From "the Sun still rises in the East" files

The Mets suck again.

Let it be known to future historians that the area around Shea Stadium and Citi Field was known as "Flushing" long before Mets fans longed to do just that to their crappy ball club.  The latest example:  Angel Pagan, the Mets' backup center fielder, last night hit an inside the park home run AND started a triple play in consecutive innings.

Yeah, they lost anyway.  To the Nationals.

It could be worse.  Just now I see on the ticker that the Reds have scored eight runs in the top of the second in Atlanta.  If those were the Mets they would probably blow the lead: they'd give back a couple in the home half, a run here and there in the middle innings, and then a six-run blow-up in the eighth by four relievers while Willie Randolph cackles madly, jabbing knitting needles into a giant voodoo doll of Mr. Met.

UPDATED - holy smokes!  Atlanta DID win.  Cincy pulled a Benitez on us.

There, but for the grace of God

...go I.

What it's still all about

The Judge strikes again.

I missed that post on November 11th and wish I hadn't, but it's very good to know that it will be included in his upcoming book.  I'll be buying it when it's done.  (And if I ever get the first one away from my dear wife, I may be able to read them both!)

An excerpt of the speech he quotes, from the Honorable Christopher Heffernan, given 66 years ago today:

Today the world is gripped by war. ... It is in very truth a world revolution that challenges all those principles of personal freedom, equality of right, impartial justice, and popular sovereignty that are so dear to the hearts of all free men everywhere. In all the sorry pages of human history never has despotism stood forward more defiantly, never has it more brazenly announced its foul purposes, never have the rights of men and nations been more brutally assailed.

The present war is not merely for markets and territories; it is a struggle for the possession of the human soul. The civilized world is threatened by a sinister power which strikes directly at its moral foundations. Two philosophies of life are involved in deadly combat— the one based upon law, justice and human dignity; the other upon arbitrary will, violence and human slavery.

... We in America shall not work swiftly enough, ruthlessly enough, nor shall we have the means of striking back against Fascism hard enough, if we think we can baby ourselves through this crisis. We are working against a barbarian power that has demanded, and exacted, years of bitter sacrifice from every man, woman and child ...
 
I speak now to those Americans who love life but are willing to face death so that life may go on. I appeal to those who have experienced love but who know that no smaller love than that of humanity will enable the love of mates and friends to be secure. I appeal to those who still carry on the tradition of immigrants and pioneers; those who dared much to create a new world. The task our ancestors started is not finished. The struggle is not over. We have a job to do, the hardest that ever faced a generation. Our job is to restore our own faith for living and to lay the foundation of a world in which life, love, freedom, justice, truth, will once more be sacred.

Judge Heffernan is completely right.  The Greatest Generation took heed and saved the whole world, winning the fight and the long wary standoff that gripped Eastern Europe in the following four decades.  Sadly, it has been the following generations that have been quibbling over incidentals while essentials go neglected.

Please read Judge Heffernan's speech in full, and maybe buy a book or two from Judge Going, who is truly one of the good guys.

Happy Veteran's Day

A remembrance from Ralph Kiner, one of many professional ballplayers who served in WWII.

Every one of us has a parent or grandparent who served sometime, and I know many of you readers have served yourselves. I am fortunate enough to still have my great uncle on my father's side to thank in person for what he did to save the world back then. But to all who served, and especially those who gave all, please accept the humble and heartfelt thanks of this dumb, fat, and happy civilian blogger.

(updated - thanks to Joe Posnanski for this related image. Gorgeous on many levels. Now I have it in my screen saver rotation as well.)

Hm, why could they be going out of business?

Hint: it's not the economy.


It's much more about the choices they make about what's important to talk about. To the MSN folks from whom I've screen-capped this bit, it's not that 13 were killed. It's that he was mortified about deployment, had been harassed for his Muslim faith - the implication clearly being that he was a decent guy pushed too far by those bastard American soldiers.

The actual dead? Oh, yeah, I suppose we can mention them.

Now look, I know that this is not conscious. My own journalism classes covered this sort of thing - look for the angle, find the motivations, tell people why. I don't object to that. What I find really frustrating is that this information is the hook to the story.

It would have been just as easy to put "Thirteen killed in Fort Hood Shooting - suspect in custody" as the bold, top print, and then underneath, that he didn't want to go overseas and had alleged harassment. For that matter it would have been just as easy to say that he had alleged the harassment, instead of reporting it as established fact. This morning's Asbury Park Press described Major Hasan as the alleged shooter - but to them harassment was fait accompli.

That's my objection - it's not just reporting the facts, it's the reflexive "they must have done something to him to make him do this" attitude. The harassment may be true. But less than 24 hours after this horror, why are the Times and MSN laying the groundwork for this monstrous act to be excused and explained away? Are they really so blind as to miss how indecent that is to the dead and their families? It's nauseating.

