One of my friends from the Marine Corps, Mike Newton, contacted me recently about a fellow we both knew in Vietnam. He was a Navy Hospital Corpsman named Richard "Doc" Pinsonnault and a good guy who didn't make it back from Vietnam.
A Hospital Corpsman or just Corpsman is the Army's version of a Medic. He's the guy who ranges around a battlefield finding wounded men and trying to save their lives. All a Corpsman carries for protection is a .45 caliber pistol and very rarely does he use it because he is too involved in treating stricken Marines. It's hard to imagine the courage it takes to go forward in a hostile environment, with bullets flying all over the place and mortars landing near you to save a buddy. "Doc" was that kind of guy and he did it many times.
Mike had been contacted by a fellow name Ray King who was from "Doc's" home town of North Attleboro, Massachusetts and had grown curious about a World War I monument located in front of St. Mary's Catholic Church. Ray noted the thirteen names and asked around to see if anyone knew who they were. No one did. At that moment Ray, a "mill right" in a local factory who says he is "not a writer", started his quest. After a year he finished his research on who the men were and how they died and arranged with The Free Press, the local paper, to publish the stories. In a letter from Ray he said, "I feel it's a terrible sin to have perished in the service of the country and to be forgotten".
As the stories were published there was a favorable response from the townsfolk and Ray continued his journey through World War II, Korea and then finally reached Vietnam and Hospital Corpsman Third Class Richard Pinsonnault. Apparently Doc's parents are gone but through the internet and some dogged searching Ray King found my friend Mike Newton. Mike came off the chopper on Hill 689 the night of June 6, 1968 was wounded, treated by Doc Pinsonnault and med-evaced shortly after. He wasn't with us the night Doc was killed but he knew I was so now it's my job to remember Doc's sacrifices and make sure he is nover forgotten.
Attached is the letter I sent to Ray King. It and other remembrances of Doc will be published in the North Attleboro Free Press on Veteran's Day 2011.
Dear Ray,
I am Will Lomen and I was with Doc Pinsonnault when he died on Hill 689 July 7, 1968. My great friend Mike Newton forwarded your email to me and asked me to write something for you about Doc. That was a couple of months ago and every time I tried to get started on my reply for some reason I had to stop. My brother Terry, who was also a Marine, was killed in Vietnam close to a year later in June of 1969 and his loss is something I deal with every day of my life. He and three of his best friends joined the Marine Corps because I did and they all made it back and in one piece except Terry. I have sworn I will finish this letter to honor the courage, steadfastness to duty and expertise that Doc exhibited in the field and under fire on many occasions.
I wasn't assigned to Charlie Company's 2nd Platoon until sometime in April of 1968 so I didn't know Doc as well as Mike and the other Marines on Hill 881 South. My memories of him were of a guy who was cocky but professional with his duties. To be a corpsman you had to be supremely confident in your abilities and able to handle the inevitable sarcastic banter lobbed at you daily by equally cocky but respectful Marines. We all knew that it took a special kind of man to range about a battlefield packing only a medical kit and a .45 caliber pistol that most likely would never be fired.
The night of July 6, 1968 Charlie Company of the First Battalion, First Marine Regiment was choppered onto Hill 689 in support of Delta Company who, the night before, had been hit by a fusillade of mortars followed by a suicide ground attack. They were in dire straits and undermanned but they couldn't be pushed off that hill. As soon as we landed we were hit by another mortar barrage resulting in two of my friends, Mike Newton and John Keeling being wounded. Mike with wounds to an arm and both legs; John hit in the face with shrapnel that miraculously curved down his forehead and over his nose, missing both eyes. Doc treated them both, and then in the dead of night and under fire our chopper returned, backed up to the hill, lowered the ramp and rescued all of our wounded.
That night we were re-enforced by Alpha Company then the next day Charlie Company was given the mission of retrieving marines from Delta Company who had been killed outside the perimeter the day before. Shortly after we went through the barbed wire to search for our comrades we were again hit by mortars and a lethal sniper whom we could not pinpoint. When our progress stalled we were ordered to pull back and once again Doc came to the front and treated his troops; specifically Waco Stroud and Sergeant Rowe both of whom died, but not because of Doc's actions. I watched him comfort them in their final moments.
After we returned to the top of the hill and were inside our lines again Doc treated more wounded men; specifically our company commander Captain Trautwein and two other Marines, Pat Caldwell and a fellow named Riley. I can't remember the other names. Once again the gutsy Marine pilots brought their CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters back to the hill and, in the face of nagging mortar attacks that were targeting our landing zone, recovered our casualties.
Suddenly as a former fire team leader I was informed that I was now the commander of second platoon and as darkness fell we came under attack again. Before I could ponder my new responsibilities the new company commander, Lieutenant Perry, ordered our platoon to a position on the west side of the hill. With my radio man Lance Corporal John Antonace and platoon corpsman Richard Pinsonnault following in my footsteps, I lead our small group of Marines out onto a small finger of land and dove into a trench. We tried to make out attacking soldiers in the dark on the other side of the barbed wire but couldn't see anything; our platoon laid down a wall of M-16 rounds anyway.
In the confusion of the moment we assumed another platoon from Charlie Company was to our left with Alpha Company to our right but we were wrong. For some reason I looked to my left and saw a group of men standing on a bunker and firing back inside our lines. They were shouting "We friendlies, we friendlies", but it was in a foreign accent. Before we had time to react two explosions detonated directly behind me, something lit up the area and Antonace landed on top of me, driving me into the bottom of the trench. The explosions turned out to be enemy hand grenades and the bright light was an illumination round that was strapped to the side of Antonace's radio. The illumination round was triggered by the exploding hand grenades and it fluttered into the air, landed on the side of the trench and rolled underneath me. Thinking it was some kind of time bomb I dragged myself out from underneath Antonace and dove out of the trench, falling into a bomb crater.
Not sure what was happening, my platoon regrouped and confirmed that somehow enemy troops were to our left and were attacking our position. We fired back, inside our lines, and eventually took out the men on the bunker. We killed most of them with their wounded succumbing to their wounds the next day. Still not sure about the security of our position we rushed back to the trench to find Antonace and Doc. They were gone. Doc had taken the force of the two exploding hand grenades to his front and John was killed when the igniting illumination round hit him in the side of the head as it detonated.
I am sorry to hear that Doc's parents aren't alive to remember him but maybe you have made contact with the cousin and he will carry on the memories. The important thing is that you are doing what you have set out to do. It is a noble effort and you represent a chosen group who has selflessly taken on the task of making sure nobody forgets the ones who have paid the ultimate price for their country. You say you are not a writer but you are wrong. A writer is someone who sets a goal to tell a story and gets it done. There are a lot of people who may have better writing skills and know how to use fancy words and have big dreams about writing a story but never quite get around to it. That's what separates the talkers from the doers, like you. Congratulations on the dream you have chosen and good luck on your quest.
Semper Fi, Will Lomen
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Red and Black are back!
As a guest of the McGilvra Soccer Club at a recent board meeting, it was terrific to see it was business as usual. In the comforting confines of John McCormick's Park Deli, we sipped cool beverages as President Bruce Clarkson and six other volunteers conducted club affairs as has been done for the past thirty-eight years. Covering such basic issues as player registration, team practice schedules, uniform and equipment purchases, budget updates and the expansion of the club website, the volunteers readied McGilvra's "association" and "mod" teams for the upcoming 2010 season in September. "Association" meaning boy and girl teams with players under ten (U-10) to under nineteen years of age (U-19) and "Mod" being boy and girl teams for under six (U-6) to under nine (U-9) who play under modified rules. These modifications for the younger soccer players include: reduced rosters, shorter fields, fewer on-field players, shorter games and a smaller ball. The "Mod" idea is that the kids will get more touches on the ball and be more involved in the game.
Back in 1973 when all players played eleven-a-side on a regulation field the McGilvra club provided approximately three hundred kids the opportunity to play soccer in the Seattle Youth Soccer Association. Over the years the Club has experienced steady growth and in 2010 the club now stands at more than five hundred players who are coached by over fifty volunteer coaches.
The McGilvra club is defined by the geographical boundaries of: North at the Ship Canal, East along Lake Washington to Yesler and west to MLK then along MLK until it runs into Madison then down Madison to the west side of Washington Park and along the Arboretum to 26th Ave. E. and back north to the ship canal. These borders are similar to the Madison Park, Washington Park, Denny-Blaine and Madrona boudries with the Mt.Baker/Lakewood Soccer Club to the south, the Capitol Hill Soccer Club to the east and the Woodland Soccer Club to the North.
Over the years one characteristic of the Club has been the outstanding volunteers who have kept the McGilvra Soccer organization (mcgilvrasoccer.org) running efficiently. Some years a few individuals have done most of the work and in other years a new generation of enthusiastic parents have filled every position covering such varied job titles as: President, Seattle Youth Soccer Association Commissioner, Mod Coordinator, Photo Day Coordinator and Coaching Director. Each team will then assign parents with providing such essentials as game day snacks and the end-of-the-year party.
After five years, Kendall Culwell the lady who has held the Club's most important position of Head Registrar, will step aside and is moving to California. Culwell, who swears that the reason she is moving has nothing to do with intensity of the job, will facilitate the registration for the 2010 season then will be available train her successor. As the Club searches for her replacement Culwell is enthusiastic about the job's rewards. She has enjoyed the energy of organizing each team and interacting with all of the coaches and many of the parents. She says that the May to August registration period can be hectic but also very satisfying as existing and new teams come together into units of kid-friendly teams with names like: Go Girls, Sparklers, Lasers, Stampede, Green Hornets, Superfriends, Speedy Cats and Hotshots. It is a testament to Culwell's efficiency and dedication that during her five years she has twice been designated the Seattle Youth Soccer Association volunteer of the month which includes the SYSA's (sysa.org) sixteen clubs and over thirteen thousand soccer players under their umbrella.
