GARY D. GADDY
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Friday, November 27, 2009
It's official: Butch Davis is a genius

IT'S OFFICIAL.  Butch Davis is a genius.  I told my wife, a couple of years ago, when the University of North Carolina head football coach hired Everett Withers as his defensive coordinator (and to coach the defensive secondary), that Butch Davis was a genius -- if he knew what he was doing.  I said it rashly because I knew only one pertinent fact about Coach Withers:  Withers was coming to UNC after one season as the University of Minnesota's defensive coordinator -- where the Golden Gophers football team had the worst defense in Bowl Subdivision football.

Personally, I thought, that's not whom I would hire.  (Actually, I thought “who I would hire” -- but let’s keep that between you and me.)

Apparently Butch Davis doesn’t think like me – or, perhaps, Davis had read more of Withers' resume than I had.  For one thing, Davis may have noticed that the Gophers also had one of the worst defenses in the nation before Withers arrived there for his single season.

Davis might have noticed that Withers spent six seasons with the NFL's Tennessee Titans from 2001 until 2006 where their defense greatly improved during his stay.

Davis also appears to have noticed that prior to working with the Titans, Withers was defensive secondary coach under former Tar Heel coach Mack Brown at Texas from 1998 until 2000, where the Longhorns pass defense improved from 75th in the nation in 1997 to first in the nation in 2000.

Davis may have noticed that Withers was the defensive coordinator at Louisville from 1995 to 1997 and that his 1996 defensive unit ranked fourth nationally in both total defense and rushing defense and led the NCAA in turnovers forced.

Here’s the story now.  UNC’s defense, through 11 games, is ranked twelfth in the nation in points allowed, fifth in tackles for a loss, ninth in turnovers gained, sixth in interceptions made, and is tied for first in interceptions returned for touch downs.  And, in what is the best measure of total defense, yards allowed, is fifth -- behind only Alabama, Florida, Texas and Texas Christian, four undefeated teams -- all with really good offenses.

(For those uninformed on football calculus, a good offense makes its team's defense look better since while your offense is on the field the other's team's offense ain't.)  Of the 120 teams ranked in the NCAA’s Football Bowl Subdivision, Alabama ranks 30 in total offense, Florida 15, Texas 17, Texas Christian 5 -- and UNC a lowly 113.

To illustrate how good UNC’s defense can be, consider the last UNC football game, a game against a Boston College team that was still in the running for a berth in the ACC championship game.  UNC won almost entirely on the stout backs and sticky fingers of its defense.

For the contest, BC's offense had an anemic 198 total yards. UNC's defense almost matched BC's offense with 171 yards on six returns (five interceptions and one fumble).  In the game's second half, BC’s seven offensive possessions consisted of 19 offensive plays which gained a total of 50 yards.  They never crossed the mid-field line.

For the game BC's offense was outscored 14 to 13 by UNC's defense (even giving no credit for an interception UNC’s defense returned to the one-yard line.)  For most of the game, UNC's best offense consisted of kicking to BC.

And so, yes, it is now official that Butch Davis is a genius. (And Everett Withers probably ain't far behind.)  It is also official that I am a moron -- for ever doubting that Butch Davis was genius.

But I’m learning.  Here’s my current advice to Coach Davis.  Hire Timm Rosenbach to be the Tar Heel’s new offensive coordinator.  Rosenbach has been that position for one year at New Mexico State.  You can’t go wrong -- the Aggies are last in the Bowl Subdivision in total offense.

 

Gary D. Gaddy is hoping the Tar Heels are invited to the Gaylord Hotels Music City Bowl in Nashville, where he’ll treat his wife to her dream combination of bluegrass music and Tar Heel football.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday November 27, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 7:59 AM EST
Updated: Tuesday, February 16, 2010 3:10 PM EST
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Friday, November 20, 2009
"The Play," played and re-played

IF YOU DIDN'T GO to the game or watch it live or watch it on the Butch Davis show, you need to see "The Play."

[Go to YouTube.com and search for "Miami UNC football recap" and watch, starting at about 3:00.]

At 9:58 left in the fourth quarter, Miami, which had been down by as many as 16 points was now behind by six points and had the ball at the UNC thirty-two yard line, driving toward a go-ahead score.  It was second down with nine yards to go when the Miami quarterback Jacory Harris dropped back to throw.  As he released the ball, he was grabbed by UNC defensive end Aleric Mullins, causing the ball to wobble toward its intended target.

Harris had already thrown three interceptions, one of which was simply stolen by the UNC safety Da'Norris Searcy.  The other two, both intercepted by cornerback Kendric Burney, were on underthrown balls due to contact at the ball's release.

At 9:53, Miami's third-string tight end, a former power forward for its basketball team, Jimmy Graham, had gotten behind both UNC linebacker Kevin Reddick and cornerback Burney.  As the ball fluttered in, Reddick lept to intercept the ball but mistimed his jump.  Burney, all five-foot-nine-inch of him, did not.  Burney took the ball from high out of the air, leaving the six-foot-eight-inch Graham to grasp at him as Reddick blocked him.  After a spin, Burney took off from the 10-yard line, heading up field.  Graham was the first Miami player to attempt to tackle Burney.

At 9:47, at the 25-yard line, a second Miami player dives to tackle Burney but misses even as the 300-pound Marvin Austin, sprinting up field, took out the third and fourth Miami would-be tacklers with one massive block.  At the 35- yard line, a fifth Miami player dives and misses. At the 45-yard line, a sixth Miami player also whiffs at tackling Burney.  Ahead are two Miami players, the seventh and eighth, and one UNC blocker, Robert Quinn.  Quinn didn't block either.  He blocked the ninth player to show up 

Meanwhile at the 50-line, Burney dodged one as the other, a big offensive lineman, grasped him by both hips and swung him around, changing his direction by almost 180 degrees.

At 9:41 Burney was at the Miami 45-yard line heading toward the near sideline when, as he appeared to be moving the ball from one hand to the other, it hit his thigh.  As the ball bobbled in his hands, it appears Burney directed to a UNC player just in front of him.

[In a truth is stranger than fiction moment, earlier in the game, after one of Burney's other two interceptions, Melvin Williams, Burney's roommate and fellow defensive back, had said to Burney something like, "Why didn't you lateral the ball to me?"]

At this moment the play appeared to stop, as the same Melvin Williams seemed taken aback by the presence of a football in his hands. A potential UNC blocker in front of Williams, linebacker Bruce Carter, also seemed to relax.  Then quickly, as both of them realize the play wasn't over, Carter blocks and Williams ducks and heads up field.

QB Jacory Harris, the tenth Miami player to have chance to tackle one of the two UNC ball carriers, was getting up after having been knocked down.  He is blocked again.

At 9:35, as Williams crossed the 30-yard line, it appears no one can catch him.  Aleric Mullins, the same player who altered the pass by Harris, looking back for Miami players, sees none close by, turns and celebrates. Williams, perhaps seeing Mullins' celebration, jogged toward the end zone.

Meanwhile, at 9:33, the eleventh and final Miami player, wide receiver Leonard Hankerson, sprints into view.  Hankerson, who had been at the opposite side of the field at the other goal line when the interception occurred, flew at an oblivious Williams, stripping the ball as Williams reached the goal line, causing an apparent fumble, which Williams recovered at 9:28.

Ruling on the field:  Touchdown Carolina!  "The Play" had taken 30 full seconds, one of the longest football plays you will ever see.

Time out for an official review.  Two elements were reviewed: the question of an illegal forward lateral and whether there was a fumble at the goal line.  The "lateral" was ruled a fumble, and the strip, it was ruled, occurred just after the ball broke the plane of the goal line.  Ruling on the field confirmed:  Touchdown Carolina!

 

Gary D. Gaddy has watched "The Play" more times than he can count.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday November 20, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:01 AM EST
Updated: Tuesday, November 24, 2009 7:58 PM EST
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Friday, November 13, 2009
Well, you can just call me coach

I RETIRED UNDEFEATED.  It's not something that any other coach that I know of can say.  It's not something that Roy Williams will ever be able to say with his two national championships and 138 losses.

It's not something that John Wooden, the legendary coach at UCLA can say.  Sure he had 10 national championships in 12 years – along with 162 career losses.

Retiring undefeated is not even something that Sylvia Hatchell, head coach of the UNC women's basketball team, can say she will do.  Hatchell has won three national championships at three different levels (AIAW, NAIA and NCAA Division I) to go with her 282 losses.

I know what you are thinking.  I know exactly what you're thinking.  "Gaddy, you are undefeated because you never coached."  Wrong again, my friend.  I have, too, been a coach and an undefeated one at that.  Don't believe me?  Let me give you a brief history of my spotless coaching career.

The Daily Tar Heel held a contest to see who would be the "guest" assistant coach for UNC women's basketball team for the Virginia game.  More accurately the position might be termed the "temporary, part-time, honorary guest assistant to the assistant to the assistant coach" but whatever you call it, it's a crucial role that previously included two key duties: nodding your head to the crowd when being introduced as a "guest" coach and not provoking a bench technical foul call.