Eight years on

This morning broke nothing like the brilliant clear Tuesday of September 11, 2001. It's windy, with drenching rain and a damp chill in the New Jersey air.

A large part of me loves weather like this, especially if I can be out in it for a while. I'm not talking about driving (and I've got a fun little story about that. Maybe later), I'm talking about bundling up and going for a walk and feeling the water and wind, hearing rain pattering off the brim of my hat, and watching the trees toss and sway. Love it. (The poor dog, not so much, and for her sake I got out and back in as quickly as I could, once her business was done.)

It was a good way to start the day. I may go back out at lunchtime and take a proper walk. I'll be thinking of the fallen, however. I'll be thinking of the promise their day held as they woke to flawless blue skies and perfect temperatures, and got ready for their jobs, and planned their schedule. I'll think of everything they looked forward to when they got home, and for the rest of the week, and for the weeks and months following, left incomplete; the book on their lives abruptly shut, the pages unwritten.

I like to think that on a day like that, I would have taken advantage and gone for that walk. I never did, of course, but even without the attacks and the horror of it, I don't know that I would have. Heaven knows, plenty of splendid days have followed, and most of them, if I'm out at lunchtime it's to run an errand or grab a meal, having forgotten mine at home. I no longer live close enough to walk to work, either.

Today, I'm mindful of it.

Mr. Bingley reposted his tribute for his friends Sylvia and John; Sheila has done the same for Michael Pascuma. I hope that you will take the time to remember them, as well as Angela Houtz, whom I did not know but was privileged to memorialize for the 2996 Project. (And I see that I wrote "triubte" in the title. Brilliant, Shakespeare. Fixed now.) If you have the inclination, please consider a contribution to the memorial scholarship given each year in Angela's honor.

And in another, quieter tribute, please take the time to go through this list at the Judge Report. Robert N Going is posting information on the World War II dead from his hometown of Amsterdam, NY. They fell defending freedom. It needs our defense now. Even if all we can do is exercise it by speaking up about things - or about nothing in particular - then we should do that.

Our minds and our lives are yet our own, and today is perfect weather for showing so.

(the following is reposted from September 10, 2006)

On September 7, 2001, Angela Houtz joined her family in Ocean City, MD, to make holiday.

She had turned 27 the previous day, but work had prevented her from arriving sooner. Angela worked as a senior analyst for the Office of Naval Intelligence. On her birthday she had still been aboard the USS DeWert; the next day she made her way back north from Florida and arrived in time for the celebration.

Her uncle, Sheriff Frederick Davis, was taking office as President of the Maryland Sheriff's Association that weekend, so there was a lot to celebrate. The family spent the weekend; at her birthday, Angela, as was traditional, wore the family Birthday Hat while she opened her gifts.

Come Monday, she was back at work at the Pentagon. Intelligent and dedicated, in nine short years she had progressed from salutatorian of Maurice McDonough High School, to an English degree from the University of Maryland-Baltimore County, to her civilian work in the Navy. Like thousands of others on the morning of Tuesday, September 11th, she was at work when the word came through: first one, and then the other of the towers of the World Trade Center had been struck with airliners.

At the Pentagon, everything changed. Angela joined a meeting in the C-ring with several officials, other analysts, and military officers. They were still there when American Airlines flight 77 skimmed across the lawn and into their wing of the building. She joined many others - financiers, insurers, staff, the cooks and busboys of Windows on the World, the airline crews, firefighters and police and military - suddenly killed while simply about their business; but her business consisted of understanding the nature of the attack and helping to organize a response. Angela Houtz was among the very first to fall in defense of the United States in the current conflict.

She received full honors: a military funeral, the Distinguished Civilian Award of Merit, and a letter of condolence from President Bush; more importantly, an outpouring of the great respect and love from everyone who had known her. In an article for VOA News, Commander David Radi spoke about this respect:

“It’s a bond that approaches a brother or sister and although Angie was a civilian, she was a shipmate to us. I was proud to call her that. The way she shined. I put her eventually in a position where we had never had a civilian. It was because the trust I had in her; but more importantly, the more senior people in the Navy had in her. She would stand a watch in the off hours in particular. She would be the eyes and ears of the Navy in our command center. And there could be no better forerunner for that in the civilian world of Naval Intelligence than Angela Houtz.”

The service took six hours. If that had been all that there was to the affair, it would certainly be enough, but her father, Robert Houtz, speaking to the Boothbay Register, told of more: "Angie had had two full-time jobs, one for humanity and one for her country."

Many remember her now for her life for the country, but those who love her remember her other life: an active young woman, working with her own church and the Salvation Army for homeless relief; a lover of puns, a tutor of children; a joy to her family and friends. She was equally at home taking classes in dance or organizing food drives. And her finest tribute comes directly from Mrs. Julie Shontere, her mother:

“Most important in her life, above all else, was her faith in God. ... She gave so much to us all. She continues to teach me through her journals and spirit. ... I feel blessed beyond words to have had the honor to be her mom.”

