties.”

Secretary of Defense Les Aspin took the fall. He resigned in December of 1993 and died in 1995.

“I met Secretary Aspin at a memorial ceremony at Fort Bragg,” said Durant. “He could see the consequences of his decision-making on the faces of the families there. I think it contributed to his death.”

Meeting the families of Gary Gordon and Randy Shughart was especially poignant for Durant. The two soldiers were Delta Force operators who jumped from a helicopter to try to protect Durant and the crash site. Both were killed and each received the Congressional Medal of Honor.

 

“When I first saw Gary and Randy I thought I’d been saved,” recalled Durant. It was the greatest feeling. Then I realized it was only those two, against hundreds of Somalis. They never had a chance.”

Durant treasures a letter he received from Randy’s widow, Stephanie, which thanked him for giving Randy’s death a purpose. “I can look at you and see that his efforts were not in vain… Because of your bravery and refusal to be captured, I can sleep at night.”

Durant likens the Somali experience to the Vietnam experience, in that American forces were hamstrung by politics. He added that he has been asked repeatedly about the 2012 Benghazi fiasco where four Americans died in Libya.

 

“Benghazi was like Somalia in that our people didn’t get the support they deserved and they paid for it with their lives.”

Naturally, Durant has seen Ridley Scott’s movie “Black Hawk Down.”  Actor Ron Eldard played Durant in the movie.

“Ron seemed like a good guy,” recalled Durant, who met many cast members. “Although he really didn’t look, talk, or act like me. They mostly seemed like good guys, although Jeremy Piven was an ass.”

Piven played Cliff Wolcott, the pilot of the first Black Hawk shot down.

 

TODAY

 

Today Mike and Lisa Durant live in Huntsville. Three of their six children still live at home. The youngest, Michael, is an ice hockey player.

In Alabama?

“Yep,” said Durant. “We have ice in Alabama. And Michael’s on a travel team, decisively engaged in ice hockey operations. The problem is that the trips can be long ones. Like a 7 ½ hour drive to Columbus, Ohio.”

Durant often thinks of New Hampshire and savors his visits “home.”

 

“Of course I was excited to see the Red Sox in the World Series,” said Durant. “But it broke my heart to hear that Wilderness Ski Area closed.”

Durant was in the Granite State last winter to play in the Concord Black Ice Pond Hockey Tournament at White’s Park.

How did he do?

“Well, I’m proud to say that my team was the ‘Over-40 B-Division’ champs,” said Durant.

 

You can take the man out of Hockey-Town, but you can’t take Hockey-Town out of the man!

 

Harry Briggs - An Inspiration!

HARRY BRIGGS —AN AMERICAN ORIGINAL

 

Early in 1995 an older gentleman came to see me in my office at NHTI-Concord, where I was then working as Public Information Officer. He explained that even though he was 74-years-old, he wanted to do a 12-mile lake swim, and was looking for someone to help him organize and publicize it.

 

I didn’t really need an extra project, on top of everything else I was doing, but I listened patiently to his story. After I learned that Harry Briggs was a fellow Marine, a veteran of World War II’s Pacific Campaigns, I knew I’d do what I could to help him pursue his dream.

Could a 74-year-old swim 12 miles? Time would tell. But who was this interesting stranger with such an unusual goal?

 

Harry’s Story

I learned that Harry had enjoyed a consequential life, beyond his World War II experiences, which ended with him being sent to Nagasaki not long after that Japanese city was destroyed by an atomic bomb.

A native of Melrose, Mass., Harry attended Tilton Prep and then majored in history at Tufts University, graduating in 1942 before enlisting in the Marines in 1943. He later earned a Masters Degree at Boston University and then a Ph.D. at Western Reserve University in Cleveland.

A natural athlete, Harry coached varsity hockey at Tufts for two years, and later played semi-professionally for the Akron (Ohio) Stars. He also worked as a sportswriter for the old Boston Post before serving as a civilian historian for the U.S. Army. He also worked in insurance.

In 1952 he returned to ice hockey and worked that winter for the Buffalo Hockey Club, then a member of the American Hockey League. The next year he used his hockey background to get a job managing the Boston Arena.

