Patrick Kane’s Top 5 Pick-Up Lines

It’s no secret the Chicago Blackhawks’ forward Patrick Kane has trouble keeping his pants on.

For the second time in five years, Kane has been accused of inappropriate sexual activity with a woman he met at a bar. No criminal activity has been proven, but the most recent accusation has yet to be concluded.

While in the shower today, I wondered, “If I was Patrick Kane, what would be my Top 5 Pick-Up Lines?”

5.) “Hey, babe. Wanna see my ‘Stanley Cup’?”

4.) “I can make you a top stick handler.”

3.) “Every time I shoot – I score.”

2.) “I am one of the league’s best at ‘putting the biscuit in the basket.’”

And the number 1 pick-up line if I was Patrick Kane is:

(Drumroll)

1.)         “Let me introduce you ‘Lord Stanley.’”

At the Reuniting of a Nation

150 years ago, my great-great-grandfather, William Fairfax Gooden, stood outside a farmhouse in a sleepy little town that few people outside Virginia knew existed. But at 3 p.m. April 9, 1865, when pencil lead touched paper and two well respected and opposing military generals shook hands, that time – that place – was etched into history books studied by the six generations since and the hundreds of generations yet to come.

The moment was the surrender of Confederate Army of Virginia General Robert E. Lee to Union Army of the Potomac General Ulysses S. Grant, and the place was Appomattox.

William Fairfax Gooden was the father of my great-grandmother, Estelle Gooden Boyer; grandfather of my grandmother, Helen Boyer Stoker; and great-grandfather of my mother, June Stoker Daravanis.

William Fairfax Gooden was born in March 1849 in Pennsylvania and enlisted in the Union army on March 14, 1864 at age 15 despite the opposition of his father, Hiram.

William was assigned to the Pennsylvania Volunteers, 65^th Regiment, 5^th Cavalry, Company I. William was among 231 new recruits to join the Pennsylvania 5^th Cavalry in Notoway Bridge, Virginia. His company saw action at Notoway Bridge throughout April; fought at Jarratt’s Station and Bellville, Virginia May 8 through May 19, 1864; fought at Petersburg June 2 through June 15; fought at Staunton Bridge, Stoney Creek and Darbytown from June 29 to mid-July; fought numerous skirmishes around the Confederate capital of Richmond, Virginia from September 29 until the end of 1864.

A profile of the Pennsylvania 65^th Regiment, written in 1999, continues the story:

“In the latter part of March, 1865, it joined Gen. Sheridan's command and on April 1, started on its last campaign. The enemy was met and routed at Five Forks, where the 5th cavalry made a gallant dash, capturing 300 prisoners. During the succeeding week the command was active in the pursuit, skirmishing at Gravelly Run, Amelia Court House and Burkesville. On the 7th its picket line was established near Prince Edward Court House and on the evening of the same day it reached Appomattox Court House, where it shared in the fighting up to the time of the surrender.

“It moved to Lynchburg on the 12th and thence returned through Appomattox, Farmville, Burkesville, Five Forks and Richmond to the Mechanicsville Pike, where it encamped.”

William Fairfax Gooden and 330 other members of the Pennsylvania 65^th Regiment mustered out on May 14, 1866.

For the entire Civil War, one officer and 76 soldiers of the Pennsylvania 65^th Regiment were killed or mortally wounded in battle. An additional six officers and 210 soldiers died of disease or accident.

William moved to Johnson County, Indiana, south of Indianapolis, where he married the former Sarah Russell on Dec. 20, 1869. Their son, Charles, was born on Christmas day of 1870. Sarah died the following year. He then married Lavinia Sanders Kaufman, who also lost a spouse to death and had a son, on March 29, 1880. From this union, my great-grandmother Estelle was born in 1884. She died seven months short of her 100^th birthday in 1984. 

William studied medicine, moved to Aurora, Nebraska in 1886 and eventually became Burlington Division (Neb.) Surgeon for many years. Lavinia died March 9, 1900. In 1904, William married Luella “Lulu” Ream, another widow with one son, and moved to Montgomery, Alabama where he died and was buried in 1914.

But before my great-great-grandfather could come to the rescue of injured and ailing citizens of Indiana, Nebraska and Alabama; William Fairfax Gooden stepped forward to help save a budding nation. And he was only a teenager.