Cmdr. Radi made a point to mention her faith in connection with the position of trust she had earned among the Naval staff; even people who had barely known her were dearly touched by Angela. Amy Moffitt of Washington DC met Angela only twice, and said: “She lived really vividly in everything. She was very present, she was very alive. ... There was not a person she met who didn’t go, ‘Wow,’ that was awakened by her presence, because she was so awake, so alive, so there.” All of the quotes about Angela in the sources below reveal the same compassion and the same vitality.

It is just and right to remember and to memorialize the loss that so many shared that day; but it is incomplete unless we can also celebrate the lives that were left behind. Angela Houtz gave joy and dedication that long outlive the events of one September afternoon. Her service to country did not end at the doors of the Pentagon. It is an honor to be recogized at your funeral by a president for your work; it is also honor to be recognized on a concert line by a passing homeless man for your generosity and mercy. Many hunger after the one sort of honor, but the other can only be given to those who pour themselves out in service, who give cheerfully of whatever they have, be it time, money, toil, or just a smile for a sad friend.

In celebrating Angela's life, we celebrate a woman who knew that joy only grows when you give it away. The lasting image to recall is of her happy family, laughing and snapping pictures of Angela in the Birthday Hat, unwrapping gifts - it is of they that she would be thinking of, and it is altogether fitting to respect her wishes and think of them as well. Today is but the anniversary of one moment; the full life of Angela Houtz endures beyond it, and defeats it. That life is real and lasting, and it abides through the many people she loved to the full.

My deepest thanks to Mrs. Julie Shontere, who was kind enough to provide much of the above information first-hand; and also to the following sources:

The Chicago Tribune, for this remembrance
The UMBC Alumni Newsletter, Summer 2002, for this profile
The Boothbay Register, October 4, 2001, for this article by Duey Graham
The VOA News, October 22, 2001, for this article by Betty van Etten
The Maryland State Archives
The Defend America Network
The September 11 Victim's Memorial

Rest in peace

This is horrible news.

ANAHEIM, Calif. -- Los Angeles Angels pitcher Nick Adenhart and two other people were killed early Thursday by a suspected drunk driver just hours after the rookie made his first start of the season.

A minivan driven by one Andrew Gallo ran a red light and plowed the car in which Adenhart rode as a passenger, killing him, a second passenger, and the driver. A third passenger is still in critical condition. Gallo promptly bailed and tried to flee on foot, only to be caught thirty minutes later.

Yeah, instead of staying to help, or at least calling 911, he took off. (update - in doing so, he also abandoned his own passenger, who was injured in the collision.) He tested over the legal limit. He's done so before, according to the story, and was driving on a suspended license when he ran through the light and killed three young people.

On top of all that, a fan of the Angels' has just died of injuries received in a fight at the stadium on opening day.

There aren't enough words in me to describe how sad this all is, and how angry I am at that incredibly selfish and careless snot driving the van.

updated... with a great interview with Adenhart by Rich Lederer of the always-excellent Baseball Analysts. AND, with the "winoism" tag, as per Spider's comment.

A continuing story - consolations

Monday morning we woke up and prepared ourselves to help Pops say goodbye to his dear wife.

Before we could hit the road we made sure that everyone had a proper formal shirt and tie for the viewings. Then, I had to run a miniature clinic on tie tying. It had been quite a while since my brother had worn one, and Sister's beau had apparently not been required to since his childhood, clip-on days. The poor rabbits had to circle several trees before successfully ducking down the hole, but we got there, and it was a welcome smile to tide us during the next several hours.

The home was very pleasant. They also solved a grammatical issue I've wondered about - there's usually a sign in the lobby of such an establishment directing the visitors to the proper room for their viewing, just in case the staff happen to be unable to greet folks upon arrival. Such signs usually just have a name and room - Bob Smith, Chapel A; Mary Jones, Chapel B. After all, one can hardly say "We welcome Bob Smith" or "Now presenting Mary Jones." This home said "Caring for ________" on the sign, and I found that the perfect tone.

They were, of course, really caring for Pops, and for all of us. Everyone needs to work out their grief, and a public testimony strikes me as a healthy part of the process; not that we should make every step a public occasion (he said on his blog), but this was important. This was good. We all saw members of the family who had been absent for many years, though never too far from our thoughts. Email and cel phones help close the gap, but there's something about being there together.

It's no wonder that in between the two viewings, many of Pops' kids and their families went next door for a large dinner. There was a lot of catching up to do, and a lot of news to share. Pops did not come; it wasn't the right time for him, and a few of the family stayed with him instead. Each was a proper ministering.

