Steve Bettis

I'm sitting, alone, at a table Goodman Coffee at Warehouse Row on a grey and rainy day in downtown Chattanooga, trying and failing to understand a world in which a perfect healthy 55-year old man can die of Covid-19 in less than two weeks. 

Steve Bettis was my fraternity brother (Kappa Sigma) at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, when we were in school in the mid-1980's.  Beyond that, he was a husband, a father, a leader, a sports fan, and a friend.  

Steve and I didn't run in the same circles the last several years, in part because like so many of my college friends, he had children way before I did.  Still, I kept up with him through his annual golf trips with my law partner Mark, and friend, T.B., our participation in the Shortycorp football pool, and a network of mutual friends.  

College is such an emotionally intense memorable period of life.  At least, it was for me.  So many moments stand out for me, almost all of which involve my fraternity brothers.  Parties, intramural sports, road trips, football games, class, playing basketball or shooting pool at the fraternity house, or just sitting around, wasting time, and talking.  College seemed to last forever and, yet, it was over in a minute.  My memories of those years - 1984 to 1988 - survive and amazingly, Steve Bettis appears in almost all of them.

In my life, I don't think I've ever known anyone as enthusiastic and fun-loving as Steve.  As I write this, I can hear Steve laughing - a kind of roar that originated deep inside him and erupted like a volcano.  I can see him grinning, clapping me on the back, and grabbing me in a bear hug so hard it hurt.  Yelling my college nickname, one only he continued to use, 35 years later.  

"Butthead!"  And me, smiling sheepishly, hugging him back, and silently marveling at his outsized personality, genuine kindness, and friendliness, all wrapped up in one bone crushing bear hug. 

Steve was a force of nature.  A category five hurricane.  When he shined his light on you - and his light always, always shined brightly - you felt a reassuring warmth that made you happy to be alive.  

To know Steve, even in passing, was to love him and to be loved.  That was part of his gift, I think.  He had a heart the size of Texas and the singular ability to love others unabashedly and, in return to accept others' love.  

To me, Steve was indestructible.  A rock.  The heart and soul of my group of guys in our fraternity in the time we were there and later, as well.  For his family, Vivian, and his children Owen and Olivia - to lose him to Covid-19 is beyond tragic.  It's unfathomable.  

The memorial service today at the Baylor School in Chattanooga was pitch perfect but so very, very sad.  Watching my brother, Steve Short and Mike Dixon, eulogize Steve, broke my heart.  I feel numb.  We all feel numb.

Rest In Peace, Steve Bettis.  

AEKDB.

Wildflowers and All the Rest

Last week, on October 20, 2021, on what would have been Tom Petty's 71st birthday, Joe and I went to the  Belcourt Theatre for the world premiere of his the new documentary about the making of his seminal album, Wildflowers.  The documentary, "Somewhere You Feel Free," was shown at theaters worldwide for one day only.

Tom Petty, of course, was my guy, and the Heartbreakers were my band.  His death four years ago on October 2, 2017, crushed me.  As I've said before - and I'm stealing this quote from Jason Isbel - his music was the soundtrack to my life, in so many ways.  

This post isn't about that, though, at least not entirely.  What this post is about is how the music Tom Petty created over a 40 + year career has strengthened the bond between Joe, 9, and me.  

Joe loves Tom Petty and Heartbreakers in the say way I do.  I can't explain it other than to quote Emily Dickinson in saying "the heart wants what it wants."  Joe's his own man - always has been - so I don't believe he's a Tom Petty fan because I am.  Something about the songs, and the music, speak to him and touch his heart.  Just like his old man.

J.P., Joe, and I share a lot of things, like a love of sports.  Some things, though, I share more with one or the other, and that's okay, too.  J.P. and I read the His Dark Material Trilogy (Philip Pullman), loved it, and discussed it at length during the first year of the pandemic.  Joe and I are share a love for Tom Petty's music.

I had purchased tickets a few weeks ago, almost as an afterthought, when I saw an Instagram post about it on Tom Petty's feed.  I was excited - and so was Joe - when the stars lined up and I didn't have a conflict on my calendar. 

I left the office early and picked Joe up from school, then zipped over to the Belcourt.  I've been a member over the years and it's my favorite venue to watch a movie.  Several times over the years, I've slipped out after the boys were in bed and walked or biked down to the Belcourt, my myself, to watch an independent film or documentary.  

Once, Jude took me to see Lucinda Williams play guitar and sing, with her father reading original poems in between her songs.  Now that was a night I'll never forget, particularly since I was so sick with the flu I could barely sit up straight.  Still, one of the best shows I've ever seen.

The theater was at half capacity for the matinee screening, which made me feel more comfortable being there with Joe.  Also, everyone was masked up, thankfully.  It felt a bit odd to be back in a movie theater for the first time in more than 18 months.  I've missed the communal experience of watching a movie together with strangers.  Such a human thing to do.

Joe was, by far, the youngest person in the theater.  Any doubts I had about how he would handle watching a documentary film were quickly erased, as I could see he was transfixed by the footage of Tom Petty and the band rehearsing songs that made their way onto Wildflower.  The studio footage, the interviews (then and now), all of it.  Joe watched intently, smiling as images of Tom Petty playing some of his favorite songs flickered on the screen in front of him.  

Of course, I smiled, nodded my head, and tapped my foot to the music.  All of these great songs on Wildflower, released on November 1, 1994, when I was in Knoxville, in my second year of law school, 28 years old.  Even now, when I hear one of the songs on the album, my mind immediately expects the next song, in sequence, to be played.  That's how many times I listened to that album when it was released.