For the Daily Tar Heel contest, being the kind of person I am, I did not write a traditional essay, I sent in a David-Letterman-like Top Ten List instead.  [Important editorial note: This was considerably before David Letterman was revealed to be vindictive, mean-spirited, sleazy, lecherous and unfunny.]   I won the contest.  (And, no, I am not claiming that winning that contest as my coaching "victory."  How cheesy would that be?)

Why did I win this vaunted contest?  Just a few of "The Top 10 Reasons I Would Make a Great Daily Tar Heel Guest Coach" will make it clear.  My two primary basketball-related qualifications: "I took part in two full Optimist League practices in the fall of 1960" and "I spent two contiguous weeks at Glenn Wilkes Basketball Camp in the summer of 1965."  (I humbly left out my greatest achievement:  almost trying out for the George Washington High School junior varsity team.)

And the "Number One" reason I claimed that would make me a great Daily Tar Heel guest coach: "The Tar Heel team prays before and after each game I pray all during."

But my course-changing contribution to team history came via Jan Boxill, then the team's public address announcer, who read my top-ten list to the squad in the locker room just before the game.  They all thought it was hilarious – and the laughter relaxed them, got them loose for one of the biggest games of the year.  And so, under my watchful eye, the Tar Heels nipped the Cavs.

This was not a blip.  It was dawn of a new day.  Virginia had owned the Tar Heels up to that point, winning 20 out of the previous 23 UVa-UNC games.  And what happened, starting with my stint as temporary, part-time, honorary guest assistant to the assistant to the assistant coach?  The Tar Heels proceeded to win 23 of next 27 matchups.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Oh, of course Coach Hatchell recruited and signed the players, taught, tutored and trained them, designed a defense, established an offense and motivated the teams that have won 23 of the last 27 UVa games but who was coaching them when they were losing to UVa?  (I'm not going to say but it wadn't me!)

Don't get me wrong, Coach Hatchell, you’re a great coach.  Still, if you need further assistance, I’ll be in the end zone nearby.  I’ll not be joining you on the bench not and risk a game-losing technical that mars my undefeated record.

 

Gary D. Gaddy usually sits in the “senior section” of Carmichael (when the team gets back there) where he can coach the coach during crucial end-of-game situations.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday November 13, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:04 AM EST
Updated: Wednesday, November 18, 2009 7:20 PM EST
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Friday, November 6, 2009
Blue in Blue: Ringing the Victory Bell

TOMORROW DUKE WILL COME to Chapel Hill to play a football game that both teams need.   The Tar Heels need to win.  The Blue Devils need to lose.  (Trust me on this, Duke fans, the Blue Devils need to lose.)

I am a locally noted quasi-expert on Duke football.  (Several of my nieces and nephews, you see, have Bill Murray, the great Duke football coach, as their great-grandfather.  So, this means I need to know things about Coach Murray even their dad may not know, such as their great granddad played in the first game ever in Wallace Wade Stadium.  [This I learned after being forced to read "80 years in Wallace Wade" in "GoDuke! The Magazine" – a painful ordeal that no Tar Heel should have to experience, but will if they are no better prepared than I was when I took my car recently for repair at a Durham dealership.]).

Anyway, when David Cutcliffe was hired by Duke, I went out of my way to tell every Duke fan I know that he was the best coach Duke could possibly hire.  This is a man who tutored Peyton and Eli Manning, mentored Tee Martin when he led Tennessee to a national championship, and coached twenty-two football bowl teams.

Cutcliffe looked to be a clone of Wake Forest coach Jim Grobe (presuming that love, beauty and moral perfection can be cloned), so it would also take him about six years to turn Duke into a winner a feat that would make walking on water, or even winning at Wake, look like sluicing down a Slip 'N' Slide®.

I may have been wrong.  I thought Cutcliffe, who is younger than he looks, might coach at Duke until he retired.  Cutcliffe is already, by consensus, the best Duke coach since Steve Spurrier.  But I say Cutcliffe is a far better coach than Spurrier.  For one thing Steve Spurrier was an [anatomical reference here].  David Cutcliffe is a class act.

But Cutcliffe, stupidly, is winning too fast and his biggest danger at this point is success.  Yes, success.  Last year Cutcliffe got off to a near-disastrous 3-and-1start. Then, apparently, having been apprised of my earlier instructional column for coaches (perhaps by Googling "Learning the Goldsmith Variations"), Cutcliffe realized the error of his ways and quickly started losing, finishing a quite respectable, for Duke, 4 and 8.

But, it seems, Coach Cut, as he is affectionately known to the growing legion of seven Duke football fans, has forgotten again already.  So, let me warn you, Coach Cut: "If you start winning, you can't stop."

Cutcliffe should have learned this at Mississippi.  In 2003 the Cutcliffe-headed Ole Miss squad went 10 and 3, finished tied for first in the SEC West, 13th in the nation and won the Cotton Bowl.  The next year Ole Miss went 4 and 7 – in Cutcliffe's only losing season of his six there
and, of course, he was fired.  ("What have you done for me lately?" is the official motto of NCAA football.)

But none of this is why Duke fans should want Duke to lose.  Look at the current Bowl Championship Series standings.  If Nick Saban's Alabama team finishes third in the BCS poll, where they are now, Tide Nation will be calling for Saban's head.  And they may be looking for revenge for the events of 1930 when Duke lured Wallace Wade from Alabama, after he had won three national championships there.

David Cutcliffe, you should know, graduated from Alabama.  You don’t want Alabama to want him back.  Not even James Buchanan Duke himself could sell enough cigarettes to beat the Crimson Tide in a bidding war for a football coach.   The Tide hired Saban away from the NFL which clearly could not afford to keep him.

So, for the Duke fans whom I have invited to the game, please wear light blue and be ready to cheer, "Go Heels!"  Trust me, Devils, it’s in your own best interest to leave the Victory Bell in Chapel Hill.

 

Gary D. Gaddy requests that his Tar Heel team be very alert if any Duke player stops to "tie his shoestrings" on Saturday.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday November 7, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 12:01 AM EST
Updated: Friday, November 6, 2009 7:53 PM EST
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Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday June 11, 1969: Commencement

THE  GRADUATION EXERCISES for George Washington High School were to be held on Wednesday, June 11, 1969.  The day before, we did a dry run.  One of the faculty marshals I think it was the JV football coach singled me out, saying something like "Gaddy, don't do anything stupid."  This was the kind of profiling I faced throughout my school years guilty until proven innocent, even though they rarely caught me at anything.

Truxton Fulton, one of my best friends, by a happy accident of the alphabet, was next to me in the graduation line.  By an unhappy accident for those marshalling such affairs, Truxton had a mind a lot like mine.  While sitting on the bleachers in the sun waiting to be instructed how to walk across a stage, Truxton and I came up with a plan:  a two-man peace demonstration.

We didn't announce what we were going to do but we may not have been quiet enough about it.

Word of our plans must have filtered out because news of another pronouncement filtered in to us: Nelson Moore, all-state offensive tackle on our state championship football team, said, reportedly and approximately, if we did "anything to mess up his graduation, he would kill us."  I had not thought of Nelson as a violent person except on the football field but I was also certain that he could kill us simultaneously with his bare hands.

If Truxton and I were going to chicken out on our plan before that moment, we weren't now.

Following the instructions of a school official meticulously, for perhaps the first time in my educational career, I stood at the bottom of the steps as Truxton took his diploma from Principal J.T. Christopher, a sober, even dour, man.  As Truxton proceeded across the stage, I came up the steps.  When he got to the end of the platform he stopped and I stopped.  We turned, and with a smile, both gave the peace sign.

At that moment I looked into the bleachers at the sitting graduates and soon-to-be graduates to see if Nelson was going to choose to fulfill his promise by killing us then and there actually messing up his graduation as I figured an arrest for homicide would do.  Happily, for the three of us, he wasn't coming.

I then realized what I should have considered before.  While Truxton was heading off the stage, I was going to have to walk right up to Mr. Christopher.  I wondered if he would even give me my diploma.  But with orderliness being above all, if he had done anything out of the ordinary, it would have just been more disorder, so he just scowled at me with the most scowling scowl he had ever given me and stuck the diploma in my hand with a little extra snap.  I smiled.

After the graduation exercise ended, I had an eerie feeling that my life might soon be coming to an end but it didn't.

***

Flash forward to this year's recent 40th high school class reunion.

In the buffet line, there he was: Nelson Moore.  As he looked at my name tag, I said, "Nelson, did you really say you would kill me on graduation day?"  He said he didn't think he said he would kill me. But he did remember why he might have.

Sadly, for the entertainment value of this column, Nelson didn't kill me at that moment either.