All throughout the two viewings, a remarkable assortment of people came to offer their respects - all of the folks Pops knew through volunteering at the firehouse, and neighborhood friends, and more nephews and cousins; even friends he'd known from 35 years ago when he lived on Long Island, who had moved to a different part of Florida and made the trip when they heard.

I've always known that Pops and Grandma love us all; it's amazing and wonderful to see how much they are loved in return.

... developing ...

I am a horrible person

Everywhere I look on the web, there's folks whom I've missed for a couple of weeks since I've been back - and in catching up with them, I find that without exception all of them have lost a family member or suffered some personal setback or work-related outrage.

And of course, this is all about me feeling bad for missing the news and not being able to say "I'm sorry for your pain." My condolences are extra-powerful and without them these poor souls are bereft - bereft, I say!

Oh - don't believe me? Well, why did all this lousy stuff go down when I wasn't around? Huh? Because my preventative powers weren't available, that's why. Because my all-important and oh-so-amazing widdle feewings are THE determiner of other people's reality. I could prove it, too, if those folks with the white coats would just stop sticking me with needles for a few hours.

Worrying more about how I appear to others, rather than how they feel, is what makes me such a horrible person. Simple math, friends. Please accept my honest condolences and well-wishes, forgive me my horribleness, and thanks as always for reading.

Another life and death in service

Father Richard Neuhaus, one of our great ones, has been called home. Courtesy of First Things, I would like to ask you to read this example of his towering gift.

Thank you, Father, and please, please pray for those of us who are still in this vale of tears.

(h/t to Dawn Eden)

Do hamsters travel in elephants?

Very early on Thursday morning, our little guy found out.


He actually woke us up on Wednesday night, a bit after midnight, squeaking. The Nibbler rarely did that. He was quiet in his happiness. He ran on his wheel, and dug around in his tunnels, and popped up whenever we came over to visit with him. Some dwarf hamsters are leery of handling, but he enjoyed running back and forth from hand to hand, and up and down arms. He would try to climb the outside of his wheel whenever we fed him - and especially his "Ratatouille" branded treats, shaped like little crunchy croissants. And he would take naps by propping himself up on his hanches and closing his eyes like a furry blue-gray Buddha. When we finally got a house instead of an apartment, we were able to put him in his ball and let him tool around the entire living room.

He would get "ball time" most often when we cleaned out the habitat. I can't tell if he was happy about the ball or just anxious that I was dismantling and reassembling his home, but he'd pop right up when I closed the little door between his main box and the tunnels. But yesterday morning, when I shut the door and took the tunnels away, he didn't budge. I dumped the old bedding and re-stuffed the two end boxes and I still didn't see him when I went back, and I knew. I tapped the box just to make sure, but he didn't come out of the cardboard tube he liked to sleep in. Sure enough, he was gone, and not for very long. He just looked asleep, and a little thinner maybe than usual. I also found a lot of uneaten food... My guess is, he had not felt well enough to eat, so he was just hoarding without actually eating at all, and we never knew it.

We buried our little guy in the yard, in his cardboard tube. Having no headstone on hand, and not thinking all too clearly, I grabbed what was already on hand and put it up as a tribute to the Nibbler - but in retrospect, I think that the message has a bit of an edge that I did not intend at all.


I'll fix it when I can. He was a terrific little critter and deserves better.

There's a minor debate among believers regarding pets and whether they gain any sort of eternal life. For what it's worth, I like CS Lewis' take on it, expressed best in the chapter in The Great Divorce where Sarah Smith comes into view, attended by a veritable crowd of such critters, even strays she found. The spirit of George MacDonald explains that the love of the saint has called them, love enough to wake all the dead things of the world to life, because it springs directly from Love Himself. And it makes sense to me. People usually treat pets like they were more than just animals; in fact, God treats us like more than we really are, thus helping us become what He means us to be. I think that the process may well carry along the chain, from us to the things we have loved on earth.

So little guy, may all your tunnels end in piles of croissants, until next time.

Although it's been said many times, many ways

Everyone else is already all over Veteran's Day, of course... Doesn't let me off from saying thank you yet again to all the brave souls who have sacrificed for our freedom and safety.

THS and Major Dad, and Rachel's Rupert, and James Lileks' Dad and the Judge's Dad, and of course the Spider and his many siblings, Lisa's dear husband, Senator McCain and his brave fellow POWs, and so many others - no slight intended if I missed you. (update - DUH. Cullen! Sorry, bro.) Thanks again from the long-haired fast-talker from Lawn Guyland.

The way she shined

Mr. Bingley heard it from Lisa, whose idea it was. I am pleased to follow their lead. The following was first posted on September 11, 2006, as part of the 2996 Project. (Mr. B reports that the site may be down, so he found a mirror site. Thanks, man.)