Although one of the smallest clubs in the city the McGilvra red and black are competitive with any of the larger clubs and have many City Championships to show for it. Last year in weather not fit for a polar bear, four of it's teams fought through the marathon rounds of the City Tournament and made it to the finals. On that cold and rainy of December 19th at the Nathan Hale and Summit field complexes, the GU11 Sparklers coached by Bruce Clarkson and the GU12 Chargers coached by Mike Riley won their respective City Championships in heart-stopping performances. The GU13 Go Girls coached by Scott MacIntire and the BU11 NIghthawks coached by Joe Nickerson finished as the gutsy runner-ups in their classifications.
As I sat listening to Bruce Clarkson, Kendall Culwell, Scott MacIntire, Jonathan Stark, Darren Gray and Ken Gladden give their various reports you could feel the anticipation for the upcoming season. As dates were set, assignments were delegated and questions were answered it was comforting to know that the Club, which has been passed down through the years, was in good hands.
2009 CITY CHAMPS! GU12 McGILVRA CHARGERS
2009 CITY CHAMPS! GU11 McGILVRA SPARKLERS
Back in 1973 when all players played eleven-a-side on a regulation field the McGilvra club provided approximately three hundred kids the opportunity to play soccer in the Seattle Youth Soccer Association. Over the years the Club has experienced steady growth and in 2010 the club now stands at more than five hundred players who are coached by over fifty volunteer coaches.
The McGilvra club is defined by the geographical boundaries of: North at the Ship Canal, East along Lake Washington to Yesler and west to MLK then along MLK until it runs into Madison then down Madison to the west side of Washington Park and along the Arboretum to 26th Ave. E. and back north to the ship canal. These borders are similar to the Madison Park, Washington Park, Denny-Blaine and Madrona boudries with the Mt.Baker/Lakewood Soccer Club to the south, the Capitol Hill Soccer Club to the east and the Woodland Soccer Club to the North.
Over the years one characteristic of the Club has been the outstanding volunteers who have kept the McGilvra Soccer organization (mcgilvrasoccer.org) running efficiently. Some years a few individuals have done most of the work and in other years a new generation of enthusiastic parents have filled every position covering such varied job titles as: President, Seattle Youth Soccer Association Commissioner, Mod Coordinator, Photo Day Coordinator and Coaching Director. Each team will then assign parents with providing such essentials as game day snacks and the end-of-the-year party.
After five years, Kendall Culwell the lady who has held the Club's most important position of Head Registrar, will step aside and is moving to California. Culwell, who swears that the reason she is moving has nothing to do with intensity of the job, will facilitate the registration for the 2010 season then will be available train her successor. As the Club searches for her replacement Culwell is enthusiastic about the job's rewards. She has enjoyed the energy of organizing each team and interacting with all of the coaches and many of the parents. She says that the May to August registration period can be hectic but also very satisfying as existing and new teams come together into units of kid-friendly teams with names like: Go Girls, Sparklers, Lasers, Stampede, Green Hornets, Superfriends, Speedy Cats and Hotshots. It is a testament to Culwell's efficiency and dedication that during her five years she has twice been designated the Seattle Youth Soccer Association volunteer of the month which includes the SYSA's (sysa.org) sixteen clubs and over thirteen thousand soccer players under their umbrella.
Although one of the smallest clubs in the city the McGilvra red and black are competitive with any of the larger clubs and have many City Championships to show for it. Last year in weather not fit for a polar bear, four of it's teams fought through the marathon rounds of the City Tournament and made it to the finals. On that cold and rainy of December 19th at the Nathan Hale and Summit field complexes, the GU11 Sparklers coached by Bruce Clarkson and the GU12 Chargers coached by Mike Riley won their respective City Championships in heart-stopping performances. The GU13 Go Girls coached by Scott MacIntire and the BU11 NIghthawks coached by Joe Nickerson finished as the gutsy runner-ups in their classifications.
As I sat listening to Bruce Clarkson, Kendall Culwell, Scott MacIntire, Jonathan Stark, Darren Gray and Ken Gladden give their various reports you could feel the anticipation for the upcoming season. As dates were set, assignments were delegated and questions were answered it was comforting to know that the Club, which has been passed down through the years, was in good hands.
2009 CITY CHAMPS! GU12 McGILVRA CHARGERS
2009 CITY CHAMPS! GU11 McGILVRA SPARKLERS
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Guess who just visited the neighborhood?
The pieces to the puzzle were there, it was just a matter of fitting them in their proper places.
Over the past week Madison Parkers may have noticed City of Seattle traffic signs appearing along south McGilvra Boulevard and south along Lake Washington Boulevard. If had they looked closely at the typically sloppy hand writing they would have been informed that certain curbs would not be available for parking south to the Madrona bus turnaround from 6am to 6pm on August 17th. Those of us who have been benumbed to the continuous home construction projects in our neighborhood and their inherent impact probably skimmed the dates and times and promptly wrote it off to just more pickup trucks, cement mixers, yawning traffic directors and another delivery of port-a-potties. That would have been a mistake.
As they lay in the sun at Madrona Beach today around 2pm on August 17th another group would have noticed the very strange sight of at least six distinctive boats with high powered outboard engines enblazened with large letters spelling POLICE jockeying for position off the shore from the Madrona bus turnaround. Their first thought would be, "Weren't the Blue Angels last week?" then they would have rolled over and reached for the sun screen.
About a half a mile north on the Boulevard another more adventurous group would be searching in vain for parking at the nudie beach hidden on a secretive street off Lake Washington Boulevard. "I mean what's the problem with these lunch board signs telling me I can't hang out at my favorite Lake Washington beach in my birthday suit?"
As you continued north along the Boulevard toward Madison Park suddenly it would become obvious that something different was happening in the neighborhood. There were vans and a whole lot of police officers and your first thought may have been: "They're filming a movie somewhere around here so they need the police for security and the vans for all the actors and support staff etc. etc." But then you realized that that didn't make sense because why would they be serving meals out of a police van? I mean can you eat donuts all day long?
Then there are the people who would have recalled articles about the President being in town to show the flag for Patty Murray and some of them may have been excited for a few seconds about attending the fundraiser until they realized that ponying up $10,000 would put a serious dent in this month's entertainment and mortgage budget so they decided to watch it on the news. But what was this about the President hanging out at Rob Glazer's lakefront estate and didn't he just move from a hot condo downtown to a neighborhood more user-friendly to his new kid-friendly family?
So guess what? Yup you're right that was the President hustling along Lake Washington Boulevard between 2pm and 4pm today encompassed in a secure entourage of Seattle Police personnel, automobiles, motorcycles, vans, State sheriffs and Secret Service agents along with the President's Beige Suburban with the tiny American flags followed by more vans and more motorcycles.
Next time pay attention to those street signs, you never know who's going to be visiting.
Over the past week Madison Parkers may have noticed City of Seattle traffic signs appearing along south McGilvra Boulevard and south along Lake Washington Boulevard. If had they looked closely at the typically sloppy hand writing they would have been informed that certain curbs would not be available for parking south to the Madrona bus turnaround from 6am to 6pm on August 17th. Those of us who have been benumbed to the continuous home construction projects in our neighborhood and their inherent impact probably skimmed the dates and times and promptly wrote it off to just more pickup trucks, cement mixers, yawning traffic directors and another delivery of port-a-potties. That would have been a mistake.
As they lay in the sun at Madrona Beach today around 2pm on August 17th another group would have noticed the very strange sight of at least six distinctive boats with high powered outboard engines enblazened with large letters spelling POLICE jockeying for position off the shore from the Madrona bus turnaround. Their first thought would be, "Weren't the Blue Angels last week?" then they would have rolled over and reached for the sun screen.
About a half a mile north on the Boulevard another more adventurous group would be searching in vain for parking at the nudie beach hidden on a secretive street off Lake Washington Boulevard. "I mean what's the problem with these lunch board signs telling me I can't hang out at my favorite Lake Washington beach in my birthday suit?"
As you continued north along the Boulevard toward Madison Park suddenly it would become obvious that something different was happening in the neighborhood. There were vans and a whole lot of police officers and your first thought may have been: "They're filming a movie somewhere around here so they need the police for security and the vans for all the actors and support staff etc. etc." But then you realized that that didn't make sense because why would they be serving meals out of a police van? I mean can you eat donuts all day long?
Then there are the people who would have recalled articles about the President being in town to show the flag for Patty Murray and some of them may have been excited for a few seconds about attending the fundraiser until they realized that ponying up $10,000 would put a serious dent in this month's entertainment and mortgage budget so they decided to watch it on the news. But what was this about the President hanging out at Rob Glazer's lakefront estate and didn't he just move from a hot condo downtown to a neighborhood more user-friendly to his new kid-friendly family?
So guess what? Yup you're right that was the President hustling along Lake Washington Boulevard between 2pm and 4pm today encompassed in a secure entourage of Seattle Police personnel, automobiles, motorcycles, vans, State sheriffs and Secret Service agents along with the President's Beige Suburban with the tiny American flags followed by more vans and more motorcycles.
Next time pay attention to those street signs, you never know who's going to be visiting.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
McGilvra Field of Dreams: The Sequel
One day a little girl fell on the rough McGilvra Elementary School dirt field scraping her hands and knees. Years later in October of 1999, that little girl was the president of the McGilvra PTSA and the field was in even worse condition. Zimmie Caner had had enough so she approached another McGilvra parent, Deb Kahn, about chairing a committee to research the possibility of resurfacing the school's field. On that day the "McGilvra Field of Dreams" was born.
Reaching out into the neighborhood the committee found broad support within the entire Madison Park/Washington Park community to replace the miserable field. Raising funds through City and County matching grants, donations from local citizens and businesses and money jars at local stores the committee raised over $380,000 for the project.