Later in the evening, Nelson made a point of finding me to tell me that if he knew then what he knew now, he probably would have demonstrated with us.  It's a funny thing, life.  On the ride back to Orange County from Danville, Truxton and I talked about what Nelson had said to me.  We agreed that if we knew then what we knew now, we probably wouldn't have demonstrated with him.

 

Gary D. Gaddy graduated from high school and has a diploma to prove it.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday October 30, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:04 AM EDT
Updated: Friday, November 6, 2009 7:56 PM EST
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Friday, October 23, 2009
Re-uniting of the class of 1969, Part II

LAST WEEKEND George Washington High School's class of 1969 held its 40th reunion.  So, I went.  This is Part II of a two-part series.  Part I may come next week.

***
Following the pre-party, it was on to the reunion proper.  Practically the first person I saw coming in to the Danville Country Club was David Cross who was, for my long-time readers with better memories than David, the subject of my May 29, 2008 column, where I recounted the first day of the first grade when David had to "stay in" for the first recess.  I told David about that day -- which, of course, he didn't remember.  I do -- he had his head on his desk crying when I came in to get him.

Why couldn't he remember this traumatic event?   Repressed memory syndrome is my diagnosis.  David is too nice to remember something that unpleasant.

A little later in the evening I dealt with another unpleasant memory from elementary school as I confronted Gayle Goodson (Butler) about her “ruining my sixth-grade graduation day.”  How was that, she asked?  By winning the best-history-student award, I replied.  She, of course, corrected me.  It was the English award.  (Exactly what you'd expect from someone who would become the editor in chief of Better Homes and Gardens magazine.)

Anyway, the point was, Henry Swanson told me had seen Mrs. Duncan's copy of the graduation program, and next to "English Award" she had written "GG."  I remember thinking, "Really?"  I was psyched to receive my award.  When Mrs. Duncan announced: "Gayle Goodson," I was crushed.  (In retrospect, I am quite proud of myself for not going Kanye West on her, rushing the stage and taking the award that so rightfully belonged to me.)

I then saw the smiling face of Marc Newman, who we are reminded, is a Duke graduate.  Quite happily, neither his Duke education nor his current New Jersey residency has sullied the sweet southern boy I knew, leaving him neck and neck in the contest for nicest guy in the GWHS class of 1969 with David Cross.

Standing nearby was Susan Hain, who brought her cute twenty-something daughter with her, leading me to ask this question of Susan: "How is it that you're the exact same age as your daughter?"  A number of my classmates looked like they had aged very little, or aged very well; Susan appeared to have gotten younger.  Sadly, twenty-odd years in New Jersey have left her sounding more Paramus than Danville.

Roaming by was Drake Myers, who brought a stuffed dog on a leash.  Drake was always different.  Not far away stood Verne Ferguson, who throughout elementary school regularly kept me from being the worst behaved kid in the class; he was drunk.

At a table near the dance floor was Deborah James, my first true love forever; she smiled at me.  Deborah brought her sisters along -- who turned out to be more useful to Deborah and I than they were when Deborh and I were in the seventh grade.  My friend Truxton Fulton said he was Deborah James' first true love. A little investigative research put this fraud to rest.  I had not only Deborah’s testimony but that of her sisters; it was me.  And, as a bonus, Deborah's still as cute and perky as Katie Couric.

Finally, Kathleen Harris, who is single again, provided much of the evening's entertainment, some of it intentionally.  She had warned us that she was "working on her moves" for the class photo.  In a short and sexy skirt, she turned, wiggled her butt, stuck out her leg and pulled up her skirt -- several times.  I am sure there were lots of laughs and gawks in the photo.  I may have had my hand over my face.  But I suspect she got a date or two out of it -- if not a proposal of marriage.

 

Gary D. Gaddy is sorry to inform George Washington Davis the Third that he did not make the cut for this story.  (Go to GaryGaddy.com to peruse [which Gayle Goodson {Butler} could tell you means to read with great care] past columns.)

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday October 23, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 7:53 AM EDT
Updated: Tuesday, November 3, 2009 8:02 PM EST
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Friday, October 16, 2009
A prayer for my nation and my world

This is what was on my heart when I woke up this morning.  Sometimes I make jokes about praying, this is not one of those times.


***

I PRAY FOR my nation because it has lost its way and doesn't seem to know how to find it.

I pray for my nation where any crime can be readily ignored when committed by an ideological ally but is wholly unforgiveable when committed by an ideological foe.

I pray for my city, state and nation where selfishness regularly trumps responsibility as we expect someone else to carry our burdens, some other neighborhood to take responsibility for what should be taken care of in our own backyards.

I pray for my nation where venom from across the political spectrum so overwhelms ordinary decency that universally acknowledged problems can't be addressed sensibly -- whether it's healthcare, social security or our national security.

I pray for a world in which suicide bombers target public places filled with civilians, bomb the emergency responders as they aid them, and then the hospitals' emergency rooms when the wounded are taken there -- and think they are doing God's will.

I pray for my world where a committee of highly educated people can search the globe for someone who has furthered the cause of world peace and the best they can do is find someone who has talked about it.

I pray for my nation where you can go to the movie theater daily for months without ever hearing "God" or "Jesus" -- except in curses.

I pray for my nation where the religion of no religion is exalted while traditional faith is diminished, where ardent atheists and adamant agnostics can be paid for their views at public universities but believers of any stripe working in the same places are fearful of speaking a word of what they believe lest they violate the separation of church and state.

I pray for my nation so blessed with wealth that its citizenry has grown fat, figuratively and literally, but remains ungrateful for the material gifts it has been given, and unrepentant of the waste that it has made of them.

I pray for my nation that has become so filled with violence that an isolated brutal murder is practically un-newsworthy.

I pray for my world where God-given freedom, which was intended to give us the opportunity to be benefactors of blessing, has been turned into a license for licentiousness.

I pray for my nation where out-of-wedlock births are becoming the norm and two-parent families an aberration.

I pray for my world where the power of the Internet is used every day to expose hundreds of millions of innocent children, and billions of corruptible adults, to the vilest pornography.

I pray for my nation where gay and lesbian couples have a greater commitment to getting marriage rights than heterosexual couples do to keeping their marriages intact.

I pray for my state, where after decades of uninterrupted prosperity, none of our leaders prepared for the possibility of an inevitable economic downturn -- and then put the brunt of subsequent budget cuts on some of the most vulnerable, most underserved citizens: those with mental illness.

I pray for my nation where speculation passes for investing and the government promotes gambling.

I pray for my world where we hold well-intentioned ceremonies such as the blessing of the animals while simultaneously sacrificing the lives of millions of unborn humans each year because of their inconvenience.

I pray for myself that I don't start to think that these prayers are for others' flaws and failings, not recognizing my own face in the mirror.

I pray to God that he give us the grace to have mercy on each other for our sins and shortcomings, and, that as we turn away from our greedy and crooked ways, he will have mercy on us all.  And even in view of the unholy mess we have made of this his marvelous creation, I believe God is willing -- given what he offers us in the person of Jesus.

 

Gary D. Gaddy needs your help in prayer because he doesn’t pray nearly enough.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday October 16, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:14 AM EDT
Updated: Sunday, October 18, 2009 6:18 PM EDT
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Friday, October 9, 2009
Up Cane Creek dazzles in Carrboro debut

CARRBORO, N.C. -- In the wake of the logistical nightmare that tried to pass as a U2 concert at Carter-Finley Stadium, I was expecting something similar with the Carrboro debut of the critically acclaimed Up Cane Creek.  In that respect, in only that respect, I was disappointed.

Despite the under-sized venue for such a notable musical milestone, the entire event went off without a hitch (if we don't count the bass amp going dead for several songs -- which I won't as the bass player covered for this potential disaster like a pro by upping his thumping volume and playing truly acoustically -- something which the bands on MTV's Unplugged never do.)

It is slightly curious that the home-grown Up Cane Creek had not performed before this week in Carrboro, given their touring history:  public performances in Maryland and Virginia, recording sessions on the coast of South Carolina and in the mountains of North Carolina, gigs in Bear Creek, Butner and Winston-Salem -- all in addition to their multiple Chapel Hill outings.  Up Cane Creek, as you might expect from their name, doesn't always go with the flow.

And it is ironic that the Creek's first club gig was not in a club (of the bar with bands sort) at all, but at Club Nova, the clubhouse rehabilitation program for people with mental illness.

Practicing each week on the western fringe of Orange County, on the banks of Cane Creek (thus the latter parts of the band name), the group is comprised of a couple of local couples, entrepreneur Jay Miller and his visual artist wife Ebeth Scott-Sinclair, and attorney Sandra Herring and her husband.

Already known as one of the best local cover bands for music from the 1780's (when big hair first entered the popular music domain), Up Cane Creek continues to expand its repertoire, its set list spanning the group's full range of Americana, bluegrass and gospel, being comprised of songs both traditional and original.