Joe and I fist bumped each other several times during the move when a song we loved was played.  When the movie ended, the audience clapped, and Joe and I stood up from out seats near the front and began to walk to the exit in back of the theater.  I saw more than a few people with tears in their eyes or on their cheeks.  

As Joe and I walked outside into the setting sun of a beautiful fall evening, I took his hand in mine and asked him how he liked the movie.

"It was awesome," he replied.  "I almost cried a couple of times, because it was sad, but I smiled a whole lot, too."

"Me, too," I said, as I marveled at the purity of Joe's innocence at 9 years of age, his way with words and his true, true heart.

I held his hand a little tighter and we walked to my truck in the falling twilight.

  

Time Passages

I'm not sure why but this morning felt like the end of something and the beginning of something else.

With Jude and Joe still in Monteagle for the end of fall break, J.P. and I had the house to ourselves last night when we arrived home.  As much as I enjoy family time, it's always good to have some alone time with J.P. or Joe. 

On the drive home, J.P. and I listened to one of my favorite Bill Simmons' podcasts of the year, the NBA over/under edition (w/Russillo and House).  It's not lost on me how lucky I am to have a son - two sons actually - who love sports as much as I do.  J.P. and I talked NBA basketball the entire rid home.

I picked up takeout from Burger Up and we watched the Dodgers-Braves NLCS game together until he went to bed about 9:30 p.m.  I gave him the option of staying up until the end of the game but he chose to go to bed, on time, on a school night.  That's J.P.  Responsible kid and a rule follower, like his mother.

I watched the end of the game (another Dodger late inning loss), then foolishly stayed up late, in bed, finishing an Ace Atkins (Quinn Colson) plot driven thriller I was reading on my iPad.  I wasn't particularly tired, possibly because I - also foolishly - drank a 20 ounce Red Bull on the way home from Monteagle.  Then, our damn cat, Mini, spent most of the prowling restlessly through the house, meowing loudly, probably pissed because I hadn't let her outside when we got home last night.

Suffice to say, I was tired this morning and somewhat surprised when J.P. walked into our room, downstairs, and said, "Good morning, dad," at just past 6:30 a.m.  I'd slightly overslept.  as I climbed out of bed, he added, "I can fix my own breakfast."  

And he did.  Scrambled eggs, toast, a banana, cheese, and a glass of milk, which is exactly what I would have made for him had I been on my game this morning.  We like our boys to eat real breakfasts, not an instant breakfast, like a Pop Tart or a granola bar.  So, while I showered, shaved, and put my suit on for work, J.P. quietly and diligently made himself a real breakfast.   

As parents, Jude and I are trying to raise our boys to be independent and self-sufficient.  J.P. is on the way there, so it seems.

I was proud and strangely enough, a little sad.  My oldest son is growing up before my eyes.  J.P. needs me, still, but maybe not quite as much as he used to.

And that's as it should be. 

Another Morning on the Mountain

Friday morning on the Mountain.  Quietude, a word a love.  Watching the Sewanee campus wake up from the front porch of Stirling's, one of my favorite coffee shops. 

Students straggle in for breakfast before morning classes.  Tired and mumbling quietly to each other.  Faculty walk up the front steps, too, looking for their morning coffee.  More energy.  Parents - teachers at Sewanee or St. Andrews Sewanee - comparing notes about their young children.  A woman and her two dogs walk in front of me, in my rocking chair on the front porch.  There's such a sense of community on campus up here. 

Playing in the background, "Rich Girl," by Hall and Oates.  A staple from the mid '70's.  A light fall breeze rustles the multicolored leaves in the trees shading the front porch of Stirling's and across the street, as well.  

A perfect morning?  Pretty damn close.

As I've written in this space so often before, things move at a slower pace on the Mountain, even on campus.  Maybe I move at a slower pace when I'm here because I'm away from work and home.  

Yesterday was our first full day at Three Dog Farm, a place we've never stayed before.  The boys kayaked and canoed and fished in the lake.  JP caught seven fish for the day, fishing from the small, anchored dock in the middle of the lake.  Joe caught a solitary fish, which JP had to remove from his line after he kayaked back out to the dock to help.

JP and I ran 4 miles on the Trail of Tears greenway.  At my urging, he left me the last mile.  A passing of the torch?  Perhaps, although I'm still congested and fighting a sinus infection.  The Z-pack I'm taking doesn't help my breathing when I run.  That's what I'm telling myself, anyway.  Either way, he's a damn strong runner, a point of pride for me, for sure.  

Yesterday afternoon, we rented bicycles on campus from Woody's Bicycles.  JP and I rode around campus for a bit.  While Joe and I worked on teaching him to ride a bicycle - that's a story in and of itself - JP rode around campus some more and Jude walked on Abbo's Alley, a favorite hike of hers.

We finished the day with an early dinner on the porch at the grill at Sewanee's golf course.  Mozzarella sticks and burgers, as we watched a Sewanee golf team member practice from the team's facility adjacent to the 9-hole golf course.  After dinner, JP and I rode our bicycles back to Woody's, locked them up, then drove to our place.

After Joe went to bed, JP, Jude and I - and a white cat with different colored eyes we've temporarily named "Max" (after Dodgers' pitcher, Max Scherzer) - crowded together in the bed in the master bedroom and watched the Dodgers beat the hated Giants, 3-2, to clinch a spot in the National League Championship Series.

No cable, so JP "mirrored" by iPad to the bedroom television, so we were able to watch the game on TBS. There were a few technical difficulties late in the game, when we had audio only.  Still, Bellinger got the game winning hit, and the Dodgers move on.

Time for me to move on, too, to the grocery store, as "Everybody Wants to Rule the World," by Tears for Fears, plays in the background.  Mid '80's, complete one hit wonder, but the song survives.