During the field evaluation process the committee realized that the Astro Turf generation was over and that the "infill" generation was on the horizon. The "good news" about Astro Turf is that it is durable and doesn't require a lot of maintenance but the "bad news" is that the abrasive surface causes rug burns and its hard sub-surface results in bone-jarring thumps to the head and unyielding hits to shoulders and collar bones. The term "infill" refers to a green-bladed polypropylene material that is supported by millions of tiny rubber granules that are mixed into the synthetic carpet to provide a cushioned more grass-like surface for sliding and falling athletes. Put simply it is padded carpet installed over an efficient stone aggregate drain field.
Finally on the hot and dusty day of June 25th 2001, Jo Shapiro, McGilvra Elementary School's principal, attempted unsuccessfully to dig a ceremonial shovel into the rock hard surface of the school's 35 X 70 yard athletic field. If ever there was a validation of the committee's vision this was it. Throughout the summer, heavy equipment came and went, holes were dug, the drain gravel was laid and one day in late August ten large rolls of carpet were delivered and rolled out looking like an installation for a giant's living room. Then a few weeks later the first soccer game was played between two nine year old boys teams from the McGilvra Soccer Club, the Terminators and the Nomads.
Now nine years later, using funds from the Building Excellence III project approved by voters in 2007, the Seattle School District is in the process of replacing the field built in 2001. According to David Standaart of the Seattle School District the project, which cost nearly $250,000, should be finished by early August and he confirms the field will be ready for the McGilvra Soccer Club's practices later that month. According to Standaart the existing sub-surface needed a little laser leveling but was otherwise in good shape. He also stated that the District will conduct G-max testing once the field is completed which measures the impact of a body when it makes contact with a surface. Once they establish a "baseline" they will compare that to tests done in the future to evaluate how hard the surface has become. The School District will also be responsible for the yearly grooming and general maintenance of the field.
Bruce Clarkson the McGilvra Soccer Club president is excited about the new field and says that it will be complete with lines defining the soccer field and extra markings denoting kickball bases for the school's PE classes. He also pointed out that the original field had reached the end of its life expectancy with fraying seams and a slippery surface. "It was becoming a safety issue," he said.
One difference between the original surface and the new Sportexe field manufactured by Shaw Flooring is the addition of sand into the rubber infill. According to Hailey Towne a resident of Madison Park and a project coordinator for contractor D.A. Hogan, this mixture provides a firm surface that enhances speed and accurate ball movement. Supporting the surface are panels called "Brock Pads" which provide safe cushioning and prolong the life of the field. D.A Hogan, with offices locally, has built over a thousand athletic fields all over the country including synthetic surfaces at the Seahawks Virginia Mason practice complex and the natural grass surface at the Mariners Safeco Field.
It's heartening to have the Seattle School District recognize that the McGilvra Field is not only a public school asset but also a field that is used by the local community and kids and people from all over the city. The Madison Park/Washington Park neighborhood is pleased that the legacy of the "Field of Dreams" is continuing as a "Field of Reality".
Reaching out into the neighborhood the committee found broad support within the entire Madison Park/Washington Park community to replace the miserable field. Raising funds through City and County matching grants, donations from local citizens and businesses and money jars at local stores the committee raised over $380,000 for the project.
During the field evaluation process the committee realized that the Astro Turf generation was over and that the "infill" generation was on the horizon. The "good news" about Astro Turf is that it is durable and doesn't require a lot of maintenance but the "bad news" is that the abrasive surface causes rug burns and its hard sub-surface results in bone-jarring thumps to the head and unyielding hits to shoulders and collar bones. The term "infill" refers to a green-bladed polypropylene material that is supported by millions of tiny rubber granules that are mixed into the synthetic carpet to provide a cushioned more grass-like surface for sliding and falling athletes. Put simply it is padded carpet installed over an efficient stone aggregate drain field.
Finally on the hot and dusty day of June 25th 2001, Jo Shapiro, McGilvra Elementary School's principal, attempted unsuccessfully to dig a ceremonial shovel into the rock hard surface of the school's 35 X 70 yard athletic field. If ever there was a validation of the committee's vision this was it. Throughout the summer, heavy equipment came and went, holes were dug, the drain gravel was laid and one day in late August ten large rolls of carpet were delivered and rolled out looking like an installation for a giant's living room. Then a few weeks later the first soccer game was played between two nine year old boys teams from the McGilvra Soccer Club, the Terminators and the Nomads.
Now nine years later, using funds from the Building Excellence III project approved by voters in 2007, the Seattle School District is in the process of replacing the field built in 2001. According to David Standaart of the Seattle School District the project, which cost nearly $250,000, should be finished by early August and he confirms the field will be ready for the McGilvra Soccer Club's practices later that month. According to Standaart the existing sub-surface needed a little laser leveling but was otherwise in good shape. He also stated that the District will conduct G-max testing once the field is completed which measures the impact of a body when it makes contact with a surface. Once they establish a "baseline" they will compare that to tests done in the future to evaluate how hard the surface has become. The School District will also be responsible for the yearly grooming and general maintenance of the field.
Bruce Clarkson the McGilvra Soccer Club president is excited about the new field and says that it will be complete with lines defining the soccer field and extra markings denoting kickball bases for the school's PE classes. He also pointed out that the original field had reached the end of its life expectancy with fraying seams and a slippery surface. "It was becoming a safety issue," he said.
One difference between the original surface and the new Sportexe field manufactured by Shaw Flooring is the addition of sand into the rubber infill. According to Hailey Towne a resident of Madison Park and a project coordinator for contractor D.A. Hogan, this mixture provides a firm surface that enhances speed and accurate ball movement. Supporting the surface are panels called "Brock Pads" which provide safe cushioning and prolong the life of the field. D.A Hogan, with offices locally, has built over a thousand athletic fields all over the country including synthetic surfaces at the Seahawks Virginia Mason practice complex and the natural grass surface at the Mariners Safeco Field.
It's heartening to have the Seattle School District recognize that the McGilvra Field is not only a public school asset but also a field that is used by the local community and kids and people from all over the city. The Madison Park/Washington Park neighborhood is pleased that the legacy of the "Field of Dreams" is continuing as a "Field of Reality".
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
2010 Shore Run 5K
Ever since the 2009 Shore Run 5K, when the plantar fasciitis spiked my left heel at the Lake Washington Boulevard/McGilvra Boulevard intersection, I have been on a long road back to race fitness. Having to walk and limp the last two miles to the finish line, in my own neighborhood, was not only humiliating, because this has been my home course for over forty years, but also discouraging because the daily heel pain didn't seem to be getting better. Already covered in my 9/11/09 post, the injury was diagnosed, treated and has been in pretty good shape for the past year. It was a drag going through the drill of getting back on the road, getting my rhythm back, being able to breath normally while on the move, getting past the "heavy leg" point and losing the few extra pounds I had acquired. On the day of April 30, 2010 another gear kicked in and finally I had reached another level of strength and suddenly I was back to my dream world of Willie Boy closing on the former Olympic champion with the crowd willing me forward and into the lead.
The whole time during my comeback I was shooting for the next Shore Run 5K on June 13, 2010 that runs from the Leschi boat basin on Lake Washington to Madison Park, two blocks from my home. The route is one that I have run for years and while being mostly flat still has a substantial hill after the first mile that runs about a quarter of a mile. During my training I had gotten in the habit of pushing the pace on the hill and after awhile the hill became less of a challenge; still a butt-kicking hill but not as daunting.
Then on Monday May 10th after having upped my weekly mileage over the previous three weeks to 17, 18 and 18 miles I set off confidently and rolled my left ankle after having only run a block. I felt like I had been hit from behind and in a flash I thought of having gotten back on the road again, the Shore Run in a month, the work I had put in during my comeback and wondering if I could manage the pain that was ready to hit the next time my left foot touched the ground. I muttered an oath and continued across 41st Avenue East favoring my left foot as I headed up Garfield Street. It hurt but after a few strides I knew I could manage the pain. On the high/low ankle sprain chart this was a #2 roll. For the next six miles I gutted it out with the pain receding somewhat but always there on every other foot plant.
When I got back home I broke out the family ice bag that is always stored in the freezer for exactly this kind of emergency. After fifteen minutes of icing the outside of my ankle and fifteen minutes on the inside I was gimping around the house OK. Then I downed a couple of aspirin, took a warm shower and was feeling even better because I could tell the injury wasn't going to keep me off the road. That night I wore my handy ankle brace which I had worn religiously during my plantar fasciitis treatment and with an extra pillow supporting my ankle I slept fine. The next day it was black and blue and sore but I put in five tender miles with an uneventful seven on Friday. It still hurt but I was back on the road for the Shore Run.
Because my ankles are skinny (I can encircle them with one hand) I have had a history of spraining them that dates back to playing basketball with my brother Terry when we were kids. Back then a sprained ankle would set me back a couple of hours as it loosened up with our daily running around the neighborhood. Then over the years, as long as I was wearing my high-top Converse All Stars I never seemed to have any problems until I hit the court wearing a pair of my hot new running shoes. (With low tops and no ankle support.) I think I wore them partly to show off the cool looking Adidas or Pumas I had just spent a whopping $30 on along with feeling like the new shoes made me faster and able to jump higher. Whether that was true or not whatever I gained in coolness and perceived athletic benefits I lost in support for my spindly ankles.
I can remember specific ankle spraining occurrences with a cringing grimace: driving home one night using only my left foot, my right foot blown out in a meaningless park league basketball game; having to walk home to the top of Queen Anne Hill after popping an ankle while running near Gasworks Park; getting lucky and hitch-hiking with a neighbor after biting the dust under the I-90 floating bridge three and a half miles from home; landing on my face in front of the Seattle Tennis Club while running on a perfectly flat sidewalk; and finally tripping on a curb and sliding elbows first in a driveway on E. McGilvra Boulevard.