Not only did Harry change jobs frequently in those days, but he also fell in love several times. Sadly, things never worked out and so he signed up for a two-year billet as a recreation consultant with the U.S. Army in Europe. It was there that he decided to attempt his first marathon swim, a 16-mile journey through shark-infested waters between the Mediterranean islands of Corsica and Sardinia.

To train for the swim, Harry climbed Switzerland’s Matterhorn Mountain, one of the most difficult climbs in the world.

 

“It was thrilling and terrifying,” said Harry. “But it was the worst thing I could have done before a swim. It tightened my muscles badly and my toenails were black from coming down 13 miles to the base camp in Zurmatt. I was almost crippled. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.”

Undaunted, Harry still traveled to Corsica with a friend and made arrangements for that epic swim—which he completed despite sharks, windy weather, and dangerous rocks on the Sardinian shore.

Harry returned to Corsica (on a boat!) and was feted as a hero. Wire services sent news of his swim all around the world. Harry found the subsequent attention to be quite validating and when he returned to the U.S. he pondered what he might do for a swimming encore.

In 1956 Harry was drilling as a Marine Corps reservist when the infamous Ribbon Creek Massacre occurred at Parris Island (S.C.) Marine Corps Recruit Depot. Six recruits drowned during a night movement and suddenly there was national interest in Marine training and swimming. The Marine Reserves decided to support Harry in his quest to become the first person to swim across Lake Erie, from Canada to the U.S.  A flotilla of ten ships and half a battalion of Marines accompanied Harry for 18 miles before a big storm ended his attempt—twelve miles short.  He tried again two months later, but the lower water temperature proved to be a showstopper. Harry was pulled from the lake after 20 miles.

“I felt like a disgrace to myself, my family, and the Marine Corps,” recalled Harry. “I was so despondent that I decided I’d go up to Alaska, the last frontier, to get my head together.”

While in Alaska, Harry quickly found a job with the Crippled Children’s Association and then got involved again in ice hockey, organizing the Alaska AAU Hockey Tournament. He then went to work for the Anchorage Baseball League before becoming a sportscaster for KENI, and eventually did interview pieces with high profile sports visitors to Alaska like Ted Williams, Billy Martin, and Vin Scully.

 

But his Lake Erie failures haunted Harry. He trained hard in the cold Alaskan waters and in August of 1957 he returned to Ohio and escorted by four boats he dove into a polluted Lake Erie and began swimming north towards Canada. Twenty four hours later he was still swimming, and was within four miles of the Canadian shore when a 25 mile north wind whipped up four foot waves, driving Harry away from his goal.

“But at that point I was in a ‘do or die” mode and just kept on,” said Harry.

He almost died.  It took him ten hours to complete those last four miles, but Harry finally set his foot down on the Canadian shore, having completed a 32 mile swim in 34 hours and 55 minutes.  His eyes were swollen shut and he couldn’t stand up. Canadian life guards got him to a doctor who treated him for hypothermia and got him into bed.

Then the fun began. An auto company flew him to New York City, where he appeared on the nationally televised Ed Sullivan Show. Gay Talese did a feature on him for the New York Times. Sports Illustrated ran a story as well.

“I received telegrams of congratulations from all over the country,” recalled Harry. “It was so motivating.”

Harry returned to Alaska, pondering his next big swim.

 

Lydia

Still a bachelor at age 37, Harry dated often, but had never met the right woman—until the spring of 1958, when he met Lydia, who encouraged Harry’s dreams and even swam with him as he trained. An extraordinarily beautiful woman, Lydia was the daughter of a German prostitute, and she never knew who her father was. She and her mother fled the Nazis and ended up in New York City. Lydia’s adventurous spirit led her to travel to many places and she eventually ended up in Alaska. She and Harry married got married on Dec. 31, 1958 in Wasilla—a town which later received notoriety after Sarah Palin was elected mayor there. Harry and Lydia were one of the last couples to be married in the territory of Alaska, which became the 49^th state four days later.

 

New Hampshire

Harry never forgot his New England roots and when visiting the east coast he often hiked in the New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

“Climbing mountains is a great way to gain leg strength,” explained Harry. “But I never repeated my Matterhorn mistake of doing too strenuous of a climb too close to a big swim.”