Many of the Pantheon also did tributes. Please take the time to visit them; the link will take you to the re-post if it's up, or to the original:

Michael J Pascuma at the Sheila Variations
Tom Burnett and Michael J Simon at It Comes In Pints?
Sylvia and John Resta at Coalition of the Swilling
Thomas W Kelly, FNDY at Trunk Full O Junk
Remembering Benito Valentine at Half a Pica; and Cullen's post today on the Anniversary
Jason Michael Cefalu at It Binds the Tuna
James M Roux at Grizzly Mama
Andrea Della Bella and others at A Wandering Confluence
And this general memorial from the Judge Report (and his post today)

On September 7, 2001, Angela Houtz joined her family in Ocean City, MD, to make holiday. She had turned 27 the previous day, but work had prevented her from arriving sooner. Angela worked as a senior analyst for the Office of Naval Intelligence. On her birthday she had still been aboard the USS DeWert; the next day she made her way back north from Florida and arrived in time for the celebration.

Her uncle, Sheriff Frederick Davis, was taking office as President of the Maryland Sheriff's Association that weekend, so there was a lot to celebrate. The family spent the weekend; at her birthday, Angela, as was traditional, wore the family Birthday Hat while she opened her gifts.

Come Monday, she was back at work at the Pentagon. Intelligent and dedicated, in nine short years she had progressed from salutatorian of Maurice McDonough High School, to an English degree from the University of Maryland-Baltimore County, to her civilian work in the Navy. Like thousands of others on the morning of Tuesday, September 11th, she was at work when the word came through: first one, and then the other of the towers of the World Trade Center had been struck with airliners.

At the Pentagon, everything changed. Angela joined a meeting in the C-ring with several officials, other analysts, and military officers. They were still there when American Airlines flight 77 skimmed across the lawn and into their wing of the building. She joined many others - financiers, insurers, staff, the cooks and busboys of Windows on the World, the airline crews, firefighters and police and military - suddenly killed while simply about their business; but her business consisted of understanding the nature of the attack and helping to organize a response. Angela Houtz was among the very first to fall in defense of the United States in the current conflict.

She received full honors: a military funeral, the Distinguished Civilian Award of Merit, and a letter of condolence from President Bush; more importantly, an outpouring of the great respect and love from everyone who had known her. In an article for VOA News, Commander David Radi spoke about this respect:

“It’s a bond that approaches a brother or sister and although Angie was a civilian, she was a shipmate to us. I was proud to call her that. The way she shined. I put her eventually in a position where we had never had a civilian. It was because the trust I had in her; but more importantly, the more senior people in the Navy had in her. She would stand a watch in the off hours in particular. She would be the eyes and ears of the Navy in our command center. And there could be no better forerunner for that in the civilian world of Naval Intelligence than Angela Houtz.”

The service took six hours. If that had been all that there was to the affair, it would certainly be enough, but her father, Robert Houtz, speaking to the Boothbay Register, told of more: "Angie had had two full-time jobs, one for humanity and one for her country."

Many remember her now for her life for the country, but those who love her remember her other life: an active young woman, working with her own church and the Salvation Army for homeless relief; a lover of puns, a tutor of children; a joy to her family and friends. She was equally at home taking classes in dance or organizing food drives. And her finest tribute comes directly from Mrs. Julie Shontere, her mother:

“Most important in her life, above all else, was her faith in God. ... She gave so much to us all. She continues to teach me through her journals and spirit. ... I feel blessed beyond words to have had the honor to be her mom.”

Cmdr. Radi made a point to mention her faith in connection with the position of trust she had earned among the Naval staff; even people who had barely known her were dearly touched by Angela. Amy Moffitt of Washington DC met Angela only twice, and said: “She lived really vividly in everything. She was very present, she was very alive. ... There was not a person she met who didn’t go, ‘Wow,’ that was awakened by her presence, because she was so awake, so alive, so there.” All of the quotes about Angela in the sources below reveal the same compassion and the same vitality.

It is just and right to remember and to memorialize the loss that so many shared that day; but it is incomplete unless we can also celebrate the lives that were left behind. Angela Houtz gave joy and dedication that long outlive the events of one September afternoon. Her service to country did not end at the doors of the Pentagon. It is an honor to be recogized at your funeral by a president for your work; it is also honor to be recognized on a concert line by a passing homeless man for your generosity and mercy. Many hunger after the one sort of honor, but the other can only be given to those who pour themselves out in service, who give cheerfully of whatever they have, be it time, money, toil, or just a smile for a sad friend.

In celebrating Angela's life, we celebrate a woman who knew that joy only grows when you give it away. The lasting image to recall is of her happy family, laughing and snapping pictures of Angela in the Birthday Hat, unwrapping gifts - it is of they that she would be thinking of, and it is altogether fitting to respect her wishes and think of them as well. Today is but the anniversary of one moment; the full life of Angela Houtz endures beyond it, and defeats it. That life is real and lasting, and it abides through the many people she loved to the full.