One thing I've noticed when an ankle sprain falls into the "blowout" stage is that besides the outside tissue, ligaments, muscles and cartilage being negatively impacted the inside of the foot above the arch and below the ankle bone (I don't know what it's called) is jammed together in a compression sort of injury also. As in, the force of the leg bone jamming into the foot does something to the bones that hurts just as much as the outside damage and takes as long to heal. You find that when you stride forward with your heel landing on the running surface your foot rolls forward over your arch with your big toe landing next to be followed by a cascading effect running down your remaining toes. When that compression injury is still healing I have found that as soon as the big toe connects with the running surface stress is transferred back to the sore area above the arch and you tend to favor your foot by running more on the side of your foot to avoid the stress transferred back by the big toe. Got all that? Doesn't matter because anyone who has ever blown out their ankle knows what I am talking about and probably had an unconscious shiver of recognition in my description.
Somewhere along the line, probably after reading an article referencing: SPRAIN, ankle, in Northwest Runner, Runner's World or Running Times, I decided I had to do something about my predilection for for this injury that is a bane to all serious runners. It's not that it's chronic or that I end up in the hospital getting "scoped" or that it's stopping me from running but it just seemed like the issue was something I could deal with and possibly stop from ever happening again. I started cutting out articles and over time integrated my own personal daily regimen for preventing my sprained ankles.
My solution is a series of foot and ankle manipulations and massages that I do every evening before going to bed and every morning before I hit the floor as I sit on the side of the bed. Bending my right knee I take the front of my right foot in my hands and, without resting it on my left knee, I push into my right heel pad with my right thumb and rub back and forth. (The reason I don't rest my right foot on my left knee is that after I had originally started this regimen the outside of my right ankle developed a tenderness that never went away. After figuring out what was causing the problem I didn't see any reason why I had to rest my foot on my knee so I just adapted the method and it has worked fine.) After rubbing the heel for about twenty seconds I work my way up my foot to the arch for another twenty seconds and then continue to the ball of my foot making sure I rub hard enough to feel the bones underneath. Then I take my right foot in my right and rub down the outside of my foot with my left hand and work down the tissue until I reach my heel again. Keeping that same grip, I then rotate my foot in a clockwise motion ten times in an exaggerated slow rotation. When I started this motion years ago I noticed both of my feet would jerk as I rotated them and I remembered reading something about "muscle memory". As I recalled that is where during the rehab you have to "teach" the affected area to work again in it's proper motion. Over time this rotation smoothed out along with the muscles, tendons and cartilage becoming stronger and the joint smoother operating. Then I would finish up by squeezing my achilles tendon between my thumb and forefinger and work my way up my calf and press both thumbs into the muscle and rub up and down and then finish up with a massage back down my calf and achilles. This also had me a little more ready to go in the morning instead of gimping around on my sixty-three year old feet.
So there I was the Sunday morning of June 13th jogging around the Leschi boat basin getting warmed up for the 33rd Annual Shore Run. Since the sprained left ankle of May 10th my training had been going well with my weekly mileage increasing to a max of 18 miles and the intensity increasing along with my dedicated push up the lake hill on every run. I had always looked at hills as a necessary evil during a run or a race but after reading Roy Wallack's terrific niche book Run for Life recently I have been following his advice to use hills as an anaerobic opportunity for your training instead of having to run on a track. The sun was out and with a few clouds it was a perfect day for a race. Since we head north along the lake the sun is behind us, a comfortable hint to a pleasant day.
Around 8:10 I finished my stretching and jogging and headed for the starting line for the 8:15 gun. As I jogged down the sidewalk bordering the marina area I moved over for a mother and her stroller. Suddenly I was face down on the grass with a stabbing pain exploding in my right ankle. I had rolled my foot over the edge of the sidewalk where it meets the grass! I couldn't help but utter a four-lettered oath as I clutched my right foot in my hands. Someone near me said, "Jeez did you break your ankle?" The work that I had done the past year to come back from the plantar fasciitis; being able to run in the race and getting off my butt were all images that flashed through my mind. Damn maybe if I could get up and start jogging I could shake it off like I did the sprained left ankle from a month ago. I forced myself to my feet and tried to jog down the sidewalk but it hurt too much and I had to stop. I continued to walk toward the Blue Water Bistro Restaurant but the pain was unrelenting. Then the announcer informed the runners that there was two minutes until the start. Trying not to look like a weenie, I limped toward the starting area just in time to see my friend Steve Wood and his daughter Ellie who greeted me cheerfully and said, "Hi Will are you ready to go?" I grimaced and said something like, "Yah, except I just blew my ankle out." They both looked shocked, glanced down at my feet and immediately left me behind as the gun sounded.
I limped forward and the pain continued to stab into my ankle but I pushed forward trying to convince myself that I could run through the pain. At the entrance to the north Leschi marina parking lot I had to stop and I stepped up onto the sidewalk and began to walk. As I limped forward I realized that if I continued at this pace I wouldn't be home for an hour and that Gwynne and Charlotte, who were waiting for me at the finish line, would probably be ready to send out for the cavalry. I have never in my life not finished a race, they knew it too and would be concerned. With the course closed off to vehicles there would be no way for them to track me down. Gritting my teeth I stepped forward and against all normal reactions I limped forward. Damn it hurt but I knew I had to get home anyway so I forced myself forward, it hurt when I walked so why not try to jog and get home sooner?
The good news is that I continued down Lake Washington Boulevard, the bad new is that every-other step pierced my foot and ankle with pain. Finally I reached the lake hill, my increased fitness keeping my breathing under control but doing nothing for my injured ankle. As I gutted it out the pain became something I was familiar with and not the shocking jolt I had received on the sidewalk. I had reached a rhythm that was inefficient and painful but it kept me moving forward. The rest of the race was an unpleasant blur, my only thoughts were of being able to stop, going home and propping my foot up covered by the family ice bag.
The quick ending to this story is that I was greeted with shock and sympathy by Gwynne and Charlotte, I hobbled the two blocks home, iced my foot and ankle, took a couple of aspirin and a warm shower and drank four beers later that evening. My time was 24:28 for the 5K which far slower than the 21:58 I ran in 2008, but faster then my plantar fasciitis run and walk of 26:30 last year in 2009. Yah look at the bright side, obviously it's faster to limp a 5k than to walk and limp it.
So as of today my running log, which has been my walking/'running log for the past couple of weeks, shows that I took the Monday off after the Shore Run then walked around the neighborhood every day for about a week then gradually inserted longer and longer jogs into the mix. Today in mild/overcast weather my right ankle was still tender but I ran down to the infamous Leschi marina (while cringing at the sidewalk area where I fell) at an "OK" pace and pushed on the hills. Prior to my five mile run I walked a 1/2 a mile to get the ankle loosened up.
So once again all is right in the world; another treatable injury is healing, I am back on the road, the wind is in my face, the water is lapping at the shore, my breathing has smoothed out and Willie Boy is making his charge over the last mile for the lead.
The whole time during my comeback I was shooting for the next Shore Run 5K on June 13, 2010 that runs from the Leschi boat basin on Lake Washington to Madison Park, two blocks from my home. The route is one that I have run for years and while being mostly flat still has a substantial hill after the first mile that runs about a quarter of a mile. During my training I had gotten in the habit of pushing the pace on the hill and after awhile the hill became less of a challenge; still a butt-kicking hill but not as daunting.
Then on Monday May 10th after having upped my weekly mileage over the previous three weeks to 17, 18 and 18 miles I set off confidently and rolled my left ankle after having only run a block. I felt like I had been hit from behind and in a flash I thought of having gotten back on the road again, the Shore Run in a month, the work I had put in during my comeback and wondering if I could manage the pain that was ready to hit the next time my left foot touched the ground. I muttered an oath and continued across 41st Avenue East favoring my left foot as I headed up Garfield Street. It hurt but after a few strides I knew I could manage the pain. On the high/low ankle sprain chart this was a #2 roll. For the next six miles I gutted it out with the pain receding somewhat but always there on every other foot plant.
When I got back home I broke out the family ice bag that is always stored in the freezer for exactly this kind of emergency. After fifteen minutes of icing the outside of my ankle and fifteen minutes on the inside I was gimping around the house OK. Then I downed a couple of aspirin, took a warm shower and was feeling even better because I could tell the injury wasn't going to keep me off the road. That night I wore my handy ankle brace which I had worn religiously during my plantar fasciitis treatment and with an extra pillow supporting my ankle I slept fine. The next day it was black and blue and sore but I put in five tender miles with an uneventful seven on Friday. It still hurt but I was back on the road for the Shore Run.
Because my ankles are skinny (I can encircle them with one hand) I have had a history of spraining them that dates back to playing basketball with my brother Terry when we were kids. Back then a sprained ankle would set me back a couple of hours as it loosened up with our daily running around the neighborhood. Then over the years, as long as I was wearing my high-top Converse All Stars I never seemed to have any problems until I hit the court wearing a pair of my hot new running shoes. (With low tops and no ankle support.) I think I wore them partly to show off the cool looking Adidas or Pumas I had just spent a whopping $30 on along with feeling like the new shoes made me faster and able to jump higher. Whether that was true or not whatever I gained in coolness and perceived athletic benefits I lost in support for my spindly ankles.
I can remember specific ankle spraining occurrences with a cringing grimace: driving home one night using only my left foot, my right foot blown out in a meaningless park league basketball game; having to walk home to the top of Queen Anne Hill after popping an ankle while running near Gasworks Park; getting lucky and hitch-hiking with a neighbor after biting the dust under the I-90 floating bridge three and a half miles from home; landing on my face in front of the Seattle Tennis Club while running on a perfectly flat sidewalk; and finally tripping on a curb and sliding elbows first in a driveway on E. McGilvra Boulevard.
