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.

The Kid and the Kick

 In J.P.'s second cross country race of the season a couple of weeks ago, he finished second when his 8th grade teammate, Cade, out kicked him at the end.  I was curious about the race J.P. ran because he stayed on Cade's shoulder, a couple of steps behind him, the entire race at USN's river campus.  Cade finished the two mile course in 11:18 and J.P. in 11:19.

The thing I really noticed was that afterwards, Cade collapsed to the ground and J.P. milled about, not really breathing hard.  I wondered, to myself, if J.P. had run his hardest or if he had coasted a bit.  I waited a few days, then we talked about it on our Sunday morning run.  He told me initially he was okay finishing second and with the race he ran but the more he thought about it, the more he didn't like it.  That, of course, was music to my ears.

Jude and I had agreed that it didn't look like J.P. had run his hardest, for whatever reason.  After our run, my message to J.P. was simply that I didn't care if he finished 1st or 50th, as long as he pushed himself and ran his hardest.  

We also worked on his finishing kick.  I told him how, in my earlier days of running, I used to finish every run with a strong kick the last quarter mile or so.  No matter how far or fast I had run, I always finished strong.  He listened and nodded, without comment, but I could tell he was taking it all in.

The day before his race last week at Vaughn's Gap I showed him a poster I have of Steve Prefontaine.  The caption on the poster is what always has spoken to me:  

"To give less than your best is to sacrifice the gift."  

I love that quote so much.  We talked about it a bit ad what it meant, to me and to him.  

Then, Wednesday as week ago, J.P. went out and won the cross country race with an 11:10 over the 2 miles course at Vaughn's Gap, one he never had run before.  Most impressive, to me, was that he ran even with Cade - or slightly ahead of him - the entire race, then kicked the last quarter mile and finished 10 yards or so ahead of him.  A really strong finish for J.P., just like we talked about and just like we practiced.  

I've probably watched the video I took of the finish of the race 25 times.  It inspires me to see my son run. To see the results of the hard work he has put in as far back as last spring and early summer.  To see him compete and, yes, to see him win.  

What impressed me the most, though, as I told him later, was that after the race, he walked back up the outside of the finishing chute and congratulated his teammates as they finished.  As each one crossed the finish line, J.P. called them by name and reached out and slapped hands.  

Encouraging and congratulating his teammates like that was a leadership move and it told me all I need to know about my son.  He gets it.  

And I get to continue to watch him grow, compete, and best of all, lead.  

I am a lucky man.

HCR, Anthony and Habitude

I'm a creature of habit.  Always have been.  I draw comfort from the familiar.  Same restaurants.  Same bartenders.  And, yes, same coffee shops.

Amidst all of the uncertainty and fluidity of life, it anchors me, I think, to go to the same to a few places and have the same experience, day after day.

In mystery mind, I bookmark certain periods of my life with where I was most comfortable during that time.  Bongo Java.  12South Tap Room.  Edley's.  Frothy Monkey.  Portland Brew.  Burger Up.  Honest Coffee Roasters.  Some of those are past haunts.  Some are current.

At each one, I've connected with someone there, or sometimes more than one person.  Over time, we occupy that unique space between acquaintances and friends.  Not crossing boundaries but occasionally developing a real friendship that transcends the every day transaction of business that accompanies buying a cup of coffee or having a drink.

At Bongo Java, it was Chad and Megan in the early days.  Later, George, Adam, Chuck, Nick, Ayla, Hunter, and EJ.  Especially EJ.  I had a long run at Bongo Java. 

12South Tap Room.  Sweeney.

Edley's.  Spencer, Cara, Ashleigh, and Julie.  There, I had an intense run of a few years.  A picture I took at shift change one evening is framed and on ether and on the wall at the far end of the bar.  Cara, Ashleigh, and Julie.  It's a bit of a relic, now, as all but Julie have moved on from Edley's.

Frothy Monkey.  Grant and Josh, both of whom I still keep up with on Instagram.  During the pandemic, though, I stopped going there, for some reason.  Portland Brew became my neighborhood go to for morning coffee.

Burger Up.  Alejandro and Troy.  I matriculated there after I stopped going to Edley's as much, for one reason or another.  It's my current hang.

Which brings me to Honest Coffee Roasters and Anthony, whose last day working there as a barista is today.  After 4 + years in Nashville - working at HCR and trying to build a music career a session drummer - Anthony, his wife, and their two young children are moving home to Cleveland, Ohio.  

I think - I know, actually - that Anthony has mixed feelings about moving home.  He feels like he didn't make it, whatever that means, as a drummer in Nashville.  Covid-19 had something to do with that, of course, as the music industry ground to a halt for almost 18 months.  With two young children, too, there's a real benefit to living near family in a city (Cleveland) where housing is more affordable than it is here.  I get that.

Yesterday morning, I got up early, and picked up a gift card for Anthony at Home Depot.  As he made me a final latte, we chatted briefly and shook hands.  I gave him a note I'd written to him late Friday night, after Jude and the boys were in bed.  My advice - fatherly, maybe - was not to give up on his dream.  Keep chasing it.  