Beginning with a bluegrass "I'll Fly Away" and harmonized, a cappella versions of "Gospel Ship" and "If I Be Lifted Up," the show continued to the righteous rockin' and holy rollin' "Ain't No Grave," where the band showed its gospel streak, culminating in its own meditative "Walk Down to the Water."

The group unveiled its backwoods mountain heritage in light-hearted takes on "Cripple Creek," "Groundhog," and a mini-medley of "Old Joe Clark" and "June Apple," and then showed its roots-country roots with an edition of "Another Day Another Dollar" and their own working-class country compositions "Workin' on it Still" and "Leaving Danville," the latter of which was authored by Alabaman Miller and Wilson-bred Scott-Sinclair much to the dismay of the group's Danvillian bassist.

Vocalist Scott-Sinclair sang up a blue streak, literally, belting out not only their original "Blue Mist" but a Ray-Charles-derived, Patsy-Cline-influenced rendition of "Blue Moon of Kentucky" and a modernized and feminized edition of Bill Monroe's "Blue Night."  I think the audience would agree that feelin' blue never felt so good.

In the band's Johnny-and-June tune, "Don't Ask Me to Explain," Scott-Sinclair and Miller sizzled with a Cash-and-Carter-like energy, which got a spontaneous ovation for the wild and creative banjo break.

The scariest moment of the noon-time concert came when the bass player did what sidemen are prone to do, got the group to let him sing lead, in this case on "Wreck of the Old 97."  Happily, it was not a train wreck -- and neither was "Mecklenburg Train," the band’s heart-rending original set in 1860's North Carolina.

Lower-key songs included Miller and Scott-Sinclair’s haunting "Restless Wind" as well as 1780's favorites "Fair and Tender Ladies" and "Wayfarin' Stranger" and what has a shot at being one of the year's top-rated, bassist-authored lullabies, the afternoon's finale, "Rock-a-Baby."

Gary D. Gaddy, the author of this review, is said to look a lot like the bass player in Up Cane Creek, but it's hard to know since he wore shades the whole gig.  (Go to UpCaneCreek.com to listen to several of the band's original songs.)

A version of this story was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday October 9, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy
  


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:00 AM EDT
Updated: Sunday, June 6, 2010 6:01 AM EDT
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Friday, October 2, 2009
What does true human greatness look like?

THIS YEAR A GREAT MAN passed from this earth. That man was Robinson O. Everett.

Characterized by his Duke Law School colleague Clark Havigurst as "a gentle, unassuming force of nature" and equally aptly as "the slowest moving high-energy guy I have ever known," Judge Everett was also described by one of his former students, James Dever, as "utterly brilliant and disarmingly humble and kind."

Judge Everett was a remarkable and multi-faceted man: student, veteran, lawyer, professor, scholar, judge, legal advocate and constitutional activist. But he was much greater than any list of his achievements might imply.

But before we get to his real greatness, let me give you a sample, and this is just a sample, of what he accomplished in his lifetime. He graduated from high school in Durham at 15, from Harvard University magna cum laude at 19 and from Harvard Law, also magna cum laude, at 22. The same year he began teach at Duke University School of Law, remaining until today the youngest professor in the school's history. Upon graduating from law school in the midst of the Korean War, Everett joined the United States Air Force, where he was assigned to the Judge Advocate General's Corps. As a judge, he rose to the rank of chief judge of the Court of Military Appeals, the highest civilian court in the military justice system, just a step below the U.S. Supreme Court. He retired as a colonel. And he practiced law privately for more than 50 years.

Some of Judge Everett's most publicly visible acts were also his most controversial. In 1966, Everett, a protégé of Senator Sam Erwin and a yellow-dog Democrat, challenged a congressional redistricting plan for North Carolina that he thought was an illegal gerrymander aimed at preserving the incumbent's re-election, a lawsuit which forced the legislature to revise the districts, making them more compact and contiguous.

In the 1990s, as an attorney he was the legal force, and personal financier, behind the case of Shaw v. Reno. This case brought a ruling by the U.S. Supreme Court against the racial gerrymandering as embodied in the creation of the long, snaking district for North Carolina's new 12th District. This district, Everett argued, amounted to legal segregation.

While he did succeed in forcing new districts to be drawn up, Everett did not get the courts to rule out racial considerations altogether in drawing districts. For his efforts to enforce the principle of color-blindness which he saw enshrined in the Constitution, Judge Everett was thought to be a racist by many who did not know him -- which he definitively and unequivocally was not.

Judge Everett's true greatness lay in his character, shown in part by his willingness to sacrifice his reputation to what he believed was right, and in a sterling character displayed daily in his interaction with those of every station in life. To the best of my observation, Judge Everett treated every person he ever met with the same warmth and respect. Looking into his face, you would never know whether he was greeting the chief justice of the Supreme Court or the homeless guy on Main Street, both of whom may well have known him by name.

His private, unpublicized and even anonymous acts of charity numbered in the thousands. In business, he rarely, it seemed, charged his many clients of modest income anything close to going rates, often working pro bono.

Unabashed in his Christian walk, he did not wear his faith on his sleeve, but he was unashamed to let anyone know "the hope he held within him." Judge Dever said that the Presbyterian Everett truly embodied Saint Benedict's first rule that those who learn to live their life in the spirit of thanksgiving will receive life's full promise. Judge Everett learned that and so he did. That is true greatness.

***

Special postscript

It just so happens that the day Ellie Everett was born, her aunt went and bought all of the local papers so that Ellie would have a record of what was happening on the day she was born.  Lo and  behold, there was an article about her granddad!  It was this one.

I am placing a bet now on Ellie.  Since her great-great grandfather, her great grandmother and her great grandfather, her grandfather, her uncle and both her parents are lawyers, I will wager that Ellie is going to be a basketball player.

 

Gary D. Gaddy was a friend of Robinson Everett for 15 years.

A version of this story was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday October 2, 2009.

Copyright  2009  Gary D. Gaddy
 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:07 AM EDT
Updated: Wednesday, October 7, 2009 9:53 AM EDT
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Friday, September 18, 2009
Orange County sheriff breaks up doggerel ring

HILLSBOROUGH, N.C. -- The Orange County Sheriff's Department has broken up what is believed to be central North Carolina's largest doggerel ring, an operation that officials believe may have been operating undetected in Hillsborough's literary underground for decades.

Orange County Sheriff Lindy Pendergrass said that the department’s big break in the case came when one of the Hillsborough ring's seasoned professionals, Elon G. "Jerry" Eidenier, " got a little careless" when he allowed his tennis and poetry circles to become conflated.

The sheriff's department first became aware of the illicit organization when the ring’s ringleader "slipped up" and gave a public poetry reading for his tennis team.  Several members of the team with humanity degrees from liberal arts universities recognized that the literary product that they had been exposed to was a subpedestrian form of poetry commonly known as doggerel.

The leak came through William "Bill" (aka "Loose Lips") McCaskill, Eidenier’s sometime tennis partner, who is said to have told "some of the guys" that Eidenier had written a "team poem."  This report sent up an immediate flag when received by sheriff’s department detectives.

Initially implicated as a principal in the operation was G. Douglas Gaddy, a local "writer" most well-known for his transparently faux "news" stories and slightly more than slightly out-of-kilter opinion pieces.  Pendergrass said Gaddy was taken in briefly for questioning and then released on his own recognizance.

Eidenier, according to Pendergrass, runs a front-operation as an "actual poet," writing what the area's literary community holds to be "actual poetry."  Said Pendergrass, "This gives Eidenier a cover for carrying around tiny notebooks where he is always scribblin' little sayin's and stuff without nobody suspectin' nothin'," he said.  "I can't tell no difference myself," said Pendergrass, "except maybe the doggerel rhymes better."

The primary foci of the doggerel ring are wagering events known as Poetry Smackdowns, which pit one poet against another in mano-a-mano competitions.

The sheriff said he was a "little at a loss" as to why the reportedly boisterous and sometimes bloody affairs had never drawn one disturbing-the-peace report, but thought perhaps it was because they were usually held in the subterranean basements of large estate homes, "typically near the wine cellars."

According to criminologist I.C. Hunter, who heads NC State University's Criminology Curriculum in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology, each community is susceptible to different criminal vices according to its character, or characters, as the case may be. 

"For example, Charlotte tends toward financial crimes such as embezzlement and wire fraud, while Chapel Hill gravitates toward intellectual property theft," said Hunter. "I wouldn't leave even a half-baked idea laying around unguarded on Franklin Street.  It would last about as long as an untethered laptop in Davis Library," he added.

Prof. Hunter said that Hillsborough, as a "literary village," is prone to language-based crime such as "criminal uttering, con artistry of various sorts and, of course, doggerel rings."

"While poetry ring has a quaint sound to it, in the modern era literary rings are not of the innocuous sort that you might imagine with tea, crumpets and lace doilies.  When it comes to the acrimony among these poetry rings, they act more like Crips and Bloods," said Hunter.