One thing I've noticed when an ankle sprain falls into the "blowout" stage is that besides the outside tissue, ligaments, muscles and cartilage being negatively impacted the inside of the foot above the arch and below the ankle bone (I don't know what it's called) is jammed together in a compression sort of injury also. As in, the force of the leg bone jamming into the foot does something to the bones that hurts just as much as the outside damage and takes as long to heal. You find that when you stride forward with your heel landing on the running surface your foot rolls forward over your arch with your big toe landing next to be followed by a cascading effect running down your remaining toes. When that compression injury is still healing I have found that as soon as the big toe connects with the running surface stress is transferred back to the sore area above the arch and you tend to favor your foot by running more on the side of your foot to avoid the stress transferred back by the big toe. Got all that? Doesn't matter because anyone who has ever blown out their ankle knows what I am talking about and probably had an unconscious shiver of recognition in my description.
Somewhere along the line, probably after reading an article referencing: SPRAIN, ankle, in Northwest Runner, Runner's World or Running Times, I decided I had to do something about my predilection for for this injury that is a bane to all serious runners. It's not that it's chronic or that I end up in the hospital getting "scoped" or that it's stopping me from running but it just seemed like the issue was something I could deal with and possibly stop from ever happening again. I started cutting out articles and over time integrated my own personal daily regimen for preventing my sprained ankles.
My solution is a series of foot and ankle manipulations and massages that I do every evening before going to bed and every morning before I hit the floor as I sit on the side of the bed. Bending my right knee I take the front of my right foot in my hands and, without resting it on my left knee, I push into my right heel pad with my right thumb and rub back and forth. (The reason I don't rest my right foot on my left knee is that after I had originally started this regimen the outside of my right ankle developed a tenderness that never went away. After figuring out what was causing the problem I didn't see any reason why I had to rest my foot on my knee so I just adapted the method and it has worked fine.) After rubbing the heel for about twenty seconds I work my way up my foot to the arch for another twenty seconds and then continue to the ball of my foot making sure I rub hard enough to feel the bones underneath. Then I take my right foot in my right and rub down the outside of my foot with my left hand and work down the tissue until I reach my heel again. Keeping that same grip, I then rotate my foot in a clockwise motion ten times in an exaggerated slow rotation. When I started this motion years ago I noticed both of my feet would jerk as I rotated them and I remembered reading something about "muscle memory". As I recalled that is where during the rehab you have to "teach" the affected area to work again in it's proper motion. Over time this rotation smoothed out along with the muscles, tendons and cartilage becoming stronger and the joint smoother operating. Then I would finish up by squeezing my achilles tendon between my thumb and forefinger and work my way up my calf and press both thumbs into the muscle and rub up and down and then finish up with a massage back down my calf and achilles. This also had me a little more ready to go in the morning instead of gimping around on my sixty-three year old feet.
So there I was the Sunday morning of June 13th jogging around the Leschi boat basin getting warmed up for the 33rd Annual Shore Run. Since the sprained left ankle of May 10th my training had been going well with my weekly mileage increasing to a max of 18 miles and the intensity increasing along with my dedicated push up the lake hill on every run. I had always looked at hills as a necessary evil during a run or a race but after reading Roy Wallack's terrific niche book Run for Life recently I have been following his advice to use hills as an anaerobic opportunity for your training instead of having to run on a track. The sun was out and with a few clouds it was a perfect day for a race. Since we head north along the lake the sun is behind us, a comfortable hint to a pleasant day.
Around 8:10 I finished my stretching and jogging and headed for the starting line for the 8:15 gun. As I jogged down the sidewalk bordering the marina area I moved over for a mother and her stroller. Suddenly I was face down on the grass with a stabbing pain exploding in my right ankle. I had rolled my foot over the edge of the sidewalk where it meets the grass! I couldn't help but utter a four-lettered oath as I clutched my right foot in my hands. Someone near me said, "Jeez did you break your ankle?" The work that I had done the past year to come back from the plantar fasciitis; being able to run in the race and getting off my butt were all images that flashed through my mind. Damn maybe if I could get up and start jogging I could shake it off like I did the sprained left ankle from a month ago. I forced myself to my feet and tried to jog down the sidewalk but it hurt too much and I had to stop. I continued to walk toward the Blue Water Bistro Restaurant but the pain was unrelenting. Then the announcer informed the runners that there was two minutes until the start. Trying not to look like a weenie, I limped toward the starting area just in time to see my friend Steve Wood and his daughter Ellie who greeted me cheerfully and said, "Hi Will are you ready to go?" I grimaced and said something like, "Yah, except I just blew my ankle out." They both looked shocked, glanced down at my feet and immediately left me behind as the gun sounded.
I limped forward and the pain continued to stab into my ankle but I pushed forward trying to convince myself that I could run through the pain. At the entrance to the north Leschi marina parking lot I had to stop and I stepped up onto the sidewalk and began to walk. As I limped forward I realized that if I continued at this pace I wouldn't be home for an hour and that Gwynne and Charlotte, who were waiting for me at the finish line, would probably be ready to send out for the cavalry. I have never in my life not finished a race, they knew it too and would be concerned. With the course closed off to vehicles there would be no way for them to track me down. Gritting my teeth I stepped forward and against all normal reactions I limped forward. Damn it hurt but I knew I had to get home anyway so I forced myself forward, it hurt when I walked so why not try to jog and get home sooner?
The good news is that I continued down Lake Washington Boulevard, the bad new is that every-other step pierced my foot and ankle with pain. Finally I reached the lake hill, my increased fitness keeping my breathing under control but doing nothing for my injured ankle. As I gutted it out the pain became something I was familiar with and not the shocking jolt I had received on the sidewalk. I had reached a rhythm that was inefficient and painful but it kept me moving forward. The rest of the race was an unpleasant blur, my only thoughts were of being able to stop, going home and propping my foot up covered by the family ice bag.
The quick ending to this story is that I was greeted with shock and sympathy by Gwynne and Charlotte, I hobbled the two blocks home, iced my foot and ankle, took a couple of aspirin and a warm shower and drank four beers later that evening. My time was 24:28 for the 5K which far slower than the 21:58 I ran in 2008, but faster then my plantar fasciitis run and walk of 26:30 last year in 2009. Yah look at the bright side, obviously it's faster to limp a 5k than to walk and limp it.
So as of today my running log, which has been my walking/'running log for the past couple of weeks, shows that I took the Monday off after the Shore Run then walked around the neighborhood every day for about a week then gradually inserted longer and longer jogs into the mix. Today in mild/overcast weather my right ankle was still tender but I ran down to the infamous Leschi marina (while cringing at the sidewalk area where I fell) at an "OK" pace and pushed on the hills. Prior to my five mile run I walked a 1/2 a mile to get the ankle loosened up.
So once again all is right in the world; another treatable injury is healing, I am back on the road, the wind is in my face, the water is lapping at the shore, my breathing has smoothed out and Willie Boy is making his charge over the last mile for the lead.
Monday, June 14, 2010
High/Low Ankle Sprain
Have you noticed how so-called "experts" try to give themselves credibility by changing traditional terms? They think if they say "velocity" instead of "speed" to describe how fast a baseball pitcher throws that somehow they have said something earthshaking or unique, something that a regular person or a layman could never think up. As if a basketball announcer throwing out the word "length" describes a player's attributes better than just saying he has long arms, as two fans would say to each other as they watched a game. And wouldn't you think an announcer who has been calling games for over thirty years would by now know the difference between a curve ball, a slider or a spitball instead of saying "breaking ball". And does anyone know the difference between a "sports hernia" and a regular hernia? I guess having a big strong professional athlete be diagnosed with the same injury that a fifty year old couch potato can acquire from a lifetime of reaching for a bag of chips while he is lifting a sixteen ounce brewski is humiliating for the jock. Do you get more credibility for acquiring the injury while in a stadium being watched by 60,000 fans than you do while sitting on your butt stuffing your face? The last time I looked the guy with the washboard abs and the fat boy are still lying flat on their back, hooked up to an IV and hoping the doctor doing the work has a steady hand for any work being done below the waist. And then there are the announcers who have "to get it right" for their credibility by saying, "Jo Blo has twenty-five RBI this year", as opposed the way we were all brought up saying RBIs or ribbys. I love it when one of the announcers, who's older than me, slips up and calls it the old way without noticing it. I wonder how many twits or blogs or emails they get from geeks, who never played the game, calling them out on their mistake.
Then there is the "high ankle" sprain which I guess is somehow different from the "low ankle" sprain. Yah, yah I know I should Google "sprained ankles" and find out that there are a gazillion types of sprained ankles some of which fall into the "high" and others that fall into the "low" ankle sprain category. Sorry but I don't buy it because the last time I looked I had one joint that I call my ankle that meets right where the two bones in my calf connect to my foot. Also I don't care what all of those bones are called but I do know that if you step on the outside of your foot at the wrong angle and with enough force your ankle is going to twist and at that point it remains to be seen how bad you have sprained it. My experience with fifty-some years of athletics and running tells me that there are four types of sprains, three of which I have experienced and one that I hope I never do.