I also wanted him to know that when my mom had Alzheimer's disease and was at Maristone then, later, NHC place, Honest Coffee Roasters was a port in a storm for me.  Often times, I wrote about her in this space as I sat in the same seat in the coffee shop, drinking a cup of coffee that Anthony had made for me.  I wanted him to know that by having a smile and a kind word for me, or just chatting about music briefly, he had made a positive impact on my life at a time when I needed it.  

I felt, and feel, at home at Honest Coffee Roasters, in large part because of Anthony and others like him.  Burger Up is the same way for me.  A place where I can duck in for a drink or two and a quick conversation with Troy at the bar.  I'm not sure why but those type of regular interactions with people on the periphery of my life center me.  It's something I need.  

Anthony, and Troy, are winners.  I watch the tone they set for other employees in the way they go about their work and in the way they connect with patrons.  Connecting.  I think that's they key.  Connecting with other employees and with customers.  

I'll miss Anthony, for sure.  I'll miss Troy, too, when he leaves for India, probably later this fall.  

Maybe I'll still be a regular at Honest Coffee Roasters and Burger Up, or maybe I'll find another place.  

As Tom Petty sang, "It's time to move on.  It's time to get going.  What lies ahead I have know way of knowing."

A photo I took of the guys at Honest Coffee Roasters, clowning, one morning a couple of weeks ago.  "A prom picture," Anthony (on the left) said.   

       

    

Saturday in the Park

In the mid-80's, the Bangles sang about Manic Mondays.  For our families, it's the Saturdays that are m manic, especially in the fall.  And we wouldn't have it any other way.

JP had a baseball doubleheader in Franklin at 9 and 11 a.m., Joe had a soccer game at 9:50 a.m. at First Presbyterian Church in Nashville, Joe had a baseball game at Warner Park at 3 p.m., and JP had a baseball game in Franklin at 4:15 p.m.  Whew!

The final tally?  JP's Dodgers swept both games, Joe won his soccer game, Joe won his baseball game, and JP's basketball team got blown out.  4 - 1 on the day.  Not too shabby.

JP played more catcher than normal in his games.  Our regular catcher, Nico, is out this fall after breaking his wrist at camp toward the end of our spring/summer baseball season.  He pitched, too, and was rusty, which was to be expected.  He got on base several times and ran the bases well, as he always does.  

In his last at bat, he ripped a legit curve ball into right field for a single.  For some reason, JP always has been able to hit a curve ball.  He keeps his hands back, waits on it, then generally hits a line drive to right center field.  That's precisely what he did yesterday.

It was funny watching the look on some of our batters faces after they saw a curve ball, some for the first time.  The kid pitching for the Franklin team had the best curve ball we've seen, a 12 to 6 pitch that he could control reasonably well.  A couple of our boys - Cyrus and Eli - struck out looking at a curve ball.  As they jogged back to the dugout, they had puzzled looks on their faces, like someone had changed the laws of physics and not told them about it.

Senor Smoke (aka Benton) got us out of a jam and picked up the save in Game 1.  He protected a two run lead by retiring the three batters in order in the last inning.  Two strikeouts to end the game, the last one looking.  A "rec league" strikeout the umpired laughingly called it after the game when I ran into him in the parking lot.  He wanted the Franklin team to swing the bat late int he game.  I agreed.

Benton played, maybe, his most complete game he's ever played for me.  That's saying something because he's been a Dodger from the beginning, eight or nine years ago.  He pitched great and with control, hit the ball well, ran the bases extremely well, and made an outstanding play at first base in the last inning of Game 2.  He also offered to catch because he knew we were short on catchers.  Watching him mature - because he battled his emotions - has been one of the best things for me about coaching these boys over the years. 

In Joe's game, he was 2 - 2 with a pair of hard, line drive singles to center field.  The pitcher wasn't throwing particularly hard but still, it was nice and consistent hitting.  He fielded a ground ball at shortstop and threw the batter out at first base on the play late in the game.  At age 9, not a lot of boys in our league make that play.  Joe loves baseball, for sure.  He's set to start at pitcher in the game this Saturday, which should be fun to watch.

After Joe and I got home, I dropped him off with Jude and JP and went to Burger Up to pick up takeout.  Mostly, I wanted to sit at the bar for a half hour, have a drink, and unwind.  For me, that's always enjoyable after a Saturday full of coaching baseball or, occasionally, basketball.  It helps me decompress after being "on" all day.  I got our dinner and it was back home for some Saturday night football.  

Sunday morning, JP and I went for a 5 mile run in the 'hood, finishing at Portland Brew.  We ran a quick pace, 7:50 per mile.  He could have gone faster but it was a good training pace for him.  For me, it was a tough run.  The Kid can run.

Now, as I finish my Monday morning coffee at Portland Brew, it's off to the races, with a 7:45 a.m. call to a new client and an 8:30 a.m. meeting with a current client.  Maybe it's another Manic Monday after all.

I found this in my bucket of baseballs while pitching the boys batting practice weekend before last.  One of my coaches - Tom - had his son, Riley, sign it when he was first learning to play baseball.  He'd lost it - probably because Riley brought it to a practice at some point and it found its way into my bucket of baseballs.  Tom wanted it for a keepsake and it made me happy to return it to him.  

It's funny, the things we remember as parents - the moments that are so special to us - our kids often don't think twice about them.  One day, when they're parents, they will.  The world turns and life loves on.