GraphicGumbo...Daily: "Hey Coach!"

GraphicGumbo...Daily: "Hey Coach!": Good Monday Morning, all bodies. Yeh, it's a Monday again... When returned to Southern California, after being away for about fiv...

"Hey Coach!"

Good Monday Morning, all bodies.

Yeh, it's a Monday again...

When returned to Southern California, after being away for about five or six years, my wife and I visited a local restaurant that at one time was owned by Dodger manager, Tommy LaSorda.

Of course, it was an Italian restaurant. But, while eating there, a former Little League team mate who was with his family dining, saw me and called from across the room,  "Hey Coach!"

I always loved that.

I remember a coach as a young ballplayer who directly and indirectly taught me a thing or two.

With "ducks on the pond" and probably nobody out it was a definite bunting situation, but I struck out swinging. The next time at bat, I was given a signal, but never got it. After a swing and a miss, the coach called me over to third base for a conference.

"You see this bat?" he said pointing to the bat with his right arm around me.

"The next time you miss a signal, I'm gonna wrap that bat around your head... Okay?"

"Uh, okay, coach!"

This was my coach almost all through my little league days. I read online that he just recently passed away. This scenario was the first thing that entered my mind. I shook my head and chuckled. As a coach in South Pasadena for over 12 years, I remember vowing to never motivate a player in such a way.

I also remember that same coach escorted me to the St. Claude Hospital when I snapped the ulna and radius in half on my glove hand just before a game. I don't recall being too upset as a twelve year old though I didn't look at my forearm much. The coach could never have been so attentive. He stayed with me long after my mom arrived and the arm was reset and put in a cast.

I only remember hoping to get home in time to watch the first episode of Combat! on TV.

Coach always gathered the team together before each game, and sometimes, before each practice, to pray for a good game, sportsmanship, and give thanks to the Lord for our parents and teachers. Maybe, he started a prayer at practice after my accident... I wouldn't be surprised.

Many years later visiting home, we attended Mass at St. Raphael, in Gentilly and was surprised to see and hear the man read the sermons. His voice was very 9th Ward as he had a tendency to speak through the side of his mouth.

"Therese, remember that guy I told you about that coached me all those years at Bunnyfriend Playground?"

"Yes, what about it," she asked.

"That's him on the podium. I haven't seen him in twenty years or more," I said. 

"I gotta see him after Mass, okay?"

 Immediately after the blessing, I dragged our son and my wife to the parking lot to intercept him and capture a moment from my past.

Walking away from a few Mass celebrants, and as he headed for his car, I yelled, "Hey Coach! Remember me?"

Gotta be a special place in heaven for coaches like Firmin Simms!

https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/new-orleans-la/firmin-simms-9178646

Copyright 2020/ Ben Bensen III

"Standing On The Corner Watching The Covid Folks Drive By!"

So, I dropped off my wife for her chemotherapy checkup, but things have changed since we were last there. Now, she has to go to the office without me and that's something that lately freaks her out. The masked nurse begins to escort a distraught women. I can't hug her, or kiss her or reassure her that everything will be okay, so I give her a wink and a thumbs up as encouragement.

She's just going for a checkup, but Therese freaks out at the latest provocation.

After she is escorted up to the offices, the male nurse suggests that I take a seat outside on the bench. Fifteen minutes later and who knows how many masked and unmasked people walk right by me, I decided to move away from the entrance to a location further along the parking lot but not so far away that I cannot see patients come in and go out of the doorway. Leaning against the parking lot lamppost, I started counting the many, mostly rotund women, waddle out of the taxi cab or their parked vehicles.

I thought to myself, "How many "DingDongs" in one's life does it take before a blowhole appears atop their head?"

A half hour visit is closing in on one hour. An airliner quietly banks away to the west and as it climbs up into the bloated rainclouds I wonder how many center seats are being reserved for Mr. Corona!

A diminutive woman donning her N-95 walks up the her BMW van. The car is parked between my van and the driveway curb.

Starting up her engine, her white reverse lights lite up. The woman starts to back up but her front passenger side wheel bumps up against the curb. She puts the car in drive to straighten out and then proceeds to back it up. Again, the tire wedges itself to the yellow parking curb.

Unbelievably, she repeats the process and once again, the tire props itself up on the curb, so she gets out of the car to assess any damage then proceeds to try again. Each time, an obvious victim of childhood dyslexia, she turns the wheel to the right instead of turning it to the left.

"Well, I said to myself, I can't help her on the road of life, but I can help her get out of the parking lot."

Walking towards her car, I notice a group of festive people wearing party hats and waving gold streamers sauntering towards the entrance.

"Hmmm, I wonder what they're so happy about!"

I finally walked up to the passenger side of the little lady in her BMW to offer her some help.

"Ma'am, you gotta turn the wheel in the opposite direction before you straighten out," I mumbled.

Once again, she turned the wheel toward the curb.

"No, no, Miss. In the OTHER direction!"

She nods, puts it in drive and then, in reverse with the wheel going away from the curb.

Realizing that she could accidentally hit the gas too hard and slam her front end into the side panel of my parked van next to her, I quickly jumped behind her car, told her to straighten out the wheels and back up.

Guiding her car away from mine, she was now out of harm's way to everyone's car.  As I walked up to her window to congratulate in some COVID kinda way, I heard a great cheer complete with horns and bells and kazoos. I looked over to the entrance where, apparently, the happy group was celebrating a man who had finished his chemo, rang the bell, and exited the hospital to cheers of his family and friends. I laughed, turned to the little women in her car and nodded. What else could we do! Shake hands? Extend high fives?

With the window closed, she graciously bowed her head down as if to thank me, and I responded with a nod back. Somehow, to me, my "De Nada" just didn't seem to be enough, so as she rather shyly mumbled thank you, I stood at attention and gave her my best military salute.

Five minutes later, Therese arrived almost in tears. The office hadn't received her results from yesterday's lab visit, so the entire trip seemed a waste. Well, all is not lost, I thought. I helped a young lady suffering parking lot distress and sent her on her way back to the road of success...

Hopefully!

Copyright 2020/ Ben Bensen III