Her friends and family have established a scholarship fund in Angela's name; more information is here. The comments section is open for anyone else who has a story or a memory of Angela, or a link to a tribute not mentioned above. My deepest thanks to Mrs. Julie Shontere, who was kind enough to provide much of the above information first-hand; and also to the following sources:

The Chicago Tribune, for this remembrance
The UMBC Alumni Newsletter, Summer 2002, for this profile
The Boothbay Register, October 4, 2001, for this article by Duey Graham
The VOA News, October 22, 2001, for this article by Betty van Etten
The Maryland State Archives
The Defend America Network
The September 11 Victim's Memorial

Moving tribute

Via the Judge, an absolutely fantastic (and true) story from RJ Lippincott. (Check the comments.)

The woman's voice at the other end of the line was slow, sounding like my call had just roused her from a deep sleep. Of course, that was impossible, she was the one who called me. "No request, I just wanted to thank you for announcing my dog. He's a good dog, he needs a good home."

"I'll keep announcing it, but we haven't had any interest yet. But I'm confused, there doesn't seem to be any way for someone to get in touch with you. Can I have your name and phone number?"

"No. When you have someone who wants the dog, you announce it on the air. I'm listening. I'll call you."

"OK. Do you mind if I ask why you're giving the dog away?"

"I'm dying."

Read it all. Tremendous.

A world filled with darkness, turning gray

Today, Bobby Fischer's flag fell.

I had yet to be born when he defeated Boris Spassky for the World's Chess Championship in 1972, but I heard of him soon enough. My dad played a bit of chess and taught me the game when I was six. After learning the moves and how to bang out some rudimentary games, he got me my first chess book: Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess.

Once proud and full of passion
He fought the cause of man
Many people loved his courage
Many followed his command
He changed the old into the new
And the course of things to come
And then one day they noticed
He was gone
--Kansas, "Closet Chronicles"

This was a dangerous gift, if only my father knew. I loved chess, and I loved to read - and to learn that there are books ABOUT chess? Boy howdy! Of course, I wasn't blessed with a similar ability to employ the ideas I learned, so I am little more than a "wood-pusher," as it's derisively known. Still, it's a lot of fun, and the reading never hurt. And Fischer's book is good, holding up even now. After an introduction to how each piece moves, it's on to the whole point of chess, as Fischer put it: checkmate. In a series of diagrams, the reader is asked to find the mating move, starting with elementary wins (trapping the king behind his own pawns on the last row) and on to more complex ideas and patterns.

In effect, Fischer's approach teaches the beginner how to construct the cage that will eventually pin the king in place for his eventual execution. Some of the positions are taken from some of Fischer's games. And for those who want more, there's My 60 Memorable Games, which would seem to be out of print, considering how much it costs here at Amazon.

At first it didn't matter
Nobody seemed to care
They all became to busy
To find him anywhere
And no one knew, not even him
The problems he would find
On the day he journeyed
Deep into his mind

At this point I had yet to learn that Fischer was a living example of the GK Chesterton quip, "Poets don't go mad; chess-players do." (And of course, a few poets as well!) Before I had ever seen a chessboard, Fischer had abandoned his. His famous triumph in 1972 almost didn't come off: he balked about many of the arrangements, arrived late, and then, already trailing 0-1, forfeited the second game outright. Yet he inexorably reeled Spassky back in over the course of the long match, thrilling the observers in Reykjavik and the world over.

As a result, the anticipation for his first defense in 1975, against Anatoly Karpov, ran high, and ultimately these were frustrated. Fischer set similar conditions on this match, and when they were not met to his satisfaction he abandoned chess entirely and withdrew from society.

I close my eyes, I go far away
Away from the battlefield
In my dreams, here at least I can enjoy them
Where innocence plays with all the laughing children
The ones who are crying right now

He re-emerged decades later, claiming to be champion still, and arranging a lucrative rematch with Spassky in Yugoslavia. (As was observed by Tim Rice and Bjorn Ulvaeus in "Chess," it's always some exotic locale - Iceland, Yugoslavia... or this place!) This got him in trouble since it violated UN sanctions imposed against Slobodan Milosevic. It also raised some eyebrows, since Karpov had since surrendered the FIDE title to Garry Kasparov, and Fischer was not playing him. He won the rematch (for what it was worth) and then dipped back out of sight.

Allow me to forget the life I made my own
I held this nation in my hands
And yet it's not my home
Allow me just one answer, just one reason why
Why this refugee from the family of man must die
Tell me why

Through it all, of course, he was still Bobby Fischer, still regarded as possibly the strongest chessplayer who ever lived, even though Kasparov eventually exceeded his numerical rating record. (Chess uses something called the Elo score to rate comparative strengths of players, revising the formula over the years. The strongest players in the world rank 2800 or so; it's considered somewhat of an upset to lose to players 100 points lower. My own last published rating was 1450 - in other words, "patzer.") And even though Kasparov would ironically follow Fischer's example - cutting ties with FIDE due to strong disagreements - he's been active elsewhere; neither is he quite as out there as Fischer would prove to be.