 

Harry and Lydia fell in love with the Granite State when Harry trained in N.H. for a record-setting Lake Michigan swim in 1960. The next year they bought property on Route 175 in Campton, where they eventually established the “Eskimo Shop,” that Harry still owns and runs today. Motorists traveling Route 175 now recognize it as “The Chalet,” a gift and antique shop.

In 1963 the new Granite Stater turned his swimming sights to Lake Winnipesaukee, that most wonderful of lakes.  On Saturday, August 31, he embarked on a circuitous 31 mile swim from Alton Bay to Wolfeboro and eventually to Weirs Beach. This marathon swim lasted 33 hours and 12 minutes, and like his Lake Erie swim, attracted much attention.  Laconia Mayor Hugh Bownes issued a decree making Harry an honorary Laconia citizen and proclaimed “Saturday, September 7, 1963, to be HARRY BRIGGS DAY in honor of this intrepid feat.”

End of Swim Career?

 

Harry did some work for Belknap College in those days, and “Doctor Briggs” was sometimes referred to as the “Paddling Professor.” He did another 22 mile Lake Winnipesaukee swim in 1964, but at age 43 the marathons were taking a toll, not just on Harry’s body but on Lydia’s psyche as well.

 

“She wanted me to end the swimming because of the risks and also so we could concentrate more on our work,” said Harry. “So in the next 30 years I didn’t swim ten strokes.”

Through 1991 Harry and Lydia built their businesses, traveled the globe, played tennis, and worked on their unique, special relationship. But that relationship ended abruptly when Lydia suffered a stroke at The Chalet and died hours later at Plymouth hospital.

 

“After they took the tubes out, we were alone for a while, and I held her hand,” Harry recalled. “Then I looked at her for the last time and saw that the suffering had left her face and she had the most angelic smile I had ever seen. That smile convinced me there is an afterlife. I touched her hair, gave her my best Marine salute, and walked out the hospital room door with tears running down my face.”

1995

 

The loss of Lydia understandably left Harry shattered, but he pressed on with his life and tried to think of ways to honor his beloved spouse. Among other things, he donated funds to Plymouth State University’s tennis program in Lydia’s memory.  Then one day he read a story of a long-distance swimmer who swam the length of Lake Winnipesaukee. The press account stated that it was the first time such a feat had been accomplished.

 

Harry—the honorary Laconia citizen—was surprised and disappointed. He dug out an old plaque commemorating his 1963 swim and while holding it he suddenly felt that old desire to swim, for the first time in 30 years. You could take Harry out of the water, but you couldn’t take the water out of Harry. A competitive athlete still resided inside the old Marine.

Which is what brought him to my office that day in 1995.

We talked about possibilities and he said he wanted to swim Golden Pond—Squam Lake—and I was candid with the old “Paddling Professor.”

 

“Can a 74-year-old swim 12 miles?” I asked.

 

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I could,” said Harry, who explained he was motivated by that earlier press account, as well as by Lydia’s memory.

We talked about logistics and publicity and Harry promised to train. A fellow World War II Marine had a place on Squam Lake and Harry regularly hit the lake there. We “tested the waters” with a two mile swim across Little Squam Lake, and followed that up with a five mile swim the length of Newfound Lake. The local media began to take notice and an Associated Press story about Harry’s swimming ran in newspapers all over northern New England.

 

Then it was time for the big test. Almost 12 miles, starting at the extreme east end of Squam Lake on Sandwich Beach, and ending three counties and five towns later, on Ashland Beach at the extreme west end of Little Squam Lake.

 

Numerous boats went by the “Paddling Professor” during his day-long swim, as people from all over Golden Pond yelled their encouragement. A nice crowd awaited Harry on the Ashland Beach. Harry emerged from the water to cheers and put on a robe and was warmed by the hugs of his new fans before doing an interview with a reporter from Channel 9.

Could a 74-year-old swim 12 miles? The answer was YES! 