The first sprain, which I will call the "twist", is when you are cruising along without a care in the world and suddenly as you take the next step you feel your foot teeter for a moment to the outside before it lands in it's customary solid position on the surface upon which you are running. A brief flash of relief shoots through your brain as you realize those morning and evening ankle exercises are paying off and you continue down the sidewalk. The second sprain, which I will call the "roll", follows the same path as the "twist" but here your foot, instead of flattening into it's normal tread, continues the "twist" so that suddenly the weight of your body forces the ankle into an unnaturally exposed position stretching the outside of the foot at an abrupt angle. At that point, as the ligaments, muscles and bones are jammed away and against each other you have a brief moment where you evaluate the damage. The next step on the rolled ankle is the key and at that point you make a quick decision as to if you think you can keep running. Yup it's going to hurt but does it hurt so bad that you have to stop or as you limp forward does the pain abate somewhat and you can deal with it? If you can keep going sometimes the pain will disappear completely or you "suck it up" and at least keep going forward. The "roll" is terrific for the ego because you feel good that you handled the pain and "gutted" it out instead of quitting like a wimp. The third level of sprain I have experienced I will call the "blowout" and it follows the same track as the twist and the roll but usually ends up with the injured runner landing on his face in the middle of the sidewalk. At that point, gaining your feet and running down the sidewalk is usually not an option. From the point of your ankle twisting, rolling and blowing you feel as if an NFL defensive tackle has blindsided you and the next step is waiting for the stretcher to wheel you to the locker room. It's weird to explain it that way but for some reason the unnatural ankle action translates into a sickening domino effect from your foot all the way to your head and then suddenly you are down and wondering how you are going to get home on one foot. The "blowout" means that, because of the pain, you probably can't run, maybe you can walk with an exaggerated limp but in some cases you can't even walk. Whatever happens the key is to keep moving to wherever your destination is because your ankle is starting to swell and it is only going to get worse. Number four in the "hit parade" of hi/low ankle sprains is the break, which I have never experienced, and that is where one of those bones in the foot/leg ankle joint breaks and from there it is a walking cast, a couple of months of healing and then unknown weeks of rehab. They say it's better in the long run to break your ankle then to blow it out because the bones will heal back to normal whereas in a "blowout" the ligaments, cartilage and muscles get stretched into abnormal positions and never really heal back to normal. Well that may be but I NEVER want to break my ankle and my experience is that with regular exercise and a consistent rehab program an ankle can be strengthened so that you are less susceptible to future ankle injuries.
My regular exercise program involves massaging and manipulating my ankles every morning after I wake up and every evening before I go to sleep. While sitting on the side of the bed I rub the heal, arch and pad of each foot then rotate each foot 180 degrees five times in a clockwise motion then rotate the foot five times in the opposite direction. Then I squeeze my achilles tendon very hard and massage it back and forth and then finish up by moving up my calf and then rubbing back down to my achilles. I've been following this regimen for over ten years and have had a few "twists" but no "rollovers" or "blowouts". That is until May 10th and June 13th which I will recount in my next blog; one big bummer.
Then there is the "high ankle" sprain which I guess is somehow different from the "low ankle" sprain. Yah, yah I know I should Google "sprained ankles" and find out that there are a gazillion types of sprained ankles some of which fall into the "high" and others that fall into the "low" ankle sprain category. Sorry but I don't buy it because the last time I looked I had one joint that I call my ankle that meets right where the two bones in my calf connect to my foot. Also I don't care what all of those bones are called but I do know that if you step on the outside of your foot at the wrong angle and with enough force your ankle is going to twist and at that point it remains to be seen how bad you have sprained it. My experience with fifty-some years of athletics and running tells me that there are four types of sprains, three of which I have experienced and one that I hope I never do.
The first sprain, which I will call the "twist", is when you are cruising along without a care in the world and suddenly as you take the next step you feel your foot teeter for a moment to the outside before it lands in it's customary solid position on the surface upon which you are running. A brief flash of relief shoots through your brain as you realize those morning and evening ankle exercises are paying off and you continue down the sidewalk. The second sprain, which I will call the "roll", follows the same path as the "twist" but here your foot, instead of flattening into it's normal tread, continues the "twist" so that suddenly the weight of your body forces the ankle into an unnaturally exposed position stretching the outside of the foot at an abrupt angle. At that point, as the ligaments, muscles and bones are jammed away and against each other you have a brief moment where you evaluate the damage. The next step on the rolled ankle is the key and at that point you make a quick decision as to if you think you can keep running. Yup it's going to hurt but does it hurt so bad that you have to stop or as you limp forward does the pain abate somewhat and you can deal with it? If you can keep going sometimes the pain will disappear completely or you "suck it up" and at least keep going forward. The "roll" is terrific for the ego because you feel good that you handled the pain and "gutted" it out instead of quitting like a wimp. The third level of sprain I have experienced I will call the "blowout" and it follows the same track as the twist and the roll but usually ends up with the injured runner landing on his face in the middle of the sidewalk. At that point, gaining your feet and running down the sidewalk is usually not an option. From the point of your ankle twisting, rolling and blowing you feel as if an NFL defensive tackle has blindsided you and the next step is waiting for the stretcher to wheel you to the locker room. It's weird to explain it that way but for some reason the unnatural ankle action translates into a sickening domino effect from your foot all the way to your head and then suddenly you are down and wondering how you are going to get home on one foot. The "blowout" means that, because of the pain, you probably can't run, maybe you can walk with an exaggerated limp but in some cases you can't even walk. Whatever happens the key is to keep moving to wherever your destination is because your ankle is starting to swell and it is only going to get worse. Number four in the "hit parade" of hi/low ankle sprains is the break, which I have never experienced, and that is where one of those bones in the foot/leg ankle joint breaks and from there it is a walking cast, a couple of months of healing and then unknown weeks of rehab. They say it's better in the long run to break your ankle then to blow it out because the bones will heal back to normal whereas in a "blowout" the ligaments, cartilage and muscles get stretched into abnormal positions and never really heal back to normal. Well that may be but I NEVER want to break my ankle and my experience is that with regular exercise and a consistent rehab program an ankle can be strengthened so that you are less susceptible to future ankle injuries.
My regular exercise program involves massaging and manipulating my ankles every morning after I wake up and every evening before I go to sleep. While sitting on the side of the bed I rub the heal, arch and pad of each foot then rotate each foot 180 degrees five times in a clockwise motion then rotate the foot five times in the opposite direction. Then I squeeze my achilles tendon very hard and massage it back and forth and then finish up by moving up my calf and then rubbing back down to my achilles. I've been following this regimen for over ten years and have had a few "twists" but no "rollovers" or "blowouts". That is until May 10th and June 13th which I will recount in my next blog; one big bummer.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Cool Sequels/The Return of Cool Hand Luke
What was the first movie sequel? Man I don't know and I'm not the guy who's going to research back to silent movies to see if Charlie Chaplin's character The Tramp and his classic comedies were the first sequels. As a kid I remember watching a couple of different movies on The Saturday Matinee which featured THE THIN MAN with William Powell and Myrna Loy. To a kid, William Powell was an older guy (my mother's age) who was very composed, talked with a funny accent and always had a drink in his hand. His wife, Myrna Loy, was always fixing Powell a drink, spouting witticisms with her chin lifted in the air and seemed to be smarter than her husband. But these weren't movies where an eight year old boy was going to say to his little brother, "Man I can't wait for them to come out with another THIN MAN movie that shows adults doing more talking and drinking." The movies my brother and I lived for were the ones we watched weekly at the theater in the Art Museum at Volunteer Park. Maybe the Flash Gordon, Buck Rogers and Tarzan serials weren't genuine sequels but we didn't care because it only cost a quarter to get in and there was a heck of lot more action in one serial than in ten THIN MAN movies.
When I saw the movie SHANE I was seven years old and I imagined myself standing next to Joey, played by Brandon DeWilde, yelling "Shane come back! Mommy wants you!" I knew Shane had been wounded and I wanted to help him but he couldn't come back. He knew his job was done, he knew Jimmy's mother (Jean Arthur) would never leave her husband (Van Heflin) for him and he knew, as a gunman, he could never live amongst the "civilized folk". At that young age it never dawned on me that a movie studio could make anyone come back as long as there was a market for that character's return.
There are cases to be made for filming a sequel that don't involve money but I think the more a character is brought back the more diluted he becomes. Because it's thought that everything that needs to be known about a character is revealed in the first movie then that means the sequel can just move the story along with dialogue and action. As the recent rejuvenation of the James Bond franchise proves, the "gritty, ruthless and real" Bond is the one that people remember and flock to. I suppose it's easier for a studio to just change the silly character names, interchangeable exotic locations, sappy villains and forgettable Bond women than it is for them to write cool dialogue, return the Bond character to a risky edge, introduce a female lead with a confident aura and develop a story that takes gambles without relying on hour long car chases and special effects. (That was a long sentence).
Another issue in regard to filming a sequel is that the second film tends to be a remake of the first one with nothing new to say or offer. In the case of the ROCKY movies, all of which I loved, (whoops there goes any credibility I may have had) they all followed the same sure-fire formula: Rocky gets smacked to the bottom of the food chain but with the love of a great woman and a lot of hard work he climbs back toward the top and prevails over a brutal villain in the championship fight. Nothing wrong with that formula, great for the box office but not very satisfying to critics who are looking for something new and original. I understand advancing the story and developing the characters like in the GODFATHER trilogy with all the families and Michael's rise up the ladder; but in a boxing movie? What's Rocky aspiring to be, the head of the Pennsylvania Boxing Commission?
If SHANE had been remade there would have been the automatic conflict with the threesome of dad Joe, mother Marian and Shane, with little Joe looking on thinking everything is terrific and not "getting" it. I don't see any way to resolve this dilemma except for dad to die somehow with Shane being indirectly responsible. Afterward there would be plenty of conflict with little Joey hating Shane for not being able to save his dad, mom feeling uncomfortable with her affection for Shane and her husband gone and Shane with his guilt for not being able to help Joe when he was killed, along with his feelings for Marian. Plus there are all the neighbors gossiping about when they should be tending their farms. Of course Shane would have given up being a gunfighter because Marian insisted on it but at the end he would have to come out of retirement when more bad guys showed up to hassle all the innocent, God-fearing farmers. Also after everything was peachy-keen for awhile Joey could develop into a cocky kid who wanted to be a gunslinger like his step-dad and would want to take revenge on the bad guys who were responsible for his father's death years ago. Then Shane would explain to this headstrong eighteen, nineteen, twenty year old that, "Violence is not the way to solve your problems." Joey would roll his eyes and attempt to act anyway as he finds Shane's gun and attempts to use it. At that point Shane would have to intervene against the wishes of Marian. "Who do you want to face these men, Joey or me?" he will say. What can she say? She is speechless.