Though I have driven through Virginia a couple of times in my life, I’ve never stopped at Appomattox. Someday I hope to visit Appomattox and see what he saw. I know the trees will be bigger and the exterior paint will have been refreshed since then, but the ground where he stood and the aura he felt on that particular day – at that particular moment – is eternal. 

The School I Did Not Attend and the Guy Who Made it Memorable

I grew up in northwest Indiana. Though not officially by definition, the cities and towns of northwest Indiana are in effect suburbs of Chicago, Illinois. For the residents there, local news, weather and sports come from television stations in Chicago. Car radios are tuned to stations in Chicago. Those who love the arts go to museums and theaters in Chicago. Those who love animals go to zoos and aquariums in Chicago. Sports fans cheer for the Chicago Bears in football, the Blackhawks in hockey, the Bulls in basketball and either the Cubs or White Sox in baseball. An unwritten rule prevents people from cheering for both the Cubs and Sox.

When I was growing up in the middle and late 1960s, there were four television stations – the three networks and a local independent with the call letters of WGN. While the networks had news and interview programs, WGN’s early morning fare was more kid-friendly Captain Kangaroo, Garfield Goose and Ray Rayner and Friends. The Captain and Garfield were fun, but I really liked Ray Rayner.

Ray Rayner and Chelveston

Ray wore a one-piece jumpsuit with a number of pockets. Clipped on each pocket with paper clips were little squares of paper. Ray would rip a square off a pocket and introduce the next cartoon. In between cartoons, Ray would do arts-and-crafts or cooking projects, or skits with a big dog puppet named Cuddly Dudley or a real life duck named Chelveston. Very little was scripted. I doubt Chelveston would have followed the script anyway.

Ray and Cuddly Dudley

About halfway through Ray Rayner and Friends, Ray would do weather and sports reports. Occasionally during college football season, Ray would announce with great fanfare “And winning this weekend was Slippery Rock!” Mom and I (dad was either at work or if he had to work the “graveyard” shift then he was sleeping) didn’t know if Slippery Rock was a real school or something Ray made up. All we knew was it was a silly name.

A quarter of a century later, I made a solo trip to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. As I was driving north on I-79 in western Pennsylvania, I saw a sign that read “Slippery Rock University next exit.”

“OMG! Slippery Rock is real! I have got to see it and get a shirt!” I said to myself as I zipped the car off the interstate.

Slippery Rock University of Pennsylvania, founded in 1889, has a very pretty campus with limestone buildings, lots of green grass and big trees. I don’t know about the quality of the curriculum or its faculty, but the school with the silly name is a beautiful university.

Every year about this time, as Amy and I get our winter clothing out of storage, I pull out the grey sweatshirt with the Slippery Rock University name and crest in green that I bought that September day in 1994 only because Ray Rayner mentioned Slippery Rock on TV. I didn’t graduate from or attend Slippery Rock University, but I wear the shirt with pride. And when people ask me about Slippery Rock, I tell them the story of my trip through western Pennsylvania and growing up with Ray Rayner.

Ray Rayner passed away in 2004, but his memory lives on in my mind, in my heart, and on my shoulders.

It’s Christmas time! Whoopee

For the ninth year in a row, my child will not wake me up before dawn to open his presents this year. The almighty biased judge ruled my son should live primarily with the destroyer of our family, not the one who fought to save it.

This year, because of the cost of airfare, Nik will not get to Arizona until in the evening of Dec. 29. We’ll open our Christmas gifts to each other on Dec. 30, but the morning of Dec. 30 is not Christmas morning.

I’ll smile and appear festive in front of family and friends on Christmas day, but it’s all a façade. It’s the same façade I stand behind 302 days a year, but my Christmas façade is a heavier burden to bear. Perhaps I’ll be able to sneak away and find a secluded and dark spot to cry my eyes out. The problem is when I’ve had those rare moments in the past, the tears don’t come. You see, the destroyer not only ruined my dreams for an idyllic family, she also ripped out my ability to cry. I guess I shed my God given supply of tears during my futile fight.

Savor every second you are physically with your child, my friend. Savor every hug. Savor every kiss. Savor every time they laugh and they make you laugh, because someday you won’t be together. And then all your problems of today will seem rather trivial.

I pray that day for you comes later rather than sooner.