2013

 

Fast-forward 18 years to 2013. As occurred in 1995, an older gentleman unexpectedly showed up outside my office door at NHTI-Concord. It was Harry Briggs. I was surprised and delighted to reconnect with the old Marine and he caught me up on his adventures.  At age 92 he was still buying and selling antiques and “The Chalet” was still doing business on Route 175 in Campton. He wintered in Louisiana where he swam when he could while serving as an adjunct professor of American Government at Northwestern State University.  He’d driven his van all the way from Louisiana to N.H.

“Will you help me with another swim?” he finally asked.

“Well,” I said.  “Let’s talk.”

Harry shared that he’d been inducted into the International Marathon Swimming Hall of Fame and he wanted to try at least one more distance swim. We eventually decided that, as in 1995, we’d start by trying a two mile swim across Little Squam Lake.

Later, the good folks at Plymouth State University indicated a desire to help with the project and we met and identified Labor Day, September 2, 2013, as a target day to do a Squam Lake swim.  Harry is training once again.

 

After our first organizational meeting, I drive back towards Concord and thought about what an extraordinary man Harry Briggs is.  His proposed 2013 lake swim would occur 70 years after he enlisted in the Marine Corps and headed off to witness some of the horrors of World War II’s Pacific Campaign. A 2013 swim would be 50 years after his 1963 Lake Winnipesaukee Swim—Sept. 7 being the Golden Anniversary of HARRY BRIGGS DAY.  During a time when unprecedented numbers of Americans are on food stamps, 92-year-old Harry Briggs is still earning a living, running a business, paying taxes, and teaching at a university. During a time when America faces an obesity epidemic, this man­—born in 1921—again wants to swim the length of one of N.H.’s most famous lakes.

Can a 92-year-old swim the length of Little Squam Lake?

I wouldn’t bet against it!

NASCAR Mania!

NASCAR RACING IN LOUDON, N.H.!

 

While New Hampshire may not have any big league pro sports teams, it does have the

New Hampshire Motor Speedway. And auto racing attracts more spectators than any other

sport in America. So twice a year, when NHMS hosts a NASCAR Sprint Cup event,

Loudon, N.H., becomes the Granite State’s version of Green Bay, Wisconsin—a small

community temporarily transformed by sport into a Major League City.

The stands in Loudon can accommodate around 110,000 fans, more than Fenway Park

and Gillette Stadium combined.  That’s Major League, baby!

The most recent example of this phenomenon occurred on July 14 when NHMS hosted

the NH 301, meaning that the 100,000 people traveling Rt. 106 to the Speedway included

 the likes of Jimmie Johnson,  Dale Earnhardt Jr., Jeff Gordon, Jeff Burton, and other top

drivers.

I mentioned the event to a friend visiting from California who’d never been to a race before.

“I am strenuously and morally opposed to NASCAR,” she replied with a wide smile,

hoping, perhaps to tweak my sportsman’s sensibilities.

 

Her “progressive leanings” apparently led her to believe that auto racing was too loud,

too fuel inefficient, too grandiose, too dangerous, and too male, among other things. 

But when I mentioned I had tickets and easy access to the track, she changed her tune. 

“Well, I was raised by an engineer/mechanic,” she explained.  “I had three older brothers,

and our nightly dinner table conversation revolved around cars and planes. Maybe I could

give it a chance.”

 

“Danica Patrick will be racing,” I replied. “She’s a girl!”

“Awesome!” said my feminist friend, whom I’ll forthwith refer to as Non-Danica.  “Let’s go!”

So Non-Danica and I made our way to the Magic Mile. She was quickly captivated by

the energy and all the people as we walked through the extensive concessions areas

before ascending into the stands where she was soon surrounded by around 100,000

of my amicable NASCAR friends. She struck up a conversation with a couple from

upstate New York sitting to our right and was given a quick primer on NASCAR, and

the joys of camping out in Winnebagos right next to the track.

Helicopters and planes circled overhead.

“Is this on TV?” queried Non-Danica, the Golden Stater.

“Yep. National television. TNT.”

 

As engines roared to life and revved in the pit areas, crews went through final checks,

their impact wrenches whirring and whizzing. Non-Danica’s enthusiasm mounted.  

Soon she was sending text messages and photos all over the country to friends and

family members.