Wow I guess I got carried away since I had an idea for a sequel to another of my favorite classic movies. The second feature would take some logical steps that develop and complete the original story along with featuring a current star who I think is close to being the equal of the original lead. You might think: Leave it alone. It's a classic with a star-turning performance that should have resulted in the star's being awarded an Academy Award. Sure, one of the characters was awarded the Oscar for the Best Supporting Actor but he was playing off of the star. If the star hadn't been there George Kennedy would have been just another con.
Yes, it's true I'm talking about a sequel to the Paul Newman gem: COOL HAND LUKE starring Matthew McConaughey. What you say? Blasphemy! How can you consider a sequel when Luke was killed at the end of the movie? I say: Are you sure Luke was killed? I remember Luke standing in a doorway of a church with that wonderful Paul Newman smile and saying, "What we have here is a failure to communicate." Then at that moment the guard with the sunglasses, Boss Godfrey played with silent menace by Morgan Woodward, shoots Luke in cold blood with a rifle. Luke was hit in the neck then there was confusion as a Sheriff attempted to take Luke to the emergency clinic but the prison warden, Strother Martin, intervenes saying they will take him to the prison hospital. The sheriff points out that the prison is an hour away and that Luke won't last twenty minutes. The warden, known as The Captain blows the sheriff off and says "Get out of the way. He's ours!" The warden and his guards then hustle Luke off to a prison vehicle. Then as I recall the movie finishes with George Kennedy, J.D. Cannon, Dennis Hopper, Harry Dean Stanton and the rest of Luke's posse reminiscing about lovable Luke back at the prison.
OK it's assumed that Luke was killed or died on the one hour trip to the prison. But what if the sheriff, having seen Boss Godfrey shoot Luke without provocation, and smelling another agenda, has second thoughts. With a deputy he gets in his car and chases down the prison vehicle. With his lights flashing he overhauls it and, as a man sworn to uphold the law for everyone, takes custody of Luke by shear force of will. The Captain and his guards, attempt to intimidate the sheriff with pointed threats about his safety and his state job. The sheriff says: "If you take this man back to the prison Dr. Mason with the State will be arriving at your State facility tomorrow to inspect the condition of this prisoner. If Mr. Jackson (this statement is personalizing Luke) is not alive or we do not take him to the emergency clinic tonight then I will report your interference and neglect all the way to the Governor of Florida if I have to!"
The warden who is sick and tired of dealing with Luke (he escaped three times), realizes he can't make the man just go away but makes a deal with the sheriff: The prison vehicle will detour to a nearby retirement home and Luke will be treated there. The site has a small clinic with facilities for treating a gunshot wound. With Luke losing blood and nearing death the sheriff agrees. Luke, the sheriff, one of his deputies, The Captain, Boss Godfrey and another guard arrive at the hospital and commandeer the facilities in the name of the Governor of Florida ("Two can play this game," says the warden). Then he sends a guard back to the prison who announces to the population that "the prisoner in question (not using Luke's name) is no longer a resident of this State facility." Luke's pals interpret this an an obvious admission that Luke is dead.
Back at the hospital the clinic doctor considers his ability to save Luke's life. "I haven't treated a gunshot victim in thirty years! You need to find someone else to do this!" he says. "There," said the warden, "this doctor is not qualified to help this man and he admits it!" "Shut up!" says the sheriff who turns to the doctor. "There's nowhere else to go Doc," he says. "You're all he's got." The doctor begins to operate and finds that the bullet took a chunk out of the side of Luke's neck but didn't hit his larynx, throat or spinal cord. However because of the loss of blood, trauma to his body and inability to breath properly, Luke slips into a coma then dies.
The day before when Luke is hiding out in the church and about to be re-captured he asks God, "What you got in mind for me next?" God's answer seems to be that Luke is going back to prison as the police appear and demand his exit from the church. Then he is shot by Boss Godfrey. It turns out that God has something else in store for Lucas Jackson as he lays on the hospital operating table. Everything is black and there is no sound. Suddenly he senses movement with a soft murmur that may be the wind. The movement increases in speed and up ahead there is a bright light. The sound of the wind increases and is accompanied by a voice that says. "Luke I have something else in mind for you, your journey is not over and you have a lot of work to do." The wind increases to a roar as the movement gains momentum; it is heading for the bright light that is pulsing and growing in intensity. It was like being strapped to the front of a speeding train as it rocketed toward the end of a darkened tunnel, the daylight rushing forward in a relentless rush.
The doctor covered Luke's face with a white sheet then stripped the rubber gloves from his hands. With a resigned sigh he dropped them on a tray next to his operating instruments. The sheriff, who had been watching through the window in the trauma room doors, pushed inside the room. The Captain and Boss Godfrey followed him. The prisoner was dead and they wanted to get him back to the prison and bury him as soon as possible. However they still deferred to the doctor and the sheriff. The doctor looked at the men and shook his head. "He lost too much blood. He's yours." The warden said, "He's my a prisoner sheriff, he has to be buried at the prison. And doctor we need you to sign a death certificate." The sheriff stared back at The Captain and said, "You're not taking this man anywhere!" Then he turned his gaze slowly to Boss Godfrey. "Your man here is under arrest for murder and I'm a witness!"
The doctor had removed his white smock and glanced idly at the covered body but something wasn't right. He focused on the sheet covering the prisoner's face. It was moving. The other men hadn't noticed. The doctor moved to the table and pulled the sheet back. The patient's eyes were open and he blinked! The warden who had followed the doctor's movements staggered back in shock, "Jesus," he exclaimed and Boss Godfrey muttered, "What the hell is goin' on?" The doctor rested his hand on Luke Jackson's forehead. It was warm! The man blinked again and he opened his mouth and moaned softly but the men heard exactly what he said. "It hurts."
The doctor pushed the sheet aside. "Oh course it hurts son", he said, "you were shot." Boss Godfrey had removed his sun glasses in disbelief and the first thing he thought was, Thank God, it isn't murder! The doctor checked the dressing he had made moments before and saw that it was secure and not leaking blood. "I hear your name is Luke," said the doctor. Luke nodded. "St. Luke was the patron saint of surgeons, physicians and artists," the doctor added. Luke lifted his hand and touched the dressing as he started to remember what had happened. Suddenly the dream or was it a vision he had experienced probed him then blossomed. "Doc I think you must have been all three to bring me back from where I've been." Even though his neck hurt he smiled slightly and his blue eyes sparkled with life. Then he said, "I'm alive and the Man upstairs has plans for me."
What does the Man have in store for Lucas Jackson, itinerant worker, womanizer, drunk and non-believer? Is it to clean up the Florida penal system? Run for Governor? Heal the sick? Start his own church or religion?
Luke turns his head and sees the warden and Boss Godfrey who is holding his sun glasses in his hand. "Howdy Captain," he says. Seeing Luke alive and knowing he's ultimately responsible for the attempted murder of a prisoner, the warden takes his hat from his head and dips his head. "Hello Luke I see you made it back." He gestures toward the doctor. "We brought you here to get the best care. This man saved your life." Luke looked at the doctor, sensing the dis-ingenuousness of the warden's statement. He raised his hand and said, "Thank you Captain, come closer I want to thank you for bringing me here." The Captain hesitated then he and Boss Godfrey shuffled forward.
If Luke's story were ever to be continued Matthew McConaughey would be the man to play him. Besides looking a lot like Paul Newman, McConaughey shares his blue eyes,dazzling smile and confident demeanor. Plus he's a genuine actor with the ability to play comedy (which is hard without looking foolish), action and romantic characters. I think he is about Newman's height but he would have to lose some of the bulk he has gained over the years to attain the lean look of a chain gang prisoner. They work them hard on those hot Florida highways so he would have to look more like a long distance runner than a Gator linebacker.
The Captain and Boss Godfrey stood next to the bed trying to make sense of Luke's death with the man who was lying in front of them, alive. The Captain's hands shook as he held his hat and Boss Godfrey, in spite of himself, began to weep. Luke raised his hand and the Captain took it automatically saying, "What do I do now?" Luke smiled briefly and said, "You release the men." The Captain cocked his head slightly. "Why?" "Because they have served their time," said Luke "And they are ready to speak the truth." Luke didn't know why he was saying these words but he knew he was supposed to say them. Finally the Captain nodded and said "That's true they are ready." Luke nodded back and his gaze took in all the men in the room. "You all are ready," he said.
When I saw the movie SHANE I was seven years old and I imagined myself standing next to Joey, played by Brandon DeWilde, yelling "Shane come back! Mommy wants you!" I knew Shane had been wounded and I wanted to help him but he couldn't come back. He knew his job was done, he knew Jimmy's mother (Jean Arthur) would never leave her husband (Van Heflin) for him and he knew, as a gunman, he could never live amongst the "civilized folk". At that young age it never dawned on me that a movie studio could make anyone come back as long as there was a market for that character's return.
There are cases to be made for filming a sequel that don't involve money but I think the more a character is brought back the more diluted he becomes. Because it's thought that everything that needs to be known about a character is revealed in the first movie then that means the sequel can just move the story along with dialogue and action. As the recent rejuvenation of the James Bond franchise proves, the "gritty, ruthless and real" Bond is the one that people remember and flock to. I suppose it's easier for a studio to just change the silly character names, interchangeable exotic locations, sappy villains and forgettable Bond women than it is for them to write cool dialogue, return the Bond character to a risky edge, introduce a female lead with a confident aura and develop a story that takes gambles without relying on hour long car chases and special effects. (That was a long sentence).
Another issue in regard to filming a sequel is that the second film tends to be a remake of the first one with nothing new to say or offer. In the case of the ROCKY movies, all of which I loved, (whoops there goes any credibility I may have had) they all followed the same sure-fire formula: Rocky gets smacked to the bottom of the food chain but with the love of a great woman and a lot of hard work he climbs back toward the top and prevails over a brutal villain in the championship fight. Nothing wrong with that formula, great for the box office but not very satisfying to critics who are looking for something new and original. I understand advancing the story and developing the characters like in the GODFATHER trilogy with all the families and Michael's rise up the ladder; but in a boxing movie? What's Rocky aspiring to be, the head of the Pennsylvania Boxing Commission?