One can see the process thanks to Tim Krabbé, the Dutch author and chess enthusiast (and a good player himself), via his invaluable chess diary. Starting here (scroll to the bottom and work your way upward) one can see that on the "rec.games.chess" message boards, and in the ICC rooms, a very strong player appears at the turn of the century, playing bizarre openings and crushing grandmasters. This lead to speculation that it could be Fischer.

It was exciting news, even though he was a few pawns shy of a full board. Fischer had always been somewhat paranoid, and somewhat shy; this plus an insistence on things his way led almost inevitably to cutting himself off from chess and society - a break that many regretted, but likely saw as best for all concerned, at least until he got himself together. (A lot of people hoped for that more than worked for it, with a few exceptions. Larry Evans, a Grandmaster and longtime columnist for "Chess Life," helped Fischer prepare for Spassky in 1972; as recounted here he once said of Fischer, "It was ironic that the more you got to know about him, the less you wanted to find him." Mind that this is one of the men who did reach out to help his friend as time went on.) Then, in the wake of September 11, he tossed aside any lingering goodwill anyone had toward the Howard Hughes of chess.

Eventually he was arrested in Japan, which didn't keep him from marrying a Japanese woman; and Reykjavik, the home of his greatest triumph, gave him one last gift by welcoming him as a citizen of Iceland in 2004.

I heard the king was dying
I heard the king was dead
And with him died the chronicles
No one ever read

There will be much more said about the man in the coming days, from those who knew him or played against him. This blog seems to have a good round-up of Fischer-ia, including a link to Bobby Fischer.net. In particular, I'd like to hear from Karpov, Spassky, Evans, and Krabbé.

The closet's fully empty now
It's occupied by none
Draw the drapes
Now destiny has won

Happy landings

Evel Knievel has just cleared 69 years, and come down on the Other Side.

In the world to which I was born, Knievel's name was pretty much a synonym for awesome, sort of a cross between Fonzie and Captain America. As a boy I owned the Evel Knievel motorcycle set: you got a plastic molded daredevil in the trademark red, white, and blue, complete with the little cape, and a toy motorcycle (which he may have been permanently molded into, I can't recall). You set up the ramps, and took a long plastic dipstick with teeth along one edge, that fitted into a slot. Slide it in, yank it to rev the wheels, and then send Mini-Knievel careening past the ramp and directly into the wall. The miniature version would successfully scale the first ramp maybe once every ten tries, only to wipe out on the other end.

I sent that poor thing down the stairs, into bookshelves, and tried to jump the cat (who was too smart to stay still for the attempt). The only difference was that the plastic version never broke sixteen bones and spent two months in the hospital.

Longtime friend and promoter Billy Rundel said Knievel had trouble breathing at his Clearwater condominium and died before an ambulance could get him to a hospital.
"It's been coming for years, but you just don't expect it. Superman just doesn't die, right?" Rundel said.

Well... Rundel's metaphor is flawed, but I understand the feeling. Thirty years after his aborted jump of Snake River Canyon, he was sent up on an episode of Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law. It was unmistakeably meant to be him - the sadness of it was that they chose to make him an old, pill-addicted shell of the Knievel that we always pictured: brave, rugged, dressed like a superhero, ready to literally leap tall buildings at a single bound, armed with nothing more than his courage and optimism. Every X-Games stunt rider on Earth owes him big-time.

Semper Fi

Friends - meet Lt. Col. John William Hagerty, USMC. On the double.

A tribute to Angela Houtz

update and bump - everyone's tributes are up, as far as I can tell. Also, ESPN.com's Kieran Darcy wrote his column today for his father, Dwight Darcy, who was killed in the attack.




This entry will remain on top for the next 36 hours. The regular Musical Monday will be pushed to Tuesday as a result.

This is the main page for the 2996 Project. Many of the Pantheon are also doing tributes. Please take the time to visit them; the link will take you to the direct post, or to the main page if the post isn't ready yet:

Michael J Pascuma at the Sheila Variations
Tom Burnett and Michael J Simon at It Comes In Pints?
Sylvia and John Resta at Coalition of the Swilling
Thomas W Kelly, FNDY at Trunk Full O Junk
Benito Valentine at Half a Pica
Jason Michael Cefalu at This Life
James M Roux at Grizzly Mama
Andrea Della Bella and others at A Wandering Confluence
And this general memorial from the Judge Report

On September 7, 2001, Angela Houtz joined her family in Ocean City, MD, to make holiday. She had turned 27 the previous day, but work had prevented her from arriving sooner. Angela worked as a senior analyst for the Office of Naval Intelligence. On her birthday she had still been aboard the USS DeWert; the next day she made her way back north from Florida and arrived in time for the celebration.