“Wow!” she shouted.  “This is so exciting!”

Pre-race activities included a recognition of Granite State first-responders, a wonderful

rendition of our National Anthem by Miss New Hampshire, and an invocation from a

clergyman.

“Wow. I didn’t expect such a long prayer,” said Non-Danica.

 

“Hey, this is New Hampshire, not California,” I responded. “It’s NASCAR.  It’s Sunday. 

Live Free or Die!”

A giant bearded man wearing a biker shirt and carrying a large cooler soon settled in

front of us. He looked back and said “Who needs a beer?”

Then the race started and the roar of the engines of America’s top drivers drowned out

the public address announcer.

 

“Oh my gosh!” laughed Non-Danica, beverage in hand.  “This is so exciting! I’m

so ashamed that I like this so much!”

During the first yellow caution, when things quieted a bit, Non-Danica remarked that her

consciousness was suddenly flooded with those dinner-table car conversations between

her brothers and late father.  She also recalled that her attendance at the high school’s

 introductory auto-mechanics class was required before driving the family car.

“I want to know more about these cars, engines, tires, drivers, crews, and racing

strategies,” said Non-Danica. 

Next, Non-Danica wondered aloud whether car-racing was a sport, or something else. 

The debate as to whether or not NASCAR drivers are athletes will never end, but there

is no question that the race crews showed incredible teamwork, changing four tires

while re-fueling a car and sending it back out in less than 20 seconds.

Danica Patrick’s car was knocked out late in the race, which Tony Stewart led for over a

hundred laps. But with 12 laps to go, Brian Vickers took the lead and held on for an

emotional win.

Non-Danica was moved by the spectacle.  

 

“What a thrill,” she said. “The power, the speed, the crowd, the energy!”

I responded that NHMS would host another Sprint Cup event in September.

“There is something quintessentially American in all this,” observed Non-Danica, the

California Progressive and temporary NASCAR fan, who suddenly reminded me of

Diane, from the TV show Cheers.  “It’s a fascinating cultural study.” 

We stood and made our way down the stands, passing our new buddy, the giant

bearded man in the biker shirt, who again asked us if we needed any beer.

 

Non-Danica gave him a big smile, as did I.

 

Next mission: “Give Wal-Mart a chance!”

 

 

Road Trips!

TIM’S AND ROD’S EXCELLENT SPORTS ROAD TRIP ADVENTURE!

   On the Road is a classic 1950s novel by New England writer Jack Kerouac. It’s based on the travels of Kerouac and his friends across America. Traveling the country “in search of America” is not unusual, although the search often turns out to be more about finding one’s own identity than about sight-seeing or having fun. (Recall the classic “Road Trip!” scenes from the 1978 movie Animal House.)

   So in the spirit of Jack Kerouac and the Delta Brothers of Animal House, NHTI-Concord students Tim Martin and Rod Malone recently took off and hit the road, in search not of America, but of sports action.

   “With a new baby due in September, I wanted to get in another summer baseball trip,” explained Martin. “Earlier trips took me to many Major League parks including PNC in Pittsburgh, The Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati and Camden Yards in Baltimore. This year Rod and I figured it was time to get to Chicago.”

   Chicago meant seeing the Cubs at Wrigley Field in the afternoon, and the White Sox at US Cellular Field in the evening. So Tim got up before 3 a.m. one June day and drove south from Laconia, first picking up Rod and then heading south on a near-deserted I-93 to make it to Boston Logan Airport in time to catch a 7 a.m. flight to Chicago. Once in the Windy City, the Granite Staters made their way to the Billy Goat Tavern and procured some tickets for that day’s Cubs-Reds game.

   “Being a Red Sox fan at Wrigley field was amazing,” said Tim. “I looked for Red Sox savior Theo Epstein, now the Cub General Manager, but he was nowhere to be seen. We sat on the third base line about 20 rows up. Seeing the Ivy on Wrigley’s walls for the first time was special. Wrigley took us back in time to when baseball was the only game in town and the best place to be was in the stands scoring a game. No giant electronic scoreboards at Wrigley, but they did have an old-fashioned organ.”