If SHANE had been remade there would have been the automatic conflict with the threesome of dad Joe, mother Marian and Shane, with little Joe looking on thinking everything is terrific and not "getting" it. I don't see any way to resolve this dilemma except for dad to die somehow with Shane being indirectly responsible. Afterward there would be plenty of conflict with little Joey hating Shane for not being able to save his dad, mom feeling uncomfortable with her affection for Shane and her husband gone and Shane with his guilt for not being able to help Joe when he was killed, along with his feelings for Marian. Plus there are all the neighbors gossiping about when they should be tending their farms. Of course Shane would have given up being a gunfighter because Marian insisted on it but at the end he would have to come out of retirement when more bad guys showed up to hassle all the innocent, God-fearing farmers. Also after everything was peachy-keen for awhile Joey could develop into a cocky kid who wanted to be a gunslinger like his step-dad and would want to take revenge on the bad guys who were responsible for his father's death years ago. Then Shane would explain to this headstrong eighteen, nineteen, twenty year old that, "Violence is not the way to solve your problems." Joey would roll his eyes and attempt to act anyway as he finds Shane's gun and attempts to use it. At that point Shane would have to intervene against the wishes of Marian. "Who do you want to face these men, Joey or me?" he will say. What can she say? She is speechless.
Wow I guess I got carried away since I had an idea for a sequel to another of my favorite classic movies. The second feature would take some logical steps that develop and complete the original story along with featuring a current star who I think is close to being the equal of the original lead. You might think: Leave it alone. It's a classic with a star-turning performance that should have resulted in the star's being awarded an Academy Award. Sure, one of the characters was awarded the Oscar for the Best Supporting Actor but he was playing off of the star. If the star hadn't been there George Kennedy would have been just another con.
Yes, it's true I'm talking about a sequel to the Paul Newman gem: COOL HAND LUKE starring Matthew McConaughey. What you say? Blasphemy! How can you consider a sequel when Luke was killed at the end of the movie? I say: Are you sure Luke was killed? I remember Luke standing in a doorway of a church with that wonderful Paul Newman smile and saying, "What we have here is a failure to communicate." Then at that moment the guard with the sunglasses, Boss Godfrey played with silent menace by Morgan Woodward, shoots Luke in cold blood with a rifle. Luke was hit in the neck then there was confusion as a Sheriff attempted to take Luke to the emergency clinic but the prison warden, Strother Martin, intervenes saying they will take him to the prison hospital. The sheriff points out that the prison is an hour away and that Luke won't last twenty minutes. The warden, known as The Captain blows the sheriff off and says "Get out of the way. He's ours!" The warden and his guards then hustle Luke off to a prison vehicle. Then as I recall the movie finishes with George Kennedy, J.D. Cannon, Dennis Hopper, Harry Dean Stanton and the rest of Luke's posse reminiscing about lovable Luke back at the prison.
OK it's assumed that Luke was killed or died on the one hour trip to the prison. But what if the sheriff, having seen Boss Godfrey shoot Luke without provocation, and smelling another agenda, has second thoughts. With a deputy he gets in his car and chases down the prison vehicle. With his lights flashing he overhauls it and, as a man sworn to uphold the law for everyone, takes custody of Luke by shear force of will. The Captain and his guards, attempt to intimidate the sheriff with pointed threats about his safety and his state job. The sheriff says: "If you take this man back to the prison Dr. Mason with the State will be arriving at your State facility tomorrow to inspect the condition of this prisoner. If Mr. Jackson (this statement is personalizing Luke) is not alive or we do not take him to the emergency clinic tonight then I will report your interference and neglect all the way to the Governor of Florida if I have to!"
The warden who is sick and tired of dealing with Luke (he escaped three times), realizes he can't make the man just go away but makes a deal with the sheriff: The prison vehicle will detour to a nearby retirement home and Luke will be treated there. The site has a small clinic with facilities for treating a gunshot wound. With Luke losing blood and nearing death the sheriff agrees. Luke, the sheriff, one of his deputies, The Captain, Boss Godfrey and another guard arrive at the hospital and commandeer the facilities in the name of the Governor of Florida ("Two can play this game," says the warden). Then he sends a guard back to the prison who announces to the population that "the prisoner in question (not using Luke's name) is no longer a resident of this State facility." Luke's pals interpret this an an obvious admission that Luke is dead.
Back at the hospital the clinic doctor considers his ability to save Luke's life. "I haven't treated a gunshot victim in thirty years! You need to find someone else to do this!" he says. "There," said the warden, "this doctor is not qualified to help this man and he admits it!" "Shut up!" says the sheriff who turns to the doctor. "There's nowhere else to go Doc," he says. "You're all he's got." The doctor begins to operate and finds that the bullet took a chunk out of the side of Luke's neck but didn't hit his larynx, throat or spinal cord. However because of the loss of blood, trauma to his body and inability to breath properly, Luke slips into a coma then dies.
The day before when Luke is hiding out in the church and about to be re-captured he asks God, "What you got in mind for me next?" God's answer seems to be that Luke is going back to prison as the police appear and demand his exit from the church. Then he is shot by Boss Godfrey. It turns out that God has something else in store for Lucas Jackson as he lays on the hospital operating table. Everything is black and there is no sound. Suddenly he senses movement with a soft murmur that may be the wind. The movement increases in speed and up ahead there is a bright light. The sound of the wind increases and is accompanied by a voice that says. "Luke I have something else in mind for you, your journey is not over and you have a lot of work to do." The wind increases to a roar as the movement gains momentum; it is heading for the bright light that is pulsing and growing in intensity. It was like being strapped to the front of a speeding train as it rocketed toward the end of a darkened tunnel, the daylight rushing forward in a relentless rush.
The doctor covered Luke's face with a white sheet then stripped the rubber gloves from his hands. With a resigned sigh he dropped them on a tray next to his operating instruments. The sheriff, who had been watching through the window in the trauma room doors, pushed inside the room. The Captain and Boss Godfrey followed him. The prisoner was dead and they wanted to get him back to the prison and bury him as soon as possible. However they still deferred to the doctor and the sheriff. The doctor looked at the men and shook his head. "He lost too much blood. He's yours." The warden said, "He's my a prisoner sheriff, he has to be buried at the prison. And doctor we need you to sign a death certificate." The sheriff stared back at The Captain and said, "You're not taking this man anywhere!" Then he turned his gaze slowly to Boss Godfrey. "Your man here is under arrest for murder and I'm a witness!"
The doctor had removed his white smock and glanced idly at the covered body but something wasn't right. He focused on the sheet covering the prisoner's face. It was moving. The other men hadn't noticed. The doctor moved to the table and pulled the sheet back. The patient's eyes were open and he blinked! The warden who had followed the doctor's movements staggered back in shock, "Jesus," he exclaimed and Boss Godfrey muttered, "What the hell is goin' on?" The doctor rested his hand on Luke Jackson's forehead. It was warm! The man blinked again and he opened his mouth and moaned softly but the men heard exactly what he said. "It hurts."
The doctor pushed the sheet aside. "Oh course it hurts son", he said, "you were shot." Boss Godfrey had removed his sun glasses in disbelief and the first thing he thought was, Thank God, it isn't murder! The doctor checked the dressing he had made moments before and saw that it was secure and not leaking blood. "I hear your name is Luke," said the doctor. Luke nodded. "St. Luke was the patron saint of surgeons, physicians and artists," the doctor added. Luke lifted his hand and touched the dressing as he started to remember what had happened. Suddenly the dream or was it a vision he had experienced probed him then blossomed. "Doc I think you must have been all three to bring me back from where I've been." Even though his neck hurt he smiled slightly and his blue eyes sparkled with life. Then he said, "I'm alive and the Man upstairs has plans for me."
What does the Man have in store for Lucas Jackson, itinerant worker, womanizer, drunk and non-believer? Is it to clean up the Florida penal system? Run for Governor? Heal the sick? Start his own church or religion?
Luke turns his head and sees the warden and Boss Godfrey who is holding his sun glasses in his hand. "Howdy Captain," he says. Seeing Luke alive and knowing he's ultimately responsible for the attempted murder of a prisoner, the warden takes his hat from his head and dips his head. "Hello Luke I see you made it back." He gestures toward the doctor. "We brought you here to get the best care. This man saved your life." Luke looked at the doctor, sensing the dis-ingenuousness of the warden's statement. He raised his hand and said, "Thank you Captain, come closer I want to thank you for bringing me here." The Captain hesitated then he and Boss Godfrey shuffled forward.
If Luke's story were ever to be continued Matthew McConaughey would be the man to play him. Besides looking a lot like Paul Newman, McConaughey shares his blue eyes,dazzling smile and confident demeanor. Plus he's a genuine actor with the ability to play comedy (which is hard without looking foolish), action and romantic characters. I think he is about Newman's height but he would have to lose some of the bulk he has gained over the years to attain the lean look of a chain gang prisoner. They work them hard on those hot Florida highways so he would have to look more like a long distance runner than a Gator linebacker.
The Captain and Boss Godfrey stood next to the bed trying to make sense of Luke's death with the man who was lying in front of them, alive. The Captain's hands shook as he held his hat and Boss Godfrey, in spite of himself, began to weep. Luke raised his hand and the Captain took it automatically saying, "What do I do now?" Luke smiled briefly and said, "You release the men." The Captain cocked his head slightly. "Why?" "Because they have served their time," said Luke "And they are ready to speak the truth." Luke didn't know why he was saying these words but he knew he was supposed to say them. Finally the Captain nodded and said "That's true they are ready." Luke nodded back and his gaze took in all the men in the room. "You all are ready," he said.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