"If you don't think this is so, just mention Doug Marlette, or Allan Gurganus, in the wrong Hillsborough literary circle, as I did once, and see if you escape with your eyebrows unsinged," said Hunter.  "Somebody may still think it's sticks and stones that break your bones, but not me.  I'd rather face a stone-hurling mob than face that gauntlet of flame throwers with their withering verbal fire," he added.

Eidenier, on the advice of his attorney, said he would decline comment on the charges against him but could not resist making one.  "I rhyme all the time," said Eidenier. "Is that a crime?" he asked.

A court hearing set for October 12, Dr. Hunter mused, may answer that question.

 

Gary D. Gaddy, who is a lyricist, not a poet, lives in the periphery of Orange County. 

A version of this story was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday September 18, 2009.

Copyright 2009  Gary D. Gaddy


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:08 AM EDT
Updated: Saturday, September 26, 2009 8:10 PM EDT
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Friday, September 11, 2009
Skin game: The reality of racial profiling

RACIAL PROFIING EXISTS.  Those who say it doesn't haven't been paying attention.  I know it exists because I have been racially profiled many times.

When I was in high school, my friend Maynard Reynolds and I used to play basketball on the playgrounds of Danville, Virginia.  When we first got to the courts often there was little obvious enthusiasm for our arrival -- unless they were really short of players.

Now, we weren't looked upon dismissively because of anything we had done or said or even anything that anyone of them had heard about us.  We were unknown commodities.  We were profiled because of how we looked -- extremely white.

Don't get me wrong, I understood.  We always went to play at the courts in the black neighborhoods, because, in some profiling of our own, we had decided that's where the good players were.

We did not decide this out of pure prejudice.  My older brother played for George Washington High School when they went to the state championship finals in 1965. GW had a good team – for a white school.  This was, as you might surmise, before the Danville school system was desegregated.

But I had been to a game at Langston High School, Danville's black high school as well.  For anything I could tell, Langston's team, a school with one third as many students, would have run GW out of the gym.

Here's the backstory.  The guys on the playground courts profiled us.  We were white, so, they thought that we couldn't play at their level.  You know what, they were half right.  Half of the two of us couldn't.

It didn't take long before they figured out the real story.  Maynard did have game.  He was a mini-Maravich.  Like Pistol Pete he could dribble effortlessly behind his back or between his legs, go to his right and to his left with ease.  He could shoot and he could score -- and he would pass to the open man.  He was a player.

It wasn't long before teams would grab him up before we got all the way to the court – despite his ghostly color.

Now, if my friend Maynard felt slighted that first time when he was picked next to last, I don't remember him showing it.  He just played and proved them wrong.  But, if he was miffed, who should he have blamed?  The guys at the courts who assumed we couldn't play?  Or the person who created the stereotype he had to break – me?  The guys at the courts were just trying to win, which is the point of the game, isn't it?

***

Carrboro goes dry as "Buy Local" hits stride


CARRBORO -- In the wake of its new "Buy Local" ordinance, Carrboro has become the first North Carolina town to go dry since Yadkinville voted in local prohibition in 1935.  The "Buy Local" ordinance requires that all Carrboro businesses buy and sell only products manufactured, produced or grown within the Carrboro planning jurisdiction.

"We had not realized that there were no breweries, distilleries or wineries in the greater Carrboro municipality," said Alderperson Burke O'Bailey-Smithwick, noting that she could now see how this could have an impact on alcohol sales within the town limits.

"The obvious answer is for Carrboro to legalize the sale and consumption of locally grown marijuana, which will boost the local farm economy as well as giving a kick start to the burgeoning hookah bar trade,” said Alderperson Albert Bosworth.

The Chapel Hill Chamber of Commerce was ecstatic at the news that Carrboro was going dry.  "This is the first time that we can remember a local government regulation of any sort actually helping business in Chapel Hill,” said Chamber spokesperson Milford Bunche, as he stood in line outside the Carolina Brewery.

 

Gary D. Gaddy played basketball for 40 years.  Most of time the players were divided by one clear and obviously superficial distinction: shirts or skins.

A version of this story was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday September 11, 2009.

Copyright 2009  Gary D. Gaddy 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:03 AM EDT
Updated: Sunday, June 6, 2010 6:03 AM EDT
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Friday, September 4, 2009
The Golden Age of Football, a column about it

IT IS THE TIME OF THE YEAR when the crisp evening air, the smell of freshly mown grass and the sight of the sharp white lines on the gridiron remind us that it's just a couple of months 'til basketball season.  But let's do talk briefly about football.

Chirpy Chirping and Chippiness


It's a new era in Big Four football when the Duke coach gets testy because he thinks his program might be being dissed.  Understand me, before David Cutcliffe they were getting dissed regularly, being clearly the worst team in all of Division I football over the last 20 years.  However, even during the brief glowing moment under Steve Spurrier, Steve Superior didn't get chippy -- mainly because he was too busy dissing everybody else.

But, to my mind, an even better sign of the new era is that an NC State/UNC football detente may not be in the offing.  My hope derives from this exchange last spring.

“We're the best football program in the state, without question,” said NC State football coach O'Brien following State's 41-10 win last year over UNC, referencing State's season sweep of North Carolina, East Carolina, Wake Forest and Duke.

When UNC football coach Butch Davis was asked to respond the following Monday, he said, “Last Saturday, they were the best football team.  But before anybody anoints themselves, I’d say there probably needs to be some time invested into the programs, and then we’ll see what happens.”

Then Cutcliffe added, “If I were Tom O’Brien, I’d be saying that.  This might be the only year he can ever chirp like that. When you’ve got chirping rights, you better chirp."

Wake Forest's Jim Grobe didn't enter the fray.  Why not?  I will venture a guess.  Because he actually has the best case for the best Division I  BCS program in the state -- and when you got it, no need to flaunt it.

Which bring us to the . . .

The Golden Age of Football

The other day I shared this little sports tidbit that I found in USA Today with my family.  It had a list in its pre-season college football issue giving the "Golden Age of Football" for each of the schools of the Bowl Championship Subdivision of Division I (that is, the "We Don't Really Have a Championship" Subdivision) football.

Here was what they concluded about the Big Four -- a sports designation derived from basketball, not football, it is worth noting  (I sent this to my family because between my parents and siblings, we have, by my count, 30 years of undergraduate and graduate degrees spread across all the Big Four universities.)  For UNC, the Golden Age was '46-'49 with Charlie "Choo Choo" Justice -- 60 years ago.  For Duke, it was '52-'55 under Coach Bill Murray -- 55 years ago.  For NC State, it was '72-'74 under Lou Holtz -- 35 years ago.

Which leaves us with poor podunk Wake Forest, the second-smallest school in the BCS.  Its Golden Age?  The era under Jim Grobe with Riley Skinner from 2006 up to right now -- which includes an ACC championship and an Orange Bowl appearance.  My advice to my Wake family fans: "Enjoy it while you can, Deacs."

My sister, the Bowman-Gray educated pediatrician, then asked. "When do Furman fans get their Golden Age?"  (She asked, being like me, a Purple Paladin.)  I answered: "Beets (her family nickname), sorry but Furman wasn't listed since the list did not include schools in the ‘We Actually Play for a Championship’ Subdivision."

For the record, Furman's Golden Age would be 1985 through 1988 when it appeared in the Division I-AA championship game twice, winning it once.

But who should be chirpy, or chippy, as to claims about the "best football program in the state"?  That would be Jerry Moore, head coach of Appalachian State, whose Golden Age is also now, having won three consecutive Division I FCS (then I-AA) national championships beginning in 2005, and whose team tops the preseason poll again this year.


Gary D. Gaddy is a Furman University graduate.

A version of this story was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Friday September 4, 2009.

Copyright 2009  Gary D. Gaddy


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 6:15 AM EDT
Updated: Tuesday, September 1, 2009 7:18 PM EDT
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Friday, August 28, 2009
Not anywhere in the vicinity of common sense

IT SEEMS LIKE EVERY OTHER WEEK I am writing about the latest local outbreak of NIMBYism.  I hope you are not tiring of my writing about "Not in My Backyard" because I sure am tiring of having NIMBYs living in mine.

I have neighbors against having neighbors. Their protests and lobbying efforts got your tax dollars and mine to buy them a park along New Hope Creek instead of a new neighborhood.  Neighborhoods are fine, apparently, as long as they are in someone else's neighborhood.

I have neighbors against neighborhood schools.  (I'm not making this up.)  Their protests got the proposed high school at Cornwallis and Erwin roads cancelled.  I am sure they would say that they are not against "neighborhood schools," just a particular school on a particular parcel of land -- which coincidentally sits in their backyard.

Now it's the Sunrise Road people on their fourth, by my count, NIMBY campaign of the last three decades.  First they opposed the route of I-40, which they wanted near someone else's neighborhood.  Happily, for everyone else in North Carolina, they were unsuccessful.

Next they say, "In 1995, BellSouth . . . applied to build a 169-foot tower behind the Wesleyan Church at the corner of Sunrise Rd and I-40, but local residents organized successful efforts to oppose the towers."

Later the Sunrise Coalition opposed a Sunrise Road Habitat for Humanity housing project, greatly delaying it, managing to make it smaller, much more expensive, and thus helping poor people get, someday, what most everybody else in Chapel Hill already has, houses that cost way too much.

Question. If poor people can't live near people who aren't poor, where can they live?  Near other poor people?  We've tried that; they're called ghettoes.

Now, Sunrise Road is repelling another Attack of the Dreaded Cell Phone Tower, by spawning the Rural Buffer Defense Group which is "made up of the owners of all 10 properties immediately adjoining the Tower site, plus over 20 other families . . . [in the] neighborhood."

I don't want to judge any one individual's motives. They may be pure, but ain't it a coincidence these NIMBY groups are always opposed to things in their own neighborhood -- even when they have, do or will use the service this annoyance may provide.  In this respect NIMBY is really I-SELFY, In Somebody Else's Front Yard.

Now understand, the Sunrise Road cell tower opponents are not against cell phones. As their ugly sign next to the proposed cell tower says: "Cell Service? Yes. Ugly cell tower? NO."

Of course, there are explanations for why the group doesn't want to allow a neighboring landowner to lease a space on his 10-acre wooded lot to put a 149-foot cell phone tower for AT&T and other providers which will serve local citizens, including them, service that could have been available for 15 years if not for their earlier opposition.

One argument they offer is that the property immediately adjacent to the tower site is a “Tree Farm whose mature timber is due to be harvested in the near future," thus making the tower more visible.  My suggestion is to not cut down the 32 acres of trees.  It will become a forest not a farm.  Then let your neighbor do what he legally may with his forest.  It's his, you know, just like yours is yours.

I don't like telephone and power lines going by my house -- but I do like my neighbors and I like having telephones and electricity.  I don't like the road that goes by my house -- but I sure do like  that we all can drive our cars where we wish, so I put up with it.

And because I want to be a good neighbor to the Rural Buffer Defense Group, here’s some helpful advice for their upcoming court hearing.  My wife, who is an attorney, says so as not to get on the wrong side of the judge, before you enter the courtroom, make sure to turn off your cell phones.


Gary D. Gaddy is, coincidentally, an AT&T cell phone subscriber.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald Thursday August 28, 2009.

Copyright   2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:00 AM EDT
Updated: Friday, July 8, 2011 8:32 PM EDT
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Friday, August 21, 2009
Talking health care reform in Carrboro

LAST TUESDAY NIGHT I was having a drink on the patio outside Panzanella in Carr Mill Mall following a meeting at Club Nova intended to help the board catch a new vision of the future of a great organization.   I have the privilege of serving on the board of this program which works with people with severe and persistent disabilities.  The other board members are some very smart, well educated and earnestly caring people; how I got on this board, I have no idea.

This group confounds one observation I believe generally holds true (often attributed to Winston Churchill):  "Anyone who is not a liberal when they are young has no heart.  Anyone who is not a conservative when they are old has no brain."

As we sat in the warm evening air, we discussed the sad state of care for those with mental illness before the conversation moved on to the current debate on health care reform.  I tried to stay out of the amicable agreementfest that was substituting for a serious discussion of the troubles reform was having but only could do so for so long.

I began my comments by saying I really didn't want to get into a political discussion because I doubted that any one of them would agree with me on much of anything.

In 1992, when Hillary Clinton was given the task of reforming our health care system, I observed, she blew it by following a faulty, secretive process.  The country was ready then for real change but not for change imposed from the top from behind closed doors.

The current effort, I noted, trying to hurry through Congress a 1,082-page bill that many of those sponsoring it hadn't read, and certainly didn't understand the implications of, wasn't a process that would have been used to implement so much as a new rule on snack bar hours at Club Nova, where members and staff diligently work together to make things work in genuine consensus.

My explanation for why so many ordinary people now felt like someone was trying to sneak something by them was simple: someone was trying to sneak something by them.

We also talked about spiraling medical costs, after it was mentioned how in our personal experience so many seemingly unnecessary medical tests get ordered these days.  I asked, "Do you know why that's so?  I'll give you a hint: My wife is a lawyer."  I then added that any reform effort that claimed to contain costs but did not include tort reform was not serious -- which was a kind way to word it.

In my next statement I might have been a little more diplomatic if we hadn't just spent 30 minutes talking about how Medicaid rations care via strangulation administered with bureaucratic red tape.  In that context, I had a hard time not rebutting our table's consensus that further nationalizing health care will solve all our problems.  "Correct me if I'm wrong," I asked, "but Medicaid is a federal government program, isn't it?"

One person pointed out that she gets her Social Security check every month.  My response was that collecting money from taxpayers and writing checks were things that government was very good at.

At that point the guest speaker at our board meeting pointed out that one individual at one of the health care town hall forums had asked, "The government runs Medicare and it’s going broke.  The government runs Medicaid and it’s going broke.  The government runs Social Security and it’s going broke.  Tell me why I should trust the government with my health care?"  Then he added, "It was a good question."

It was a heartening moment for me, a meeting of the minds, suggesting that perhaps real health care reform is possible.

Coming soon, maybe, a new column: Fixing what is broke without breaking what isn’t in American health care.

 

Gary D. Gaddy has a private health insurance policy with a $20,000 deductible and pays his doctor bills from a Health Savings Account.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald Thursday August 21, 2009.

Copyright   2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:24 AM EDT
Updated: Wednesday, October 21, 2009 4:07 PM EDT
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Friday, August 14, 2009
The Reverend Ike dead and gone, but not forgotten

AMERICA'S LEADING "Green Evangelist" died last month.  No, Al Gore is doing fine -- as far as I know.  It was the Reverend Frederick Eikerenkoetter II who passed from this life.

Eikerenkoetter, "known as Rev. Ike to a legion of followers here and across the nation to whom he preached the blessings of prosperity while making millions from their donations, has died,” reported the New York Daily News.

The Rev. Ike is gone and I am going to miss him.  Your ordinary run-of-the-mill charlatan is mildly amusing for a while.  The Rev. Ike never got old.

One of my favorite Rev. Ike quotes is "My garages runneth over."  In 1976, according to the Los Angeles Times, his church owned 16 mink-appointed Rolls-Royces.  One thing you could not accuse the prosperity-gospel preacher of was hypocrisy.  At one point he alternated among six homes.   The Los Angeles Times once reported that he wore a gold watch, a silver-and-diamond tie pin, a silver bracelet and a large gold ring studded with more than a dozen diamonds.

His ministry reached its peak in the mid-1970s, when his sermons were carried on 1,770 radio stations to an estimated audience of 2.5 million.

Preaching from the stage of a former New York City Loews movie theater that was transformed into the United Church Science of Living Institute, Rev. Ike would tell thousands of parishioners to "close your eyes and see green . . . money up to your armpits, a roomful of money, and there you are, just tossing around in it like a swimming pool," said the New York Daily News.

As payback for his spiritual inspiration, Rev. Ike asked for cash donations from the faithful -- preferably in bills not coins.  In addition to his refreshing honesty, he also had rhyming and timing.  "Change makes your minister nervous in the service," he would say.  He regularly told his listeners to "never mind that pie in the sky, in the sweet bye and bye, when you die, you need money now, honey."

Rev. Ike was a one-man anti-poverty program.  "The best thing you can do for the poor is not to be one of them," he preached.  “No one has a right to be a parasite,” he added.

The critics who called Rev. Ike a con man, saying the only point of his ministry was getting rich from the donations, wouldn't know a con man if they saw one.  One commentator said, "Reverend Ike was . . . a snake oil salesman of the first order."  This woefully understates Rev. Ike in his prime.  He could have sold snake oil for sure.  He could have sold it to the snakes.

But fakes resort to fakery.  Not Rev Ike.  He was completely transparent.  I remember watching television sometime back in the early 70's and being impressed by one of his commands: "If you think that money is the root of all evil, then send yours to me!"

Con artist, no; extortionist, yes.  One of the Rev. Ike's reported fundraising techniques was to send a letter containing a sliver of a prayer rug. The letter told the recipient to mail it back the following day with a donation -- at least $20 -- so that Rev. Ike could bless it.  Failure to return it, with a donation, could have dire consequences, the letter said.

Not to treat the man too casually, he was a heretic -- by traditional Christian standards -- putting love of money in the place of the love of God and the love of man that Christ commanded.  Rev. Ike taught that “The lack of money is the root of all evil.”

And finally, "If it's that difficult for a rich man to get into heaven, think how terrible it must be for a poor man to get in.  He doesn't even have a bribe for the gatekeeper," said Rev. Ike.  Here's hoping Rev. Ike took some of his with him.


Gary D. Gaddy is worried about how to get a camel through the eye of a needle.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald Friday August 14, 2009.