   The Reds’ 2-1 victory confirmed Martin’s preference for National League action.

   “NL ball is still pure,” Tim observed. “I think that a game should only take two hours and pitchers should hit. If pitchers throw at someone in the NL then also they have to face the music at the plate themselves!”

   After the White Sox game was cancelled due to weather, Tim and Rod had to go to Plan B—getting into Game One of the Stanley Cup Finals at the United Center, where the Black Hawks hosted the Boston Bruins. The NH boys had to spend some money, but they got tickets on opposite sides of the arena, and watched Chicago overcome a 3-1 Boston lead and eventually triumph in triple overtime.

   “Easily the best sporting event I’ve ever been to,” said Tim. “But the game got over so late we skipped going to a hotel and went straight to Midway Airport for a 6 a.m. flight to New York to see a Mets game.”

   Despite the weather Tim and Rod made it to the Big Apple and then to Citi Field, where the Mets hosted the St. Louis Cardinals.

   “Citi Field is great,” offered Tim. “The Mets couldn’t decide whether they wanted a throwback park or something more modern. But it was a fantastic place to watch a game. The Jackie Robinson Rotunda is a wonderful entryway. The park has interesting dimensions and fantastic  food.”

   Martin is a reliable food critic, as he works as a chef when not taking Sports Management classes at NHTI.

   After the Cardinals won the game 2-1, Rod and Tim went to Times Square and then hung out at Penn Station. Eventually, they caught a train to Boston and returned to Beantown after midnight. They drove back to the Lakes Region with their wallets a bit lighter, but with their lives enriched by a wondrous sports road trip.

   Jack Kerouac and the Delta Brothers would have been proud!

On Golf!

 Golfing ...

   The 2013 British Open will soon be upon us.  The third of golf’s four “Major” championship tournaments begins July 18 at the Muirfield Club in Gullane, Scotland.

   Professional golf tournaments, especially the Majors, are compelling to watch. Consider that it takes around eight months to crown an NBA or and NHL champion, and only four days to crown a Masters Champion. The drama at a Major really starts with the first round on Thursday, and continuously builds until the Sunday evening climax.

   Yes, golf is an individual sport, and that’s fine. It’s part of its beauty. Phil Mickelson was entirely on his own playing during the closing holes at Merion Country Club near Philadelphia earlier this month, as the 43-year-old dueled with Justin Rose for a U.S. Open title. Five times a runner-up, Mickelson desperately wanted to reward his family, friends, and fans with that elusive US Open Trophy. Sadly for Phil, he again finished second. But many fans had to relate to Phil as an individual, knowing that time is running out on his career, knowing of his personal generosity, and knowing that he took time off from the tour to support his wife and his mom when they both had breast cancer.

   Modern broadcast technology with its superb graphics, expert camera-work, and high definition television makes watching a Major on TV a delight compared to the old days when it was so hard to follow the flight of the ball on black and white television sets.

   Yes, the individuals do make the sport. Tiger Woods may be the world’s most recognizable figure. And I don’t mind the occasional TV cutaways to his new girlfriend, Lindsey Vonn. But what really makes golf fun to watch are the venues, the courses themselves. A tennis match involves two players hitting a ball back and forth, trying to keep inside the lines, which are standard everywhere. In golf, every course—every hole—is different.  There are hills and dales, water hazards and sand traps, trees, spectators and more. Tennis is one on one. Golf can feature 36 (or more) players out on the course at the same time, with a like number of balls in play.

   Full disclosure: I have been playing more golf lately, which has increased my interest and appreciation for the sport.  Loudon Country Club.  Canterbury Woods. The Owl’s Nest in Campton.  And Den Brae, that wonderfully forgiving nine-hole course in Sanbornton. I played the same ball all nine holes, which especially nice. I’d earlier lost quite a few golf balls on a different course and am still battling the poison ivy problems I contracted from searching for them. Further, after borrowing a friend’s driver and almost reaching the green on the Par 4 fifth hole, I realized I needed to get a real driver to replace the ancient one-wood in my old golf bag. The nice folks at the Den Brae Club House gave me a deal on a real driver and extended it two inches with a new grip. This new weapon in my golf arsenal positioned me for more of those exhilarating 250 yard drives.