Thanksgiving Moments That Have Passed

My precious Thanksgiving memories:

* Sitting at the "Kid's Table" with Brian and Stephanie Palvas at our Yia Yia and Papou's house on Taft Street in Gary, Indiana.

* Moving up to the "Adult Table" at either the Palvas house or my house.

* Gathering around the TV to cheer on the Chicago Bears against the Detroit Lions. We didn't care about the other Thanksgiving day game at Dallas.

* Sometimes, the weather in northwest Indiana was good enough that Brian, Stephanie, later Ronnie and Mark Cool, others and I could go outside and have our own football game.

Today, we’re making new memories at our own tables in Chicago, central Indiana, Denver and Arizona. New adults and grown children sit at the “big” table and the “Kid’s Table” has been handed down to grandkids. Yia Yia, Papou and Uncle Bill Palvas are feasting with our Lord in heaven – and either cheering for or yelling at the Bears.

A line in one of my favorite songs, A Long December by Counting Crows, is “I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell myself / To hold on to these moments as they pass.” I wish I could remember more moments that have passed, but I am, and will eternally be, thankful for the memories I have.

Children Come in All Shapes, Sizes and Fur Coverings

Amy and I have 1 dog (Dynamo), 2 cats (Kirk and Scottie – Spock died 5 years ago) and 5 chickens

Amy feeding "The Children". 

(Zooey – short for Zoolander, Matilda, Tinker, Evers and Chance. Hansel died a couple of years ago). Along with bird seeds, Amy feeds the chickens various table scraps and Dynamo steals his fair share.

Last week, Dynamo’s vet put him on a strict diet to treat a bout of Pancreatitis. That led us to answer the question “How do we keep Dynamo from eating what is meant for the chickens?”

A few years ago, Amy erected planting boxes so she could grow vegetables and the chickens love jumping into the boxes to scratch around and eat the bugs and worms they happen to dig up. In a rare moment of brilliance, I suggested Amy dump the food for the chickens in the planter boxes and away from Dynamo. Of course, that “moment of brilliance” was only brilliant in my mind, because Dynamo quickly figured out he could jump into the boxes like the chickens do, shoo them away and then feast.

So this morning, Amy threw down some food for the chickens and after I saw Dynamo jump in the planting box, I yelled from the back door “DYNAMO! GET OUT OF THERE!” which he promptly did.

Dynamo then ran quickly past me to the other room where Amy was getting dressed and gave her a look on his face that said “Daddy yelled at me! I wasn’t doing anything wrong! He’s so mean to me!”

Ah, the life of a Puppy-Parent. 

One More Pat Bartram Story

A couple of weeks ago, I told you about my friend, Indiana State Police Trooper Pat Bartram (see Officer’s Funeral Rekindles Good, Bad and Difficult Memories). This morning, I remembered another Pat Bartram story that I would like to share.

Former Mooresville Police Chief Tim Viles organized a one-day, women only rape prevention seminar. Of the 50 to 60 people in the Mooresville High School auditorium that Saturday morning, only four were men – Viles, Pat and his brother Mike, and me.

I think this was the spring or summer before Pat’s accident because Mike had just started his undercover drug enforcement work. Chief Viles told me ahead of the seminar about Mike’s new duties, and I assured Mike I would do whatever I needed to do to preserve his cover, but every time I would raise my camera, Mike would drop his head and hide his face behind his hand.

One of the female presenters was from the medical field. She spoke about the physical and psychological effects of rape. A female police officer described the steps police departments take to investigate rape cases and gave tips so the ladies in attendance would know when they’re inadvertently getting themselves into dangerous situations or with dangerous people.

Pat and Mike each have Black Belts in a number of Martial Arts. They were there to give the women defensive fighting tips should a situation get that far. But Pat’s first tip had nothing to do with fighting.

“When you are surprised by an attacker jumping out of the shadows at you and you fear you’re going to be raped, you may think you’re going to pee in your pants. If you’re in that situation and you think you’re going to pee in your pants, then do it!

“I’m a guy and if my intent is to rape you and I see you’ve peed all over yourself, then I want nothing to do with you. It is much easier to take a shower and either wash your clothes or throw them away than it is to recover from being raped.”

Pat and Mike then demonstrated various kicks, gouges, and thrusts to fend off an attacker, but the lesson was to do whatever it takes keep from being raped.