Her uncle, Sheriff Frederick Davis, was taking office as President of the Maryland Sheriff's Association that weekend, so there was a lot to celebrate. The family spent the weekend; at her birthday, Angela, as was traditional, wore the family Birthday Hat while she opened her gifts.

Come Monday, she was back at work at the Pentagon. Intelligent and dedicated, in nine short years she had progressed from salutatorian of Maurice McDonough High School, to an English degree from the University of Maryland-Baltimore County, to her civilian work in the Navy. Like thousands of others on the morning of Tuesday, September 11th, she was at work when the word came through: first one, and then the other of the towers of the World Trade Center had been struck with airliners.

At the Pentagon, everything changed. Angela joined a meeting in the C-ring with several officials, other analysts, and military officers. They were still there when American Airlines flight 77 skimmed across the lawn and into their wing of the building. She joined many others - financiers, insurers, staff, the cooks and busboys of Windows on the World, the airline crews, firefighters and police and military - suddenly killed while simply about their business; but her business consisted of understanding the nature of the attack and helping to organize a response. Angela Houtz was among the very first to fall in defense of the United States in the current conflict.

She received full honors: a military funeral, the Distinguished Civilian Award of Merit, and a letter of condolence from President Bush; more importantly, an outpouring of the great respect and love from everyone who had known her. In an article for VOA News, Commander David Radi spoke about this respect:

“It’s a bond that approaches a brother or sister and although Angie was a civilian, she was a shipmate to us. I was proud to call her that. The way she shined. I put her eventually in a position where we had never had a civilian. It was because the trust I had in her; but more importantly, the more senior people in the Navy had in her. She would stand a watch in the off hours in particular. She would be the eyes and ears of the Navy in our command center. And there could be no better forerunner for that in the civilian world of Naval Intelligence than Angela Houtz.”

The service took six hours. If that had been all that there was to the affair, it would certainly be enough, but her father, Robert Houtz, speaking to the Boothbay Register, told of more: "Angie had had two full-time jobs, one for humanity and one for her country."

Many remember her now for her life for the country, but those who love her remember her other life: an active young woman, working with her own church and the Salvation Army for homeless relief; a lover of puns, a tutor of children; a joy to her family and friends. She was equally at home taking classes in dance or organizing food drives. And her finest tribute comes directly from Mrs. Julie Shontere, her mother:

“Most important in her life, above all else, was her faith in God. ... She gave so much to us all. She continues to teach me through her journals and spirit. ... I feel blessed beyond words to have had the honor to be her mom.”

Cmdr. Radi made a point to mention her faith in connection with the position of trust she had earned among the Naval staff; even people who had barely known her were dearly touched by Angela. Amy Moffitt of Washington DC met Angela only twice, and said: “She lived really vividly in everything. She was very present, she was very alive. ... There was not a person she met who didn’t go, ‘Wow,’ that was awakened by her presence, because she was so awake, so alive, so there.” All of the quotes about Angela in the sources below reveal the same compassion and the same vitality.

It is just and right to remember and to memorialize the loss that so many shared that day; but it is incomplete unless we can also celebrate the lives that were left behind. Angela Houtz gave joy and dedication that long outlive the events of one September afternoon. Her service to country did not end at the doors of the Pentagon. It is an honor to be recogized at your funeral by a president for your work; it is also honor to be recognized on a concert line by a passing homeless man for your generosity and mercy. Many hunger after the one sort of honor, but the other can only be given to those who pour themselves out in service, who give cheerfully of whatever they have, be it time, money, toil, or just a smile for a sad friend.

In celebrating Angela's life, we celebrate a woman who knew that joy only grows when you give it away. The lasting image to recall is of her happy family, laughing and snapping pictures of Angela in the Birthday Hat, unwrapping gifts - it is of they that she would be thinking of, and it is altogether fitting to respect her wishes and think of them as well. Today is but the anniversary of one moment; the full life of Angela Houtz endures beyond it, and defeats it. That life is real and lasting, and it abides through the many people she loved to the full.

Her friends and family have established a scholarship fund in Angela's name; more information is here. The comments section is open for anyone else who has a story or a memory of Angela, or a link to a tribute not mentioned above.

My deepest thanks to Mrs. Julie Shontere, who was kind enough to provide much of the above information first-hand; and also to the following sources:

The Chicago Tribune, for this remembrance
The UMBC Alumni Newsletter, Summer 2002, for this profile
The Boothbay Register, October 4, 2001, for this article by Duey Graham
The VOA News, October 22, 2001, for this article by Betty van Etten
The Maryland State Archives
The Defend America Network
The September 11 Victim's Memorial