Copyright   2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:13 AM EDT
Updated: Wednesday, October 21, 2009 4:11 PM EDT
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Friday, August 7, 2009
Cash for Clunkers wildly successful, sort of

I WAS SO GLAD TO HEAR that Cash for Clunkers, the Congressional program where ordinary citizens are given thousands of dollars to trade in their old wasteful, noxious-gas-spewing clunkers for new thriftier, cleaner replacements, was working so well that they are thinking about expanding it.  I was very disappointed, however, when I found out it wasn't a program for buying new congresspersons to replace our old ones.

Of course the actual Cash for Clunkers program is wildly successful.  Loose cash blowing down the street has always attracted an eager crowd.

Government at its best is a blunt instrument.  At its worst its power appears to be an instrument wielded by those who have suffered from blunt force trauma to the head.  Let us think for a moment about this program -- something few of our congresspersons did before they voted for this junker.

Here is how it works.  Officially known as the Car Allowance Rebate System, the CARS program allows individuals to trade in a vehicle which must be less than 25 years old and get 18 or fewer miles per gallon in exchange for $3,500 to be used to purchase or lease a new vehicle which gets at least 22 miles per gallon, or $4,500 if the new car gets five or more miles per gallon more than the trade-in.

Of course, the actual program is more complicated than this.  (I did say it was a government program, didn't I?)  Trucks, for example, have smaller mileage improvement targets.

According to the government, CARS is designed to help consumers buy or lease more environmentally-friendly vehicles which will "energize the economy; boost auto sales and put safer, cleaner and more fuel-efficient vehicles on the nation's roadways."

It will do these things, but at what cost?  One billion dollars -- to start with.  (More billions if it is extended and expanded.)

Showing that economic ignorance knows no party line when the proper state lines are involved, one Michigan Republican, Congresswoman Candice Miller, says, "There can be no doubt that the Cash for Clunkers program is a complete success given the fact that the entire $1 billion allocated to the program was expended in less than a week."

True, but one thousand Brinks trucks with their backdoors left open each with one million dollars in loose 20s driving our highways and byways would stimulate better -- and faster.

Consider that the real value of the discounts to consumers is $3,500 to $4,500 minus the value of the trade-ins, which must be destroyed.  This means only relatively low-value vehicles will be traded, otherwise it makes more sense to keep them.  That is, cars with little useful life left in them, thus big costs for small returns.

If the trade-ins are not of low value, vehicles with useful lives will be destroyed.  In both cases these discounts will assist wealthier buyers, people who had a car and could afford or almost afford a new one.  Meanwhile, the vehicles destroyed represent an implicit tax on poor people as a result of decreasing the supply of low value cars and trucks -- unless, of course, Congress repealed the law of supply and demand at the same time they passed this one.

What about energy savings?  Until the trade-ins and replacements are tallied we can't know precisely, but I estimate that it is likely to be only a little more than five or six miles per gallon per vehicle improvement.  Let’s assume that over each trade-in vehicle's remaining life when it would have been junked anyway, it would hang on, optimistically, 25,000 more miles. With a government-estimated 25.4 mpg for the new vehicles versus 15.8 mpg for the old clunkers, each trade-in will save about 600 gallons of fuel.  This equals, at an average $4,000 discount, a cost in the neighborhood of $6.67 per gallon saved.  Make sense to you?  Not for my money.

 

Gary D. Gaddy owns a used first-generation Prius that he bought with his own money -- sadly.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald Thursday August 7, 2009.

Copyright   2009  Gary D. Gaddy


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:07 AM EDT
Updated: Wednesday, August 12, 2009 4:25 PM EDT
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Friday, July 31, 2009
140 characters to twittering success

IN THE CHANGING MEDIA LANDSCAPE, we must change or die.  I ain't ready to die.  So, I guess I have to learn how to twitter.  So, I’ll start
***
I forgot. Twitters must be brief. You can only use 140 characters for any one twitter. This is great for readers with really short attention
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Sorry, I’ll try to stay focused. You need to when you are twittering. And to think some people were impressed with Lincoln’s Gettysburg Addr
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Terse Ol' Abe? His address is 1494 characters! That's 10 tweets. He may have been ahead of the curve then. The ol’ boy sure ain’t there now.
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Twitter, they say, is ez. A column on tweets of tweets wld b harder. A whole column of tweets exactly 140 characters long, that wld b fun!!!
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Twittering helps communicate concisely.  For example, doing it isn’t called twittering, it’s called tweeting.  This saves two whole characte
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I'll get the hang of this. What we should do, tweeters say, is to use more abbreviations and special tweeting shortcuts. Let us learn a few.
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Now, 4 u tweeting novices, some meta-tweets, ie, tweets about tweets. These self-reflexive tweets will help u twitter much more efficiently.
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IRL = In Real Life. What’s true on Twitter may not be true IRL, believe it or not.  IRL things are borrrrrring, unlike life in Twitter land.
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IMHO = In My Humble Opinion. IMHO usually indicates that: "This is an op-ed tweet, not a factual assertion." It is very rarely humble, IMHO.
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BTW = By The Way. BTW is an easy way to add an aside. It’s Twitter’s version of a segue.  BTW, few twitters would know the meaning of segue.
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F2F refers to meeting in person, IRL, ie, face to face. Can mean at a tweetup or other occasion where you might encounter another Twitterer.
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NBFF = New Best Friend Forever. A nu type of deep relationship that can b established through the nu media like Twitter.  4ever is relative.
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TWD = Tweeting While Driving. Xciting twittering xercise where you ndanger others while tweeting with your NBFF u just met while a-tweeting.
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YMMV = Your Mileage May Vary. In other words (IOW), what’s true in my experience (IMX) may differ from yours. Especially if you tend to TWD.
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b/c = because. Not the blind carbon copy (BCC) used in email. Why’s b/c mean one thing in one place and something else in another? Just b/c.
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Now let’s add more abbreviations to the mix.  (Ever wonder why the word abbreviation is so long -- and there’s no good abbreviation for it?)
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Starting with the B's, let us learn some fun nu twitter abbreviations:  btw = by the way, b4 = before, bfn = bye for now, br = best regards.
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c itz ez:  btw, b4 i go, fyi b/c u were l8 itz 2 l8 now 4 me. plz, cld u c me l8er?  ru free this pm?  wld b gr8. Thx a mil. bfn & br 2 jack
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c, itz ezier than u thght. u can do it, so can i. dont need apostrophes or capitals or gramer or speling. Itz gr8 4 passing notes n my skool
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BTW IRL IMX meeting a NBFF F2F stinks b/c IRL people r borrrrrring, IMHO YMMV but IMX twitter columns beat Local Voices ez ez. Cu l8er NBFF.

 

Gary Douglas Gaddy, who isn't really that tweet proficient, yet, did manage to make this bio line precisely140 characters long, more or less

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald Thursday July 31, 2009.

Copyright   2009  Gary D. Gaddy


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:25 AM EDT
Updated: Thursday, July 30, 2009 10:02 PM EDT
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Friday, July 24, 2009
The incredible shrinking newspaper


I HATE TO WRITE AN OBITUARY for something that isn't quite dead yet -- but the American newspaper is in a death spiral.  I hate to write its obit in the very newspaper in which I am published -- but I can't figure out where would be a better place to put it.  And I figure I may not have long to publish it.

I have seen this coming for quite a while – forty-four years to be exact.  I have been in the newspaper business for some time.  In 1965 I was a paper boy for the Danville Commercial Appeal, a weekly newspaper.  Danville also had a healthy daily paper, and not long before had an evening daily as well -- before Walter Cronkite and his ilk killed it and the nation's other afternoon newspapers off.

I remember thinking, one morning as I walked my paper route: "This is a crazy way to get people the news."  I came up then with a solution: use fax machines, which existed then but were not common, to send readers articles on things they were interested in.  Four decades later, reality finally caught up with my lazy adolescent brain, only now they call fax machines computers, the Web, the Internet -- that kind of stuff.

But you haven't had to be an expert to see some of this.  It has been pretty obvious for quite a while that any major industry built on the backs of 13-year-old boys didn't really have a good business model.  Now the Internet really is jeopardizing the future of the remaining morning daily papers as both readership and ad revenues continue to shrink.

Many newspapers are shrinking -- literally.  One local paper, which I will not mention by name because I am writing for them right now, looks positively anorexic sitting in their single-copy sales boxes made for a larger format paper.  And either my arm is getting much stronger or newspapers are getting notably thinner as well.

But, as Philip Meyer, UNC professor and the former head of research for the Knight-Ridder newspaper chain, has said, as paraphrased by me, the response of newspapers in general to these tough economic realities is dismayingly stupid.  What mom and pop restaurant which was losing business would cut portion sizes, reduce quality, cut staff, raise prices and then expect to stay in business another week?  (Answer: none.)  So, what makes newspapers think that they can do the equivalent of that and survive?  Professor Meyer doesn't know and neither do I.