   I just need to keep them straight and out of the poison ivy.

 

   Bring on the British Open!

 

    (Predicted winner – Rory McIlroy.)

 

DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS

 

The great city of Austin, Texas, hosted the annual convention for the North American Society for Sports Management earlier this month and yours truly was among the attendees.  While it was nice to experience the many interesting seminars and network with colleagues from around the country, it was also wonderful to sample a different sports culture.

Professional development, if you will.

 

Texas is football country to be sure, and NASSM scheduled an event at Darrell Royal–Texas Memorial Stadium, which has a seating capacity of over 100,000.  Built in 1924, the stadium was dedicated to Texas’ World War I veterans, and the 5280 Texans who gave their lives in that conflict have their names permanently displayed in bronze outside the north end zone. I walked an upper level of the legendary edifice, and felt the presence of many gridiron ghosts. The Longhorns have won 32 conference titles as well as national championships in 1963, 1969, 1970, and 2005.

The Texas State Capitol Building is a short walk from the stadium, but I took the scenic campus route to see the famous Texas Tower, where Charles Whitman killed seventeen people and wounded thirty-two others in a mass shooting rampage on the afternoon of August 1, 1966.

The Capitol was fascinating to visit. I wanted to get a photo of the portrait of former Yale cheerleader George W. Bush, who’d owned the Texas Rangers baseball team before serving as Texas governor from 1994-2000. Like the New Hampshire State House, the Texas Capitol hangs paintings of all its former governors. I was surprised to see that Texas had twice elected Miriam Ferguson—a WOMAN! —as governor, in 1924 and 1932. How progressive! (It wasn’t until 1996 that N.H. elected a female chief executive.) I later learned that Miriam was the husband of former Governor James Ferguson, who was impeached and removed from office during his second term. As part of his conviction, he was not allowed to hold state office in Texas again. After her husband's conviction, Ma Ferguson ran herself for the office. She told voters that said she would follow the advice of her husband and Texas thus would get "two governors for the price of one.” A campaign slogan was "Me for Ma, and I Ain't Got a Durned Thing Against Pa."

OK. Maybe the Texans were not that progressive after all.

 

I picked up a local paper and read a sports column reminiscing about the Dallas Chaparrals ABA hoop team, which later became the San Antonio Spurs. Despite the fact that the Spurs are in the NBA Finals, some feel they are the third most popular NBA team in Texas, behind the Dallas Mavericks and the Houston Rockets. (The Spurs are easily the SECOND most popular NBA team in N.H., right behind the Celtics, due to the presence of Concord’s Matt Bonner on the roster.)

 

Beyond sports, I also sought to expand my cultural horizons by visiting a Honky-Tonk. As an erstwhile country music fan and loyal listener of Mountonborough’s WSCY—Super Country 106.9 FM—I’d heard the term before but wasn’t quite sure what a Honky-Tonk was. Turns out it’s a southern bar that plays country music. The concierge at the Hilton shared that Austin’s “Broken Spoke” had been voted “Best Honky-Tonk in Texas.” So I had to visit.   

“The Best Honky-Tonk in Texas” also had the lowest ceiling in Texas, but I ducked as necessary and was delighted to be able to buy a pitcher of Lone Star for only $6.50. And I bravely took some dance lessons from The Spoke’s own Terri White. Turns out that I dance even worse than I golf, but Terri was very patient with me and the other novices. I’ll eventually master the Texas Two-Step, just as I’ll eventually master my seven-iron.

 

One of the Texas Two-Steppers looked familiar. She looked just like Teri Hatcher, the Desperate Housewife. Turns out that she WAS Teri Hatcher, whom some readers will also remember from the TV show “Lois and Clark.” I learned that Teri had a football connection—of course, this being Texas—having once been a cheerleader for the NFL’s San Francisco 49ers.

Her two-step was much better than mine. But I’ll bet she can’t hit that seven iron!

Anyway, Austin was wonderful. Next year’s NASSM Convention will be in Pittsburgh and “I Ain't Got a Durned Thing Against Pittsburgh.”  I’ll be there.

 

Professional development, if you will!