To compound things, readers are dying – literally.  As readership declines, it also is rapidly aging.  If you don't believe me, just find a twenty-something who subscribes to a daily newspaper -- and see if you don't have a real oddball on your hands.

As long as news is free tonight from news-aggregation sites such as Google News, it will be increasingly hard to get anybody to pay for papers delivered the next morning.

In the meantime, Craigslist has been eating up the business of the classified ad section -- which was once the most profitable part of the newspaper.  (Free will beat paid, any time, any where.)  And targeted web ads, such as those that come with Google searches, beat vague collections of ads or stacks of inserts all day long.

I don't know if I am part of the problem or part of the solution.  Working for nothing, as Local Voices columnists are wont to do, certainly doesn't help the circumstance of the paid journalists we may displace, but certainly we may help the circumstance of the failing newspapers we prop up.

But do understand, while newspapers may be going away, news is not.  Rest assured, someone, somehow will provide it.

 

Gary D. Gaddy, who was the owner of the Forest Hills neighborhood Commercial Appeal paper route from 1966 to 1968, holds a doctorate in Mass Communication Research from the University of North Carolina and taught journalism and mass communication at the University of Wisconsin--Madison for a while.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald Thursday July 24, 2009.

Copyright   2009  Gary D. Gaddy


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 8:45 AM EDT
Updated: Wednesday, July 22, 2009 4:55 PM EDT
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Friday, July 17, 2009
A very third-personal column

GARY GADDY is going to miss Roland Burris.  In case you missed it, Roland Burris is the Illinois politician who took Barack Obama’s senate seat after being appointed by another Illinois politician we all will miss: former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich.  In the past week Roland Burris said that Roland Burris will not seek election when his appointed term expires.

But rather than using this as an occasion to mourn, it something to be celebrated -- with National Week of the Third Person.

Get to know illeism

Roland Burris has often talked about himself in the third person, saying "Roland Burris" thinks this and "Roland Burris" will do that.  Some people find that egotistical.  Gary Gaddy does not.  If nothing else, Roland Burris’ work has helped expand all our vocabularies.

  • lleism: Reference to oneself in the third person, usually to excess. (This definition is taken from the Logophilius blog. You gotta love words to appreciate Logophilius.  Frankly, it’s Greek to me.)

One famous illeist was Richard Milhous Nixon.  The classic example of a Nixonian illeism ("You won't have Nixon to kick around anymore.") was made on the morning of November 7, 1962 at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in Los Angeles as Nixon gave what he called his "last press conference."  Unfortunately for us all, the press did have Nixon to kick around anymore.  This was not his last press conference.

But, let us not forget Roland Burris, if for no other reason than Roland Burris wouldn’t want us to.  Roland Burris is not just a person who speaks of himself in the third person.  He is much more than that.

According to Deanna Bellandi and John O'Connor of the Associated Press, in 1984, when Roland Burris ran unsuccessfully for the Senate, he once mused, "Illinois is the Land of Lincoln. Maybe someday it will be the Land of Burris."  He named his children Roland II and Rolanda.

"In addition to constructing a big mausoleum, he etched it with practically his entire resume, recording, among other things, that he was the first black Southern Illinois University exchange student to the University of Hamburg in Germany," said Bellandi and O’Connor.  And this is a notable accomplishment that II venture will never be duplicated by any person black, white or any other color.

“This is Rickey.  Calling on behalf of Rickey.”

But enough of Roland Burris.  Could it be a coincidence that Roland Burris was seated in the United States Senate during the same week that Rickey Henderson got voted into the Hall of Fame?

According to Wikipedia, baseball player Rickey Henderson was famous as an illeist.  Teammates reported seeing him standing naked in front of a mirror before a game, practicing his swing, and declaring, "Rickey's the best! Rickey's the best!"

It is also reported that during one off-season, Henderson left this message for Padres general manager Kevin Towers: "Kevin, this is Rickey. Calling on behalf of Rickey.  Rickey wants to play baseball."  This is, unequivocally, illeism at its highest.

Again, according to Wikipedia, in 2003, Rickey discussed his illeistic tendencies, saying, "People are always saying, 'Rickey says Rickey.' But it's been blown way out of proportion. I say it when I don't do what I need to be doing. I use it to remind myself, like,`Rickey, what you doing, you stupid . . . .'  I'm just scolding myself."

A sports reporter once asked Rickey if Rickey talked to himself, “You know, I never answer myself so how can I be talking to myself?”  And as to the degree of his illeiacal proneness, Rickey does use the first person, as when he defended his position during a contract dispute: "All I'm asking for is what I want."

But we should be careful of the facts on Rickey Henderson.  It is quite possible that the Wikipedia entry on Rickey Henderson was written by Rickey Henderson on behalf of Rickey Henderson.

Happy Illeism Week!


Gary D. Gaddy would like to thank Gary D. Gaddy for his assistance on this column which helped GaryGaddy.com to win the National Society for the Advancement of Illeism’s Blog of the Decade.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald Thursday July 17, 2009.

Copyright   2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 7:14 AM EDT
Updated: Saturday, July 9, 2011 7:17 AM EDT
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Thursday, July 9, 2009
My wife and my life: An Internet investigation

THE INTERNET IS GREAT!  You can find out all kinds of things with it -- without even getting out of your pajamas.  (Traditional journalists are often derisive of bloggers "blogging in their pajamas."  This leads me to a question:  How do these "real" journalists even know the bloggers wear pajamas?  Investigative research is my best guess -- using the Internet.)

Recently, after having been married to my lovely wife and sometime editor for 15 years, I realized that I knew almost nothing about her except what she told me.  It used to be that you would have had to hire a private investigator, someone like Magnum, P.I., to look into her supposedly unsordid past.  Now, I can just Google her.

Let me tell you just some of the fascinating facts about her that I found out in my investigation -- none of which she had seen fit to tell me herself.

The first thing I discovered was that in 1972 my wife, who then went by Sandra Lynn Herring, was not only Miss Portland but Miss Oregon and a winner of a "Non-Finalist Talent Award" in the Miss America contest.  She never told me any of this.  She brags about second place in a bare bow archery contest with two contestants, but doesn’t mention this?  Odd, don’t you think?  (Coincidentally, she also never said anything about living in Oregon.)

But beyond bald facts, the Internet can tell you how to manipulate those essential pieces of data to entertain yourself.  For example, the website www.isthisyour.name will tell you the "Top 5 Facts for This Name."

1. How well envoweled is Sandra Herring?  For this name, 31% of the letters are vowels. Of one million first and last names, 74% have a higher vowel make-up.  This means you, Sandra Herring, are modestly envoweled.

2. In ASCII binary Sandra Herring is:  01010011 01100001 01101110 01100100 01110010 01100001 00100000 01001000 01100101 01110010 01110010 01101001 01101110 01100111

3. Backwards, Sandra Herring is Ardnas Gnirreh.

4. In Pig Latin, Sandra Herring is Andrasay Erringhay.

5. In what is my favorite isthisyour.name Top 5 Fact: "Sandra Herring, your Power Animal is the Common Mule."

And in the most hidden part of her life, she never said a word about being the performing artist Sandra Herring on "Everybody Wants My Body: Remix."

But these facts about others are just the tip of a massive but highly informative Internet iceberg. You can find things out about yourself, things that even you didn't know.

I remember graduating from George Washington High School in Danville, Va., (class of 1969), but had forgotten about my stints at Parkway High in Bossier City, La., (class of 1975) and Henderson High in Henderson, N.C., (class of 1964).

I remember being in the Furman University classes of 1973 (projected) and 1975 (actual), but I didn’t remember my time at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colo., (class of 1974).

I had thought that I didn't play golf, but with the help of the Internet, I find out I was Larkhaven Golf Club (N.C.) Four Ball Champion in 1986, 1998 and 1999; Greenville County (S.C.) Amateur Champion in 1991; and on the Montclair (Va.) Men's Golf Association Fall Classic tournament winning team (net score) in 2008.

While I knew that I had once played JV football, I did not know that at Hay High in Buda, Texas, I am the JV Blue Coach, an assistant coach with the varsity, and, of course, a PE/Health Teacher.  And last year I was the JV girls basketball at East Hall High in Hall County, Ga., as well.

I also find, besides being a self-employed "writer,"  I am a bus driver with the Lincoln, Mo., School System, a director at Sunny Level Baptist Church in Ringgold, Va.; and in 1996 was named Principal of the Year in Beaufort County, N.C.

But, I would like to caution you, sometimes the Internet information you find can be misleading.  For example, in a lot of places they have misspelled my name as Garry Gaddy.  So, be careful out there.

 

Gary D. Gaddy is, according to the Internet, the author of this column.

A version of this column was published in the Chapel Hill Herald Thursday July 9, 2009.

Copyright   2009  Gary D. Gaddy

 


Authored by Gary G. Gaddy at 7:59 AM EDT
Updated: Tuesday, September 1, 2009 10:26 PM